The Forty Column Castle

Fourteen


In all the excitement I had forgotten my aunt might have a phone in her room. I needed to get her away from this place. I decided to appeal to her sense of propriety.

“Aunt Elizabeth, I don’t think this arrangement looks quite right for you to be shacking up with your intended. How about I call Yannis and have him pick us up? We can check into a hotel. Where’s the phone?”

She frowned and scrunched her nose. “You think it looks bad my being here? I’m not shacking up. After all, I have my own room.” She gazed about rather wistfully at the sumptuous furnishings. “I don’t recall a phone in here, now that you ask.”

My nerves were getting the best of me. I had to get her out of here. Mr. Bellomo did not have honorable intentions as far as I was concerned. I debated over confronting him and telling him we were leaving or trying to sneak her out. I wondered if Luigi was watching her room and walked over to the door to poke my head out. I listened before I opened then cracked the door. No one in the hall. That was a plus.


“What are you doing, Claudie?” she asked, as I quietly shut the door.

“I was checking the layout in the hall. I think we need to go to a hotel to keep this on the up and up. Why don’t you pack a few things while I have a look around?”

She didn’t budge from the couch and looked awfully comfortable seated there. I couldn’t blame her. Being seated in the lap of luxury who would want to move?

She changed tactics on me. “Claudie, you still haven’t told me how you got here and what took you so long. Sal said he tried to contact you.”

I decided to level with her as she sat so magnificently on her throne surveying her queendom. “I met a man on the plane who helped me to find you but we ran into some trouble. Mr. Bellomo might be tied up in a scheme to steal Berengaria’s jewels. Have you seen some of the men he keeps company with?”

She giggled. “Of course, they do look like a rough bunch, but they’ve been absolute gentlemen with me. They are his bodyguards. Do you know he has had threats made on his life?” Then she frowned. “Are you saying he’s a thief? My Salvatore? How can he be in a scheme to steal jewels that don’t exist?”

Now we had possessiveness and disbelief involved. This was going to be harder than I thought. I could not appeal to reason, not that I had an open and shut case.

“But maybe the jewels do exist. Besides, do you want to marry someone who employs bodyguards?” This added a level of danger to her life that I didn’t think was computing with her. This group we were dealing with wasn’t stopping at a few statues and potsherds. They were going for the crown jewels. Berengaria of Spain had been a crown Princess, the intended of Richard I the Lionhearted, who married her right here in Limasol on his way to the third crusade.

“Sal said it wouldn’t be like this in Sicily.”

I rolled my eyes and was interrupted in my astonishment by a rap at the door.

“That will be Sal now. He said we would take a walk along the beach this afternoon.”

She got up to go to the door.

“Wait a minute,” I whispered. “Don’t tell him I’m here.”

“Why ever not?” she whispered back. “Claudie, I don’t understand your hesitation. Aren’t you happy for me? You haven’t congratulated me on my engagement.” She held up the rock and gazed at it fondly.

I grabbed her arms. “Look, humor me for now. You go for a walk. I’ll look around and come up with something.”

She smiled. “Good idea. I was looking forward to this walk with Sal.”

“Mum’s the word, right?”

“Okay, mum it is.” She giggled in delight at our big secret. “You can go into the bedroom and hide in there. I’ll be back.”

I disappeared into the bedroom and hid in a gargantuan closet that most people would call a room. I listened but couldn’t distinguish the conversation. The lovebirds must have been whispering to each other. I heard the door close and hoped I was alone and checked to be sure.

I did a quick search, looking for a phone. How could I be living in the 21st century and not have a phone? But there was not a one in the room which told me Aunt Elizabeth was not exactly a guest in the house. More like a hostage.

Hostage? The idea sent a chill through me. Bellomo might be holding her, thinking she would lead him to the jewels. On the bright side, I had found my aunt. She was unharmed and cheerful and engaged. Maybe.

Now I had to find Zach. Crazy as it sounded, since I had spent so much time trying to get away, I needed to talk to him because doubts were brewing in my brain. I was worried he looked so bad when he came in. Where had he gone this morning anyway?

I crept out of the room and down the hall, trying to get my bearings. I headed in the direction of the rooms I had shared with Zach. More rose and cream carpet lined the center of the white marble floors, making the hall look more like a hotel than a home. Recessed alcoves showcased statues of more Greek and Roman gods, goddesses and half-man-half-animal creatures, all looking quite authentic with chipped shoulders and missing noses. No Luigi guarded our door. Curious. I listened at the door. Not a sound, so I tried the handle, and the door swung open.

