The Divided Child (58 page)

           
"No,
just one.
 
But Spiro isn't
it."

           
"For
heaven's sake, Christine!
 
The
police are about to arrest him for my brother's murder!"

           
"He
staged the accident, yes, but he says your brother was already dead when he
found him at the house, and I believe him."

           
"Of
course you do!"
 
The angry
words shot down the wire like sparks.
 
"He didn't kill my brother, and he didn't kill Helen, and he hasn't
tried on at least four occasions to kill my son, or on at least two occasions
to kill you!"

           
"I
know you don't believe me, I don't have any proof to make you believe me, but
please, I've got such a strong feeling about this --"

           
"I
think it's rather obvious what you have a strong feeling about, Christine, or
rather whom."

           
"Don't
be ridiculous!" I snapped angrily.
 
"It's not
Spiro
I’m in love with!"
 
I glared at the receiver, my cheeks
burning as I realized what I'd admitted.

           
There
was a prolonged silence and then Geoffrey said quietly, "I suppose I can
keep Michael tucked away a few more days if it will make you feel better."

           
"Thank
you."

           
"And
what exactly are you planning to do while I'm hidden away unable to keep an eye
on you?"

           
"Pray
for inspiration, I suppose, and try to figure out a motive.
 
So far all I've got is a hunch that
doesn't seem to make any sense."

           
"The
real killer is Skouras," he insisted.
 
"That's the only reason I'm agreeing to any of
this."

           
"I
almost wish you were right.
 
It
would make everything much simpler."

           
"Hmmm.
 
I suppose those two policemen are still
keeping an eye on you?"

           
Were
they?
 
I didn't know, but I told him
they were.

           
"Christine
--"

           
"Don't
worry,” I said.
 
“I have it on good
authority that Saint Spiridon, himself, will be watching out for me."

           
"I
don't suppose you could have picked a saint with a different name?"

           
"Tsk,
tsk!
 
If a Corfiote heard you say
such a thing, he'd throw you into the sea.
 
Anyway, Saint Spiridon's got a fair number of miracles under
his belt, I think he can handle keeping one poor tourist safe."

           
"Christine!
 
You almost have me changing my
mind."

           
"No,
please.
 
I'll be fine."

           
"Well,
if you need anything or have to get in touch with me, call George.
 
You still have the number, don't
you?"

           
I
assured him I did, and we said our goodbyes.
 
When I heard the receiver click and the line go dead I sat
there for a moment regretting the severed connection like a withdrawn
touch.
 
I felt, suddenly, very
tired and alone.

           
Turning,
I pressed my face against the cool softness of my pillow.
 
Before I knew it, I'd fallen back to
sleep.

Chapter Thirty

           
It
was an extremely vivid dream.

           
I
was being chased by Mrs. Baxter through Corfu's twisting streets and
alleyways.
 
I fled because she had
a gun, but she kept calling to me to come back because she had something
important to tell me.
 
I almost got
away, but then a policeman stepped into my path and I tripped and fell.

           
"Beth,
Beth, why didn't you listen to me!” Mrs. Baxter cried out, as she tottered to a
stop above me.
 
“Didn't I tell you
to stay away from married men?"
 
She lifted her gun, pointed it down at me, and fired, but the bullet turned
into a wedding ring which flew onto my finger.

           
"
Koritsi,
koritsi,
wake up!"

           
I
opened my eyes to find Kyria Andriatsis gazing down at me with a worried
frown.
 
"I am sorry to wake
you like this, but I think you must come with me."

           
I
gazed past her toward the door and the bureau, which had been pushed back into
the room.
 
"How did you get
in?"

           
She
shrugged impatiently.
 
"My
grandson, Yiannis, moved it out of the way.
 
Please, I think you must come now."

           
"I
don't understand.
 
What's
wrong?"

           
"The
key, the master key for all the rooms, is missing.
 
Someone has taken it."
 
I looked up; her raisin eyes were grave.
 
"Your policemen have gone, but the
danger, it is not finished I think, eh?"

           
Slowly
I shook my head.
 
She nodded.
 
"Then you must come with me
downstairs.
 
There is a room we
keep only for the family.
 
No one
will know you are there."

           
With
Yiannis's help, it didn't take long to move my things downstairs, and after
getting dressed I joined the large Andriatsis clan for morning coffee and toast
made from sweet anise-flavored bread.
 
They all seemed curious about me and the adventures that had landed me
in their midst, but a single reprimand from
Yiayiá
was sufficient to
silence their questions and limit their inquisitive looks to sidelong glances.
 
Slowly
 
they drifted out, and Kyria Andriatsis and I were left
alone.

           
For
a while we sipped our coffee in silence, then, as if reading my mind, she
patted my hand and said calmly, "Don't fear,
koritsi
, Saint
Spiridon will provide the answer."

           
I
couldn't share her confidence that all would turn out well, but I smiled all
the same.
 
I was reminded of my own
grandmother, who had always vowed any problem could be solved through prayer.
 
