The Forty Column Castle

Thirteen


I ran around looking in every corner of the suite to make sure no one else was there. Satisfied I was alone, I headed for the shower. I’d find my aunt and get us both out of the palace before Zach came back. I wasn’t sure how I would do that, but it was worth a try.

The bath room, a term that didn’t do it justice, was a thousand times more sumptuous than the Amathus Hotel with a fabulous in-ground Jacuzzi that I was dying to try. But I made do with a quick shower in a pearl gray marble stall. Those might have been solid gold shower fixtures. Mirrors abounded on three sides of the room. Four sinks. I wasn’t sure what you could use all those for. Group teeth scrubbing maybe.

I let the hot water steam over me, all the while thinking over why Zack had left when we were supposed to be looking for my aunt. Maybe he had found her. I hoped he hadn’t kidnapped her and gone off in search of those stupid, non-existent jewels.

The shower revived me. Exotic creams stood in alluring rows along the sink. I treated myself to “Ancient Breezes”, helped myself to toothpaste and fresh never-out-of-the-package tooth brush, and dragged a comb through my wet hair. No time to dry it.

Clothes. I shook out the little black dress. At least Zach hadn’t locked up my purse again. I searched and found my cute sandals. The aroma of food overcame me, and I hurried over to the tray Rodolfo left, ate a few grape leaves, downed a glass of orange juice from the frig.

Now to find my way out. I slung my purse over my shoulder and stopped. Take my other pants and top or no? Maybe I’d be back, maybe not. A scary thought hit. I was on my own. No Zach to protect me, although I couldn’t commend him much on his protective skills. I shook my head. I couldn’t let fear find a foothold. I squared my shoulders and marched to the door.

Gently, I pushed the handle down and pulled. The door opened. Success. I peeked out. Luigi was sitting on a chair by the door, dozing. At the sound of the door, he sputtered awake and glared at me.

“Hi,” I said. “Nice day. I thought I’d go for a walk.”

He shook his head and waved that great, shaggy appendage in the direction of the room. I got the message, backed in and shut the door. No sense making Luigi mad. He was bigger than I was.

Now what?

Zach had mentioned the balcony if he couldn’t get out the door. I’d give it a try. The sound of the waves said the beach was not far away. I looked over the balcony. The beach was directly below. Far below. We were on the second floor, and the house seemed to sit on an outcrop of rock. Under me was nothing but rock. I looked to see if there were any other balconies.

One. There was one about a half a mile from mine, or so it seemed. I had a corner room. Along the smooth, white wall from my room to the other with the balcony were several large windows, the crank out kind. Some were open. On more careful study, I saw that a ledge ran the length of the building between the balconies. A ledge that maybe one foot would fit on. If I did the unthinkable and walk to the next balcony on that skinny ledge, what guarantee did I have that there would be a friendly face in the room?

I studied the landscape below. If I did the bed sheet thing like in the movies, my homemade rope would drop to sharp, black volcanic rock and a narrow beach, one washed by waves right up to the rocks. Where would that leave me? I wished I knew where I was and looked around for landmarks. Nothing. This side of the house sat on rock looking out to sea. Maybe the front of the house had more beach. I recalled the drive and entrance gate and tried to place where they were. But I couldn’t remember well, seeing how I wasn’t in a conscious condition when I entered the house.

I focused my attention on the balcony. The rails were polished stone. Three potted palms stood to one end. My eye followed the palms upward to the roof which appeared flat and maybe six feet above the balcony door opening. A flat roof a person could walk across. The tops of the palms cleared the roof.

Great. Now how to get to the roof without killing myself. Who knew what other rooms I could access if I could get to the roof. I looked over the side of the balcony again. It was a long way down. If I was going to be doing any scaling to get to the roof, I was going to have to be darn sure I made it. If not, I’d end up as hamburger on those black rocks below.

I eyed the palms. I wondered how strong palms were, especially rooted in pots. I read in National Geographic, my favorite magazine, that palms had shallow roots and not an extensive root system. Did that mean that they toppled over easily? As a child I had never been a tree climber. It didn’t appeal to me. Nor did heights. They still didn’t.

I surveyed the three palms, trying to decide which one looked the sturdiest. I walked closer looking for hand holds, touched the bark. Rough and jaggy. I wished I had been more of a monkey as a kid. This endeavor might be more palatable to me if I had.

I decided the palm nearest the wall would be my best bet, but climbing a palm in a dress wouldn’t do it. I recalled in the movies little boys sort of shimmied up the trunk of the trees after coconuts.

Back inside I hurried and changed into the blouse and Capri pants. Thank the stars I had pants so that the probability of my legs getting ripped to shreds would be lower. I decided to abandon the purse and lamentably my black dress. I stuffed what money I had, ID and credit cards in my pants pocket. I considered my cute sandals and decided to leave them behind.