Zach lay stretched out on the couch fast asleep, or so it would seem from the way he was snoring. His mouth hung open at an odd angle. I rushed in and checked him over. A nasty swollen lip replete with dried blood accounted for the lop-sided quality of his mouth. It looked like he had been hit across the left side of his beautifully sculpted face, and his cheek and eye area were angry red. Scrapes on his knuckles indicated he had gotten in some licks of his own. His shirt was open down the front, and his exposed ribs were an ugly shade of purple.

I found ice, wrapped it in a cloth, sat on the floor in front of him, and put the ice pack against his lip.

He groaned. One eye inched open.

“Claudie,” he mumbled, not able to work his mouth very well. “Where have you been? You weren’t here when I got back.” He had trouble forming his words with the puffy lip and slurred his speech like a drunk.

“Right and what happened to you? Did you step on a rake?”

“Press that harder against my lip, will you? That’s good.”

“Where did you go? When I awoke, you were gone.”

“I left with Lucca.” He spoke in fits and starts. “We tried to find the taxi driver who took off last night and traced him to an unsavory neighborhood in Limasol.” His eyes fluttered shut.

I gently shook him. “Zach, wake up. Who drugged you?”

“What?” His eyes rolled around crazily as he tried to focus on me. “Lucca gave me something for the pain.”

“Must have been powerful stuff. What happened to you anyway? You look like you were run down by a semi.”

“We got into a little rumble with Bruno and the boys. Lucca pulled me out of the ruckus and got us both away. I was trying to find out who they are working for. It backfired on me.”

He slipped back into a doze.

I shook him again. “Zack, listen. I think I know who might be involved in Berengaria’s jewels. Wake up.”

He groaned into the couch.

What a time for him to be out cold.

I ran to the bar and searched the cupboard for coffee, got a pot going, drew a big glass of ice water, filled a bowl with same, soaked a towel and wrung it out. I carted towel and glass over to the coffee table and wrestled Zach into a sitting position which took a while since he was dead weight.

“No time to sleep now, Zach, dear. We need to talk.” I placed the towel around his neck and put the glass to his lips.

“Try to drink this.”

He curled his lips around the rim and slurped a few gulps, most of it dribbling down his chin. His eye was turning an unhealthy shade of magenta and, with his unshaved face, he looked decidedly derelict.

He gazed at me, bleary eyed.

“Zach, do you think you could walk?”

He wobbled at me like one of those dog statues on the back ledge of a car that bobbles its head as you drive by.

“Claudie, I can’t keep you focused. Forgive me for shutting my eyes. I’m afraid I’m no good to you right now.”

“Hold on.” I jumped up and rushed over to pour him a cup of black coffee.

“Here, it’s coffee, try to get some down. Maybe it will help you wake up.”

“Don’t want to wake up. Just want to sleep,” he said and flopped over. He mumbled into the couch.

I pushed him carefully over on his back so I could understand him.


“They know …” and the words slurred into a burble.

“What do they know?” I shook him. What was he trying to say?

“Claudie …”

“What Zach? Take your time. Tell me what you want to say. It’s important.”

“You need to get out of here. I’m sorry I pulled you into …” He drifted off.

I blew out a breath. This was exasperating. What was he trying to say?

“Zach, listen to me, please. My aunt is here. She thinks she’s engaged to Mr. Bellomo. I think he wants her as a hostage till he gets the jewels. The American couple may be the link to the widows and the jewels. Zach, can you hear me?”

His eyes blinked open, and I thought I saw recognition. I wondered how long the drug would take to wear off. One thing I knew, I wasn’t going to abandon Zach at this stage after all I had invested in him. How was I going to get us out of here? I stared out the French doors to the sea, turning deeper blue in the waning light of day.

Water. The yacht. We could leave by sea. The yacht was at the end of the peer. I’d never piloted a boat in my life, but I was a fast learner, and I needed one for our escape.

“Zach, I’m going to leave. You rest. Do you understand? I’ll be back. I’m looking for a way to escape. Do you know anything about boats?”

“Boats,” he whispered as I arranged his limbs in a more comfortable position. I applied more ice to his cheek and checked his bruises and cuts. He had bruises down his right side over the ribs. I hoped the other guys looked worse. I propped his head so the ice pack lay against his cheek and sat back to drink the cup of coffee I’d poured. And think.

