Marjorie Thelen - The Forty Column Castle

He nodded. “From what I know of your aunt, I agree.” He glanced down at his watch. “It’s time for us to meet Chris. Let’s see what he can tell us.” He signaled for the check, paid the waiter, and steered me between the tables to the street. Neither of us spoke on the drive to the customs house. I was too upset. He knew I was upset and didn’t want to make matters worse, I’m sure.

In the middle of my black mood, my cell phone vibrated.

“How’re you doing?” It was Zach.

“I’ve been better.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing I can’t handle,” I said. I shouldn’t have let my black mood escape.

“Well, if you need me, I’m at the Coral Bay Resort. I think I might have given you the wrong number for my cell.”

We checked numbers. I had the right one.

“Will you be able to get away this afternoon?”

I smiled in spite of myself.

“I think so. I’ll call you in a bit,” I said and clicked off.

Yannis looked over and raised an eyebrow.

“A friend I met on the plane over.”

“I can tell by the smile on your face,” he said.

He parked along the curb, scattering birds and children as he screeched to a halt. He helped me from the Mercedes, and we ascended the worn marble stairs of the customs house that sat on a hill overlooking the town.

The cousin waited for us at the entrance.

“I am very pleased to meet you, Miss Lowell,” Chris Mikolas said in English with British overtones, as we were introduced. He was a fatherly looking man, slightly balding, who had a squinty way of looking and, as most of the men on Cyprus, was shorter than I. He led us down a corridor of high ceilings and open windows to a corner office. We sat in the straight back chairs he indicated.

“Would you like coffee?” he asked.

“Yes, thank you.” I never turned down an offer of coffee, though I’d had so much I was beginning to twitter.

The window in the room was wide open and at street level. Mikolas called out the window in Greek and a small boy appeared then disappeared as quickly.

“I understand Miss Davies is your aunt?” He cleared his throat.

“Yes, she is. I’m here to secure her release. I’m sure there’s been a misunderstanding.”

“I see.” Mikolas nodded his head and cleared his throat several more times. I couldn’t decide if it was a nervous habit or I was making him so.

The small boy reappeared through the window with three espresso sized cups of coffee on a small rectangular tray painted black with gold trim.

“Here we are. Please help yourself.” He took the tray from the boy and held it toward us. We each took a cup, and Mikolas set the tray on the desk.

He templed his fingers like people do when they have something important to say. “Your aunt is a cordial person, quite polite and cooperative. We have tried to make her as comfortable as possible under the circumstances. Unfortunately, we found some priceless antiquities in her carryon bag.”

He grimaced like the coffee he sipped didn’t sit well in his digestive tract. “This is a very serious offense, Miss Lowell. I hope you can appreciate the gravity of what has taken place.”

“I understand about gravity, but this is absurd. My aunt is not the criminal type. Someone planted those statutes in her bag to get them out of the country. Maybe they used her as a conveyance and were going to retrieve them once she was on the plane. That means that everyone on her flight is suspect, the real culprit is home by now, and my aunt is in jail.”

Mikolas sat, nodding. “We have considered this, Miss Lowell. Believe me when I tell you that this is a complex case. We have been working on it for some time. The people involved are clever. We have good reason to believe that on Cyprus the ringleaders, I think that is how you say it, include three widows with whom you aunt was cordial. Unfortunately, your aunt was the one who got caught.”

I moved to the edge of my chair, but Yannis spoke up before I could fire my next barrage.

“Claudie’s concern is getting her aunt out of jail. What does she need to do?”

Mikolas cleared his throat and looked at me, his heavy brows adding to his serious demeanor. “You will need to post bond to secure her release. But she cannot leave the country.”

“Not leave the country?” I was out of the chair and pacing the room, my strappy black sandals making hollow clicking sounds on the terrazo floor. “You mean this could take weeks to resolve? We can’t live here indefinitely. I’ve got a mutual fund to manage.” I couldn’t help throwing my arms about as I paced.

Mikolas started owl-like blinking which evolved into a fit of throat clearing. Finally, he said, “Please do not be upset. I am sure we can resolve this matter. I know this is difficult for you. Please sit down. I will summon the Chief of Investigations, who came today to help you. I will get him.”

He hurried from the room, and I collapsed into my chair.

Yannis slid his arm around my shoulders. “We will secure your aunt’s release. Don’t worry.”

I was scowling. My mood didn’t want a comforting arm.

“Yannis?”

“Yes, Princess?”

“Who are the three widows?”

“He didn’t say.”

“We need to find out.”

“All right, we will.”

Double footsteps echoed in the hallway, and we both looked up in expectation.

“Here you are,” Mikolas said. “This is Chief Inspector Polydeuces.”

The Inspector bowed to the room in general. We all murmured introductions at once, and Yannis spoke up. “Inspector, can you help us? We would like to see Miss Davies and secure her release today.”

The Inspector looked like a younger version of Mikolas and was, indubitably, a cousin.

“It is possible to see her, but I am not sure about leaving today. It is Sunday, you see, and the people who process the paper work do not work today. Tomorrow perhaps, but that may depend upon legalities. However, I can allow you to visit her.”

“Thank you, Inspector,” Yannis said.

Clueing me with a smile, he said in a low voice, “One step at a time.”

I wasn’t pleased but acquiesced, grateful for some action.

“Follow me then,” the Inspector said.

“Marie-Claude! Marie-Claude! Over here, dear. Oh, I am so glad to see you.” Aunt Elizabeth bounced on her toes and stretched her arms through the bars to try to reach me. I shoved past my escorts and rushed toward her voice. Awkwardly, we embraced through the bars of the door. I pushed back, still clasping her shoulders.

“Am I glad to see you,” I said, trying not to tear up. She looked so forlorn. Her fly-away white hair was pulled back into a wilting French twist. She wore her favorite olive traveling trousers, the ones with all the pockets, and white cotton pullover. Judging by her bare cell, the clothes on her back were all she was allowed. Her face was crinkled into unhappy lines, not at all in keeping with her usual perky smile and lively blue eyes.

“However did this happen?” I needed to hear the story from her.

“Marie-Claude, this is such a mystery. I don’t know how those relics got into my bag,” she said, lowering her voice. “My souvenirs were neatly packed into my canvas bag. You know, the pretty green tapestry carry-on I use on trips. My needlework was on top along with my paperback romance, and I had my purse, my red leather one with all the compartments that I just adore for traveling. You know the one.”

I certainly did. It was never far from her side.

She hurried on, as was her custom when she was nervous, her words tumbling over each other. “I got pulled out of line as we waited to board, you know in one of those random searches they do now, and they brought my check-in luggage and went through everything.