Of course, even after I got to the roof there might not be much of anything up there. But I couldn’t think about that now. There was no other escape from the room. I had noticed that when I was scurrying around after Rodolfo left to see if there was anyone else in the room. I had checked for phones in my search. None. Zach had a way of thinking of everything. Except the palm trees. I chortled to myself. He had underestimated my resolve.

Back out on the balcony I studied my chosen palm, calculating my hand holds. I glanced over to the other balcony. There were about as many palms as here, and they cleared the roof, too. I spit on my hands and rubbed them together because that seemed to be the thing to do and mounted the pot. It held my weight. I tried a hand hold on the palm. It was jaggy. I gritted my teeth and put my foot on one of the frond cuts at the base of the tree. Painful. I jumped down and rushed back inside and slipped on my cute sandals. They were at least some protection for my feet. I rushed back out and climbed up on the pot.

Stop thinking, I told myself and climb, even if it hurts. You got to get out of here. So up I went. Painful frond by painful frond. Maybe I should have put on a lifeline rope in case I fell.

Stop thinking and climb.

Sweat was running between my breasts and down from my armpits. I should have pulled my hair back because it kept falling in my face.

Stop thinking and climb.

How did those monkeys do it anyway? I must say the cute sandals didn’t work out as bad as I thought. They had rubber soles and at least gained me purchase on the palm cuts.

Up I climbed. Where was Zach anyway? Why did he leave? Did he think I’d be around when he came back?

Stop thinking and climb.

My muscles started shaking. I wasn’t exactly in the greatest shape in the muscle department. I wasn’t one of those work-out-in-a-gym types.

Stop thinking and climb.

Finally, I was level with the roof and peered over. Flat as far as the eye could see and populated with water tanks. My palm tree was about a foot from the edge of the roof. It was going to be tricky getting from the palm to the roof. I tried not to look down, but out of my peripheral vision I caught glimpses of pounding waves and sharp rocks. It was breezy, and I was far enough up the tree that palm fronds waved around me and whacked me in the face a time or two. My muscles were starting to give out.


I took a deep breath and shimmied up high enough to get my butt even with the roof ledge. The palm creaked back and forth in the breeze and as it leaned toward the building, I heaved myself onto the roof, rolled away from the ledge and lay there gasping for breath.

I stayed on my back until my breathing quieted, and my muscles stopped shaking. The blue sky stretched horizon to horizon. My eyes drifted shut, and I pretended I was on Lara beach without a care in the world. But it didn’t work. My mind was in extreme frantic mode, plunging about trying to find a way out of my predicament.

I struggled to my feet and stood for a moment trying to get my bearings. The view went on forever, most of it sea. The house was on the edge of a rock cliff and looking back toward land there were few homes, all of them large and walled. We were at the end of a cul-de-sac. That would make it hard finding a taxi or using other houses as cover.

I’d have to steal one of Mr. Bellomo’s cars. If I could get to a phone, I could call Yannis to come get me, but I hesitated to do that because I didn’t want to pull him into this mess. Yannis would be at work. Knowing him, he would drop everything to help me out.

I walked the perimeter of the house, which was a feat in itself, keeping careful watch that no one would be peering back at me. On two sides rock met sea. On the third and fourth were gardens with several acres of swimming pool, sloping down to beach area complete with dock. A yacht was moored at the end of the dock which extended out a considerable distance into the water. A large gazebo sat on an extensive deck area about half-way out. The fifth side of the house was the main entrance and driveway, gated, of course. The house was a pentagon, two story, flat roof. Why one man needed so much square footage was beyond me.

There were two balconies each on the sea side of the house. An extended balcony swept the garden and beach sides of the house and columns stretched the height of two floors on the entrance side.

I scurried around half bent in my reconnoitering, then lay down on the entrance side of the house and peeked over the edge. A white van stood in the semi-circular drive on the entrance side. Maybe a delivery vehicle. No other cars in sight although there was a separate garage removed from the house with eight doors. Did that mean eight vehicles? For one man? I could borrow one of those.

A stakeout was in order. I watched the front entrance. When I had almost decided the effort was an exercise in futility, a silver SUV pulled up at the entrance gate and passed through, stopping below me. The windows were tinted, but I could make out two figures inside. I flattened down as best I could but with enough eye showing to catch what was going on.

Out of the driver side stepped Luigi’s twin. I didn’t think there were two men that big on the island. He opened the passenger side and helped Zach out. He was ruffed up. Hair mussed, shirt tail out in the back. This was not Mr. Neat and Cool. As the pair passed below me, the driver helping Zach, I caught sight of the red welt under Zach’s eye and what looked like blood oozing from his lip. One sleeve of his shirt was ripped nearly off. Great Zeus and all the Greek gods. What had happened?