The lovebirds might be back from the beach by now. Long shadows were creeping into the room. The lowering sun lit the eastern horizon in rosy hues. Sitting there watching the light change through the French doors, I could have been enjoying the aftermath of a day on the beach. But I wasn’t. I had gotten sucked into the world of criminals, and Zach was one of them.

I decided as soon as it was dark, I would try to get to the yacht. My aunt and I could go for a walk. That was it. I jumped up, decided to put on the little black dress that was still flung over the couch where I had left it, make myself presentable and find my aunt so she could take me for a walk. The two of us could get to the yacht which might have a phone. I’d call Yannis, alert him, and arrange a rendezvous.

I checked myself out in the mirror and shrieked. I looked like a witch. I took a quick shower, pulled my hair back into a ponytail and brushed on some mascara and blush. That was a bit better. As I was smoothing on lipstick, inspiration struck. In mysteries there was always a hidden staircase. I shook my head. No, that was farfetched. But this was a big house and every time the servants came upstairs did they use that long winding staircase in the main hall? I bet not. I bet they had their own staircase. Why not hidden ones? I started to check around.

The hidden stairs were always in the library in mystery novels. But this suite had no library. However, there was a little alcove in the bedroom that had bookcases. I went to investigate. From the edge of the king size bed, I studied the alcove with the bookshelves and cabinets. There wasn’t much in the way of books. The shelves sported figurines and bowls with Greek designs in gold and black enamel. A rather ornate candelabrum sat in the middle of the bottom shelf, gold of course.

To the side of that cabinet was a floor-to-ceiling louvered panel that matched the white shelves. This panel seemed to have no function beyond mere decoration. I walked over and started pushing the panel, looking for something like hinges or door knobs. I didn’t have long to look. The louvered panel had a recessed hold on the side. I slid the panel to the right and exposed another door that opened to descending stairs.

Why hadn’t I thought of this before? Eureka. The question was, where did the steps go and did they offer any means of escape? Down I went. These were no back stairs in the sense of cement steps and cinder block walls. No, they were polished wood as were the walls, and they had the fragrance of the cedars of Lebanon. Even the back stairs were first class in this palace.

As it turned out, they were not the servant stairs at all. They were stairs to a corridor that led to the patio surrounding the acres of pool I had seen from the roof. Of course, why wouldn’t each room have their own access to the millionaire’s playground?

Beyond the ameba shaped pool, sporting a fountain in the middle, was the beach, the dock, and the yacht. Lounge chairs lined the side of the pool, enough for a cruise ship. Palm trees swayed in the breeze. The black rocks that formed the cliff side of the house gave way to a beach of white sand, bright even in the dimming light. Underwater lights in the pool lit the area. I kept to the shadows and shrubbery around the perimeter of the pool.

Not a soul enjoyed the beauty of the beach area. No one swam in the pool. A breeze off the sea ruffled the palms. The sound of water splashing from the fountain in the pool made me want to jump in. The scene was a good time waiting to happen.

I found it odd that such a gorgeous house had so little activity. It seemed like there should be a crowd of party people having the time of their lives. But no one crowded around the bar with thatched roof at the end of the pool nearest the house. Maybe this was an off day.

Alone, I stood in the shadows watching to see if anyone moved, if anyone came out for an evening swim or to enjoy a cocktail by the pool. Not a soul. Keeping to the shadows, I followed the house, peeking in windows. They were enormous, the kind you’d find in a room with a view, with crank out side windows. A little further on light spilled out a window onto the walkway. I eased along in the shadows toward the light, my black dress helping me blend in. I inched between shrubs, the mulch warm against my bare feet, giving off the heat it had stored up during the day. I stopped short of an open window. A single lamp gave off weak light onto the soft gray of the stone walk.

I ventured a peek in the window. There, reading a newspaper, sat Mr. Bellomo looking like anyone’s favorite Grandpa. He held the newspaper at arm’s length, demonstrating a need to pay a visit to the optometrist for a new prescription. The gold frames of his glasses glittered in the lamplight. Half a glass of red wine sat on the table beside him. The brilliant white hair on his head, worn short and brushed back, was thinning in the back. His fingernails were perfectly manicured. He wore a short sleeve shirt that showed off his tanned arms. He looked like your local friendly golfer on the nineteenth hole.

What mesmerized me was not how he looked, but what he was reading. He was staring at the front page of the English newspaper, the local paper that served the British population. My photo looked out from the front page side-by-side with a photo of my aunt. The caption read “American Tourists Sought in Antiquities Theft”.