I shifted my gaze to the beach area, not wanting to rush into a reply. A striking couple who had very little on between them caught my eye. I watched them, as I thought what to say.
At last, turning to him, I said, “I’ve been trying to get my aunt out of jail,” like I was giving the weather report.
Zach’s reaction was in his eyebrows. They rose ever so slightly. “Nice way to spend a vacation,” he said. “What’s she in for?” He spoke as if we were discussing the possibility of rain.
“Smuggling. Do you know anything about antiquities smuggling?”
“I might,” Zach said.
I returned his gaze. “You have my attention.”
Yannis unfolded his arms and leaned in. At last, his interest was engaged.
“Maybe you should elaborate on your aunt’s predicament first,” Zach said.
I told him about the call from my aunt and her detainment at the airport. Zach interrupted with questions about small details. I went over Yannis’s efforts to get her out of jail and how we would bail her out in the morning.
The smell of fried eggs and sausage wafted over the table, as the waiter set Zach’s meal in front of him. I continued as he ate.
“The problem is it’s going to be hard to prove that she wasn’t trying to take a few small souvenirs out of the country, and the penalties are stiff.”
“Yes,” Yannis said. “She could have remained in jail for a long time, but I have important connections, so I was able to convince the authorities that she should be out on bail.”
I fixed an appreciative smile on my Cypriot friend and patted his arm to acknowledge his connections and his help. He was absolutely right. Without his web of relatives I would never have gotten to see my aunt today or arrange bail and a lawyer.
A smile softened Yannis’s face, and he relaxed back against his chair. The sound of glass tinkling and the murmur of voices around us grew louder, as bathers wandered up to the patio for afternoon refreshments. Fragrance of coconut oil filled the air. The heat of the day intensified as the sun blazed overhead.
Zach finished his last bite of chips and laid his fork over on the plate. “I did some private investigation in Texas a while back.”
“Private investigator sounds good,” I said. “We could use that kind of experience on this case. Do you think you can help us?”
Zach gave me a look, as if trying to assess how much it was worth, or if he wanted to get involved.
“I mean, maybe you’re too busy,” I said, thinking I was taking a lot for granted.
He kept looking at me and narrowed those intense dark eyes.
Maybe his seeming reluctance had to do with money.
“I will be more than happy to pay you. I guess I should have asked what your rates are.”
The waiter took away Zach’s plate and topped off our coffee. Zach settled in a hunch over his.
In that soft, Texas drawl he said, “We might be able to work something out.” His eyes said even more. I don’t think I was imagining what he meant, because Yannis picked up on it.
“We don’t need to work anything out,” Yannis said. “I am perfectly cable of handling this for you, Claudie.”
“My,” I said, “it’s getting hot. Anyone for a swim?”
Yannis’s Mercedes lurched down the gravel road, around a curve and up a rise that brought us to the beach. It was in a small bay covered with pebble sand, high cliffs on two sides where swallows darted and swooped, indifferent to our intrusion onto their private beach. No one else was around and that was the reason I liked coming here. It was isolated from the tourists.
The waves lapped gently on the beach. The water was clear turquoise with flashing rhinestone top. I liked to snorkel in deep water, and on this beach the bottom dropped off to over thirty feet a short way out. The sea nettles tended to stay in the rocks in deep water, so they usually weren’t a problem.
I put my beach towel close to the water’s edge so I wouldn’t have to walk on blistering pebbles, stripped down to my bikini bottoms, deciding it was Zach’s choice where he wanted to put his eyes. Yannis had seen me topless a hundred times before on the beach. I sat on the towel and smoothed coconut tanning lotion over my breasts, arms, legs, torso. Yannis stretched out on a towel on one side, propping up on an arm to watch. Zach sat on the other side and stared straight out to sea behind extreme dark sunglasses.
“Zach, what’s your assessment of my aunt’s case?” I completed my beach ritual and lay back on propped arms, breasts tilted up to the sun, hair pulled into a loose knot on top my head. It felt great.
“Her three women friends have to be found,” he said, turning his head in my direction but returning his gaze quickly to the sea. “You say you tried to contact these women. Would there be anyone else who might know something about them?”
Yannis spoke up. “Lonnie Walters, the man who runs Escort Tours, would know who they are,” he said. “I hadn’t thought of him before. We found where the women are staying because my father knows the man who rents to them.”
“Then we need to talk to Mr. Walters and the landlord,” Zach said. He kept his gaze trained on the sea.
The view in my direction must have been blinding. I liked his use of the word “we” and smiled. A new member had joined the investigating team, payment to be worked out later.
“Lonnie’s usually around on Sunday evenings,” Yannis said. “He hangs out at the California Bar along Pafos harbor. He’s American and that’s the place where you’ll find ex-pats Sunday evening.”
“He’s supposed to be CIA,” I said. “But who knows? People speculate on it when conversation runs out over a drink.” I looked overhead. “What time is it?”
Zach checked his watch. “About five.”
“We can have a swim and then head back to track down Lonnie.”
I waded out into the water, splashed around to stir up my blood, dove in head first, and came up facing them. “C’mon in, the water is freezing.” It was May, and the Mediterranean hadn’t warmed up yet.
Zach stood and pulled off tan shorts and a deep blue polo shirt. He wore black Speedo bikinis. We matched. He sure did fill his out nicely. Yannis scowled his way into the water in navy bathing trunks.
As I surveyed the beach from my vantage point in the water, parked on the cliff I noticed a battered blue Maruti that hadn’t been there when we arrived. A man stood beside the jeep-like vehicle. His arms were raised to his eyes like he was holding binoculars, and they were trained in our direction.
Now why would anyone be watching us?
Four
I caught sight of Lonnie as soon as we walked into the California Bar. He was hard to miss since he was semaphoring and yelling my name from his perch on a seat at the beat-up, old wood bar.
Locals frequented this place. It couldn’t be described as upscale. A faint odor of stale beer collided with the fishy smell from the harbor. The street side was open and small unmatched tables sat one deep on the sidewalk with a view of Pafos Harbor on the other side of the street. The water was dotted with small, open fishing boats at anchor filled with the paraphernalia of the occupation, everything from fishing nets in canvas bags to dirty yellow and red plastic gas cans. Pleasure craft with outboard motors and sail masts mingled with the fishing boats.
It was early for the regular crowd, and Lonnie was alone. I recognized Kevin, the bartender, and he waved.
I waved back in acknowledgement. Lonnie hustled over, drink in hand. He wore a T-shirt with green geckos in a variety of obscene positions, army fatigue shorts, and a well-worn pair of blue flip-flops. His blond hair was slicked back, still wet. He looked ready for some serious socializing.
“Jeez, it’s good to see you.” He gave me a neck hug with one arm and a big smack on the cheek. I could smell pine soap on his skin. He pulled back to look me over. “What are you doing here? No one told me you were coming. You’re making surprise visits now?”