I shrank back from the edge of the roof and hid until I thought they were inside then peeked over. A boy drove the SUV to the garage and parked. I wondered if he left the keys inside. One thing I did know. I had to determine if my aunt was in the palace, since she wasn’t with Zach. I hoped he hadn’t taken her anywhere. Then I’d find out what happened to Zach.

Crouching as low as I could, I ran along the edge of the roof. The best approach, I figured, was to check out all the balconies to see if any of them looked different than mine. What I expected to find, I couldn’t say. Maybe my aunt would hang her undies out to dry on the balcony or something. I didn’t think she’d be in the front on the garden and beach side of the house, but I ran along those two sides of the pentagon first, just to make sure. More potted palms and smaller shrubs adorned these balconies. I scanned them and found nothing that caught my eye to tell me human beings inhabited the rooms.

That left the two sides facing the sea. I checked the one opposite our rooms. On closer inspection the long balcony on that side displayed a virtual forest of palms, an awning, lounge furniture and table. No one was outside but it didn’t take much imagination to figure that was Mr. Bellomo’s room or the master bedroom suite. The palms cleared my roof top viewing platform. That would be my second choice in the event that they would be sharing a room. Perish the thought. I didn’t see any ladies undies hanging anywhere on that balcony.

I decided the balcony closest to mine was the most likely place for my aunt, if she were here. I crouched and looked over the edge of the roof onto a balcony that looked identical to mine. Small, with potted palms, no awning, no table, one lounge chair. On the lounge chair a paperback book lay open, like someone had been reading and gone inside for iced tea. I strained to read the title. I could make out a man and woman in the clutches on the cover. A positive sign there was a woman in this suite.

I nearly fell over myself trying to get down the palm tree. It scraped the roof’s edge. I hugged the palm, holding on to the edge of the roof, and inched down the trunk. I was getting the knack of palm tree climbing. My feet touched down on the pot, sandals still in tack. I jumped the rest of the way to the deck of the balcony and ducked behind the potted palms on the outside chance that this might be a female relative’s room.

After a glance at the paperback I knew. It was a title from the collection of Zazora Deville, my aunt’s favorite romance author, and it looked like a new copy. At least she wasn’t tied up. Maybe she was even enjoying herself. Wouldn’t that be funny if, after all this worrying, she were having a good time?

I dared a peek into the interior of the room but the glare from the window glass made everything inside look black. I inched to the open door and peered in. There standing not five feet from me was Aunt Elizabeth, hand over her mouth and eyes wide.

“Lordie, Claudie, you nearly gave me a heart attack. Why on Earth are you on my balcony and how on Earth did you get here? Why didn’t you come in by the door?”

I rushed over to give her a hug and a squeeze then stepped back for a once over to make sure arms and legs and other body parts were intact and unscathed. She wore a black and gold caftan decorated with Greek gods and goddesses, some in rather suggestive positions. Her bright white hair was neatly coiffed in a French twist and gold bangles danced from one wrist. The other held an iced drink half the contents of which were now on the soft, white carpeting. The real eye opener was the huge rock on the third finger of her left hand. She saw me staring at it, blushed and stammered and sighed but no words of explanation made it from her lips.

“You aren’t … you didn’t … he didn’t …” I wasn’t doing much better.

“Oh, Claudie, Salvatore Bellomo is the nicest, kindest man I have ever met. He gave me this lovely diamond.” She held up the huge thing. It sparkled in its gold setting. A lot of gold was in that setting.

“You mean …”

“Yes, he proposed, but we haven’t set a date yet.”

I stood shocked into silence. She was lost in admiring the rock. It was gorgeous. I was not expert on diamonds but it looked real. It had a carved gold setting, giving it an antique look. It gleamed and shone brighter than any diamond I ever saw.

“I need to sit down. Do you have anymore of that?”


She glanced at the glass in her hand. “Of course, here take what’s left of this one. I’ll get another.”

Her room was a carbon copy of mine but in a different color scheme. Hers sported mauves and turquoise and lots of gold trim everywhere. Definitely a Cypriot decorator. But the huge couch and wet bar and room layout looked the same.

I followed her to the bar. “Aunt Elizabeth, how did you get out of jail?”

“Oh, that.” She waved her bangles. “Salvatore came to see me early Monday morning. It was odd because it was so early, and I was expecting you. But he came with an official looking gentleman, I didn’t catch his name, who opened the cell door. Mr. Bellomo offered me his arm and off we walked. We were over here by nine in the morning about the time I was expecting you.”

She calmly poured another iced tea.

“Didn’t you think to call me to let me know you were okay?”

