Killing Her Softly (16 page)

Jimmy answered. “Platania Astonomía. Police Station."

"Simon here. Could you come over to the Adams house?” With terse economy of words, he explained about Leslie and the body.

Jimmy didn't ask questions. “I'll be right there."

Simon sat down beside Leslie, offering her sips of water, until the battered Land Rover chugged into the driveway. She hadn't said a word, merely nodding when he told her Jimmy was on the way.

"Is she all right?” Jimmy asked, jumping out of the vehicle.

"She will be,” Simon said, although the continued blank look on Leslie's face bothered him. “I'd like to get her away from here."

"Just let me look around first. The attic, you say?"

Jimmy loped into the house. Simon shook his head at his eagerness. This would probably be the highlight of Jimmy's tenure in Platania.

To his surprise, Leslie lifted her head, the beginnings of a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “I still think he looks too young to be a cop,” she said. “Yes,” she added, the smile widening, “I'm alive again. The water did the trick."

"Thank God,” he said fervently. “I was worried."

She reached out and touched his cheek, her fingers rasping over the beard stubble, reminding him that in his rush to find the missing keys he hadn't taken time to shave that morning.

He forced a smile. “As soon as Jimmy comes back, I'm taking you to my house. Close to the sea, it's cooler. And you'll be safe."

"Simon, there's a box in the attic I'd like to look at, near the door. Could we get it out?"

"I'll find out."

Jimmy emerged from the house and threw himself down on a chair. He raked his fingers through his hair, making the closely trimmed strands stand on end. Sweat left dark patches on his uniform shirt. “She's been there for a couple of years, I'd say. I've called for a forensic expert. He'll have to come from Kerkira. It'll be at least an hour. I'll have to wait for him.” He looked at Leslie. “Could you give me a statement, Mrs. Adams?"

"Later?” Simon suggested.

"Later is fine.” Jimmy indicated the house with a toss of his head. “She's not going anywhere."

"Is it all right if I take Leslie down to my place?” Simon asked. “The house is going to be in an uproar when your expert comes."

"Fine.” Jimmy smiled faintly. “Just don't leave town."

Simon drove the little Renault through the outskirts of the village and down a side street before turning onto a rough track lined with drying grass. The car bumped through an olive grove heady with the fragrance of Spanish broom. Leslie leaned back in the seat, gazing out at the pattern of light through dusty green leaves. They rustled like the distant whisper of voices, and she shivered.

Shaking off the gloomy thought, she glanced over at Simon. Without his T-shirt, which he'd tossed in the trash as soon as she'd recovered, the hard muscles of his shoulders were visible, flexing when he shifted gears and steered down the twisting road. Glossy black curls covered his chest, and her palms suddenly itched to feel the contrast between the brown satin skin and the crisp hair.

She tore her gaze away, instead studying his hands; they were broad across the palms with long, slender fingers. He handled the steering wheel with the easy skill of a racing driver, but the grim set of his jaw betrayed his tension. His silence made her nerves scream.

They came out of the trees, emerging onto a narrow track running parallel to the beach.

"This is where I live,” Simon said, stopping the car under a grape arbor.

The whitewashed house hugged the land, the varied angles of the red-tiled roof showing how rooms had been added on as needed over the years. A profusion of flowers grew in the small courtyard behind a low stone wall separating the garden from the beach.

"Your garden is lovely,” she said inanely, in a effort to banish the feeling that nothing would ever be normal again.

"Thank you.” He stopped the car and killed the engine. “Let's get you inside, where it's cooler."

To her chagrin, she nearly fell on her face when she stepped out of the car. Her legs felt like overstretched rubber. Simon's face tightened, and he swung her up into his arms.

He took her inside. She had only an impression of cool halls and the scent of orange blossoms before he deposited her on a wide bed in a room darkened by lowered shutters.

"My room,” he said. “The guest room isn't made up. You'll be fine here for a while. Take a nap. I'll bring you something to drink."

He pulled a sheet over her, ignoring her token protest. A ceiling fan wafted fresh air around the room, and her eyelids fell closed, as if weighted. “Thanks.” Her lips formed the word but she was asleep before it found utterance.