My own faith in this maxim had fallen
by the wayside during adolescence, when repeated requests for my father's
return had gone unanswered, but I never quite lost my belief in my
grandmother's powers to catch the Almighty's ear, in part because the answers
she received in dreams, often proffered by some saint or other, always seemed
to come true.
 
I thought of my own
dream about Mrs. Baxter, and couldn't help but grin imagining her as a bearer
of divine inspiration.

           
Suddenly
I spilled my coffee.
 
Perhaps not a
message from God, but from my own subconscious.
 
"Kyria, may I use your telephone?"

           
She
nodded.
 
"Of course.
 
Come this way."

           
It
took a little time to find out the doctor’s number, but once I'd dialed it, I
was connected at once and put through to his office.
 
He answered the phone impatiently, "
Embrós.
"

           
"Dr.
Kedros, this is Christine Stewart.
 
I met you yesterday when I came to visit a patient of yours, Mrs.
Baxter."

           
"Ah,
yes, I remember."

           
"How
is she today?"

           
"Much
better."

           
"Has
she had any visitors today?
 
Has
anyone called up to ask how she is?"

           
"No
visitors, but, yes, someone telephoned earlier to ask whether she was capable
of speaking yet or not."

           
I
gripped the receiver more tightly.
 
"Doctor, I know you don't know me, and there's no time for me to
explain, but I think it's possible that whoever shot Mrs. Baxter in the first
place may try to finish the job.
 
Would it be possible for you to have someone stay with her, or better
yet, move her to another part of the hospital without anyone knowing?"

           
"I
don't understand!
 
I was informed
by the police that Mrs. Baxter was injured by mistake, that her attacker was
aiming at another woman."

           
"That's
what we thought, but we were wrong.
 
She was the real target all along, and she's still in danger."

           
"Why
aren't you telling this to the police instead of to me?"

           
"I
don't have any proof yet.
 
I'm on
my way to get some now, but it's going to take time, and I'm afraid there might
not be much time left.
 
Please,
doctor, what will it hurt to do as I say?
 
If I'm wrong, no one's hurt, but if I'm right, you may be saving your
patient's life!"

           
"I
don't know."

           
"Please!"

           
"Oh,
all right, but I will expect you in my office this afternoon to explain all of
this.
 
Am I understood, young
lady?"

           
"Yes,
thank you, Dr. Kedros.
 
Thank you
very much!"

           
After
hanging up with the doctor, I debated phoning Mavros, but decided that as long
as Mrs. Baxter was safe, it would be better to approach the Lieutenant when I
actually had some facts to lay before him and not just a hunch based on a
dream.

           
I
told Kyria Andriatsis that I was going out, and she insisted that Yiannis drive
me.
 
I didn't complain.
 
Since I no longer seemed to have my
police guards, a young man built like an NFL linebacker might come in very
handy.

           
It
was early, and Kanoni was clogged with tour buses loading up passengers from
various hotels for day tours of the island.
 
Small, noisy mopeds darted between the diesel-belching
behemoths, and cars like ours squeezed by on the narrow roads as best we could.
 
In the distance, the roar of jets could
be heard as they landed and took off from Corfu's airport, and nearby, the
strains of a Greek rap song, saturated with Euro-pop bounciness and
incongruously highlighted by electric bouzoukia, twittered through the air like
the song of some strange bird.

           
When
we turned up the Hilton's curved drive, however, everything suddenly seemed
hushed.
 
It's just the trees,
I told myself, as a wave of uneasiness passed over me.
 
They muffle sound.
 
Nervously, I rubbed my arm.
 
We're on the other side of the peninsula
from the airport, too, so of course it would seem less noisy.

           
Apparently,
I said this last out loud, for Yiannis smiled and said jokingly, "The rich
can afford anything, even quiet."

           
The
Hilton's lobby was full of people, and I scanned it nervously as we made our
way to the elevators, but I saw no one I recognized.
 
Of course, the real danger, if there was any, awaited me
upstairs -- in Room 512.

           
“Do
you wish me to accompany you?” Yiannis asked, as the elevator doors
opened.
 

           
I
shook my head.
 
“No, I think I'm going
to have to make this visit alone.
 
But do you mind waiting for me here in the lobby?
 
I shouldn't be too long."

           
"I'm
in no hurry," he assured me.

           
She
was fully dressed this time, in a rose-colored blouse and a short, cream skirt
that showed off her tawny legs to perfection.
 
She opened the door and stared at me blankly, apparently
unaware she had ever seen me before.
 
I introduced myself, and my name finally sent a flicker of recognition
across her face.

           
Her
golden eyes regarded me with hostility.
 
"Ah, the little heroine who saved my son.
 
To what do I owe the pleasure?"

           
"I
thought it time you and I had a talk."

           
One
carefully-shaped eyebrow rose in disdain.
 
"I don't really see that there's much for us to discuss.
 
If you expect me to fawn over you for
your rescue of my son, you're in for a disappointment.
 
I don't share Geoffrey's high opinion
of you and your actions; as far as I'm concerned, my son nearly drowned because
of your negligence."