She looked at me like I had two heads. “Marie-Claude, I didn’t have your cell phone number because the police took my phone. They took my purse. I assumed that man at the jail would let you know that Mr. Bellomo had come to get me. Why didn’t you come before now?” She made a pouty face like she was hurt. “I thought sure you would. And why did you come through the balcony? Wasn’t that rather dangerous, dear?” She peered at me. “You are acting rather strange.”

I was acting strange? “I didn’t know about Mr. Bellomo until Lonnie, the tour guide, told us about your widow friends. One of them told him about Mr. Bellomo. How was I to know?”

“Dear me.” She shook her head, moved to the sofa and sat down. “I thought I had mentioned him to you.” She patted the seat beside her, and I dutifully sat.

“Let me get this straight,” I said. “You’re having a fine time, Mr. Bellomo is taking care of everything, and you are engaged to be married. Is that an accurate summary of what is going on here?”

She pursed her lips and scrunched her nose in a funny little way she had. “Yes, I think that covers it. His home is quite comfortable. This is my suite. He has his own, of course. This is all on the up and up. I told him no hanky-pank until after the wedding. It will be a small one, I think. He’d like us to be married in Sicily. I haven’t met his family yet. Of course, I want you to meet him. But,” she looked me over, “that outfit will never do.”

I stared at her. Was this my Aunt Elizabeth? She sounded like Cleopatra surveying the empire. This from the person who lived in a tiny apartment surrounded by people she had known her entire life. She was going to marry a foreigner and live in Sicily? And hanky-pank? At her age? I was impressed. Would that I were still interested in hanky-pank when I reached her age. I was speechless.

She sipped her drink like it was the most normal thing in the world to be discussing getting married to a multimillionaire, maybe billionaire, wine merchant. She, who had never been married a day in her life.

“Would you like to go out on the balcony, dear? The view is spectacular. I guess you already know since you came in that way. However did you get on my balcony?”

“From the roof.”

She raised her eyebrows, something she used to do when I was a teenager, indicating I was going a bit too far.

I blew out a breath and leaned my head against the back of the couch. Exhaustion was getting harder to keep at bay. I knew if I closed my eyes I might drift off. Where to start and what to tell her? Maybe partial truth. Nope, couldn’t even do that. I gnawed on my lip.

The image of Zach being helped into the palace popped into my thoughts. I couldn’t imagine what had happened to him. He looked like he had been in a fight. Where was he now? Maybe he needed help. No, I couldn’t let him distract me. I had to help my aunt.

Salvatore Bellomo must have legitimate feelings for my aunt because she was an absolute nobody and lived on social security, her library pension, Medicare and a small amount of money saved for a rainy day. Any extra money she had went for travel, and I supplemented that at times. He couldn’t be after her money.

Then again he might be after those mythical jewels Zach swore he had touched. If my aunt, knowing or unknowingly, knew where the jewels were, and if Mr. Bellomo played along like he wanted to marry her, then maybe she would tell him where they were. If the jewels were worth two million dollars that was a nice piece of change for not very much work.

That was it. Grandpa was going to make an absolute fool of my aunt, take the jewels and break her heart. I wondered if she would get to keep the ring. I could work up an indignant rage, given half a chance.

“I’m waiting for your explanation, Claudie. Have you fallen asleep?”

My eyes snapped open.

“Before I go into that rather long story,” I said, knowing evasion of the truth was the best I could come up with at the moment, “did you hear of Berengaria’s jewels?”

My aunt stopped playing with the ice in her glass and looked at me. “Of course. Everyone’s heard of that legend, and everyone knows there are no jewels.”

“But did you hear anything during these last few weeks while you were on the island? Did anyone joke about Berengaria’s jewels or about finding them or about seeing them?” I tried not to prompt her with a hopeful face.

She frowned, pursed her lips, scrunched her nose. “Let me think. Maybe there was some mention. Someone on every trip talks about them.”

“Yes, about how they were lost when Berengaria’s ship wrecked off the coast, and how they were never recovered but people keep finding bits of gold and a precious stone or two on the beaches around here.”

“Yes, that’s it.” She smiled. “Such an enchanting legend. I was always partial to it.” She paused and cocked her head. “You know, now that you ask, I do remember Mrs. Crawford mentioning jewels to a man at lunch one day. She was waiting for me outside the ladies restroom and when I came out she broke off, and he walked away. I thought it might have been about the legend because I heard Berengaria’s name. It’s hard to mistake such a name, you know.”

“What did this man look like?” I asked.

“American. He and his wife are that American couple that come every year with the group from Boston College. He’s rather tall. A beefy sort of man, rather dull face. She’s a bit horsy looking, long head. They rented a blue Maruti this year. Quite an ugly thing, but I guess it gets them around well enough.”

That’s all that I had -- a passing reference in a conversation overhead by accident. Was Zack right that Berengaria’s jewels really existed?