She woke slowly. For a moment, she lay without moving, breathing deeply and savoring a feeling of well-being. Where was she? It didn't seem to matter as she turned, wrapping the sheet around her.

She sat up suddenly, realizing she was dressed. It wasn't night although the light in the room had dimmed. The events of the morning flooded back. The attic. The heat. The body.

Her eyes skittered around the room. Simon's room, she remembered now. On the night table stood a glass of fruit juice, condensation trickling down its sides. She lifted it, drinking deeply. Ice cubes clinked against the side of the glass, and she sucked one of them into her mouth, welcoming the cold.

Getting up, she pulled the strap that raised the shutters. The sound of voices drifted through the open window. She leaned out, but saw no one.

Going into the well-equipped bathroom, Leslie rinsed her face with cold water. She found Simon in the kitchen, a small, homey room lined with beautifully crafted pine cabinets.

"How are you?” he asked.

"Okay. Were you talking to someone?"

"Jimmy came by. He says you can go back to the house, if you want. It'll be a few days before he has an autopsy report."

A chill ran through her, and she shivered, her face paling.

"They took away the body, then?"

"Yes. He said not to disturb the attic, though, in case an investigator wants to have another look.” Simon opened the fridge door. “How about a drink? I've got orange juice, lemonade, white wine."

"Lemonade will do, please."

As he poured it out and handed her a glass, he searched her face. Gently he laid one finger beneath her eyes. “You've got black circles. You need more rest."

"Thanks,” she said with a faint edge to her voice.

"You can stay here tonight.” The words were casual, but a flicker of emotion in his eyes told her the invitation was not.

She grasped the lemonade glass between her palms, anchoring herself to the cold wetness. She was acutely aware that Simon's invitation carried more than an offer of a bed. He was offering himself, as well, and asking her to accept that offer.

Was she ready for this? She and Jason had formally separated two years ago, but they hadn't shared the same room for at least a year before that. Sex had not been a priority in her life, but Simon stirred feelings in her she didn't understand. And it was tempting to immerse herself in them, to forget the horror of her discovery.

And yet, she was scared. Could she really give herself to another man, share that intimacy of body and soul with him?

"You didn't happen to see a stray bunch of keys, did you?” Simon's voice cut through her indecision.

She almost gulped in relief that he wasn't going to push it.

Groping in her pocket, she pulled them out. “These? Baby brought them to me this morning.” The color abruptly drained out of her face, her skin turning icy cold. “How did you know about the keys?"

She struggled to her feet, her balance shaky, and braced her hands on the table. “What's happened to Jason?” Her voice rose. “You know something, don't you? That's why you asked all the questions, didn't you?"

Simon let his eyes fall closed, and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Leslie, please. I found the keys. In the car, after Jason's accident."

"So you could have gotten into the house.” Her strength gone, she sat down again. “I knew I shouldn't have trusted you."

"Leslie, it wasn't like that—” He swallowed hard, visibly fighting for control. “Look, Leslie, if I'd had a key this morning, I wouldn't have had to break into your house.” He dragged the collar of his shirt aside, revealing the jagged, red scrape on his shoulder. “This didn't exactly tickle, you know."

Remorse filled her, but not enough to drive out the demons of distrust formed during her childhood and reinforced by Jason. “I'm sorry,” she said. “But I have to go. Goodbye, Simon."

She walked briskly out the door to her car, a rush of adrenaline overcoming the shaking in her legs. Thrusting the key into the ignition, she cranked over the engine. It coughed and stalled. She tried again, and it started. She glanced over at the house. Simon stood in the doorway, his expression unreadable, but he made no move to stop her. She stepped on the clutch. Gears grinding harshly as the wheels spun in the loose gravel, she drove off.

Leslie sat on the window seat in the bare dining room long after dusk stole across the sky and shrouded the garden in gloom. Her stomach felt hollow and empty, but she ignored it, knowing she would never be able to force a bite of food past the constriction in her throat.

The house gave her a creepy, spooky feeling, but where else could she go?

The gray cat crept across the hardwood floor on silent paws. He meowed inquiringly before jumping up beside her. She lowered her knees and gathered him onto her lap. “Oh, cat,” she murmured into the velour-soft fur, “what am I going to do?"

She had been ready to trust Simon. More than trust him.

And now she realized he could be behind the attempts on her life.

No! Her logical mind rebelled. No. If he intended to kill her, he wouldn't have rescued her from the attic. But the fact remained that he knew more about Jason's death than he'd told her. And he'd had a key to the house all along. She couldn't help but feel betrayed.

The cat purred in her arms, but she drew little comfort from his warmth. It was starting all over again, her involvement with a man who couldn't be trusted. She'd begun to like Simon, to believe in his integrity.

But she'd been wrong before, hadn't she? She'd given Jason her trust and her loyalty. And he'd eventually counted both as no more valuable than dust.

Hadn't she learned? Not a hell of a lot, apparently.

She was standing at the stove, scrambling a couple of eggs for a late supper when the cat ran, meowing happily, to the door. A moment later, a heavy fist landed on the panels.

She opened it, scowling, hoping to discourage him. She might have known Simon wouldn't stay away, not only because of her precipitate departure but because of his protective instincts, knowing she was all alone in the house she was beginning to think was haunted.

"Yes?” she said coldly.

"May I come in?” Steady eyes, no hint of apology.

The absence of guilt in his demeanor shook her resolve.

"Why?"

"Because we have a number of things to talk about.” He picked up the cat that was fawning at his feet.

"And if I say we don't?” The sight of those strong fingers gently kneading the cat's fur reminded her of how they'd felt on her face, gently washing moisture back into her skin, checking her pulse.

He must have sensed the falseness of her bravado. A smile played across his lips. “I'm bigger than you, so if I want to come in, you can't stop me."

His humor sent some of her demons into hiding. “I guess that's true.” Not allowing herself to smile in return, she stepped aside. But she wasn't going to fall for any sweet talk, she reminded herself, stiffening her spine. Not ever again. “Have you eaten?” she asked, gesturing at the pan. “I can add a couple of eggs."

"Thanks. I'm okay. I ate a while ago.” He pulled out a chair and straddled it, resting his arms on the back. “Have you heard from the solicitor?"

"Not so far.” Leslie transferred the eggs to a plate, adding tomatoes she'd cut up earlier, and a couple of slices of bread. She put them on the table and sat down to eat.

"Why don't you call their office and see if they've made any progress?” Simon said after a moment.

"Yes, I'll do that.” Leslie swallowed the last mouthful of salad. “Did you get the box from the attic this morning?” she asked, casting a troubled look at the ceiling.

"Yeah. Jimmy said it was okay. Do you want me to bring it in here?"

She cleared away her dishes and spread the contents of the box on the table. Within twenty minutes she knew she'd been right about the box. It held ledgers detailing Jason's business. At least that was what she assumed they were, because the entries consisted of dates and amounts of money. No words appeared anywhere, only cryptic combinations of numbers and letters that didn't appear to follow any set pattern.

"Some kind of code,” Simon suggested. “Not that it matters, if he's dead. The business died with him."

"Except for Harlan Gage,” Leslie said slowly. “If it's true what he said. And unless we know for sure whose side he's on, I can't ask him what this all means."

She closed the last ledger and lifted it to return it to the box. It was then that she noticed the corner of an envelope protruding from the crossed flaps at the bottom of the cardboard box. She dropped the ledger and pulled it out. Words typed on the envelope jumped out at her: Last Will and Testament of Jason Adams.

"What's that?” Simon asked, tiredly rubbing his eyes.

A broad smile spread over Leslie's face. “No wonder that solicitor in Athens was so vague about Jason's affairs, mumbling something about an incomplete will. I think we just found the will, and I'm sure they'll be most interested to have it."

To her disappointment, Simon didn't look impressed. “Tomorrow. We'll call him tomorrow.” He got up, yawned, and stretched. “It's late."

He paused, looking straight at her, and added in a tone she knew better than to argue with. “I'm staying tonight.” Going to the kitchen door, he opened it and brought in a small duffel bag. “And before you go all Victorian maiden on me, I'm sleeping down here, where I'll know if anyone tries to get in any of the doors."