At ten after nine the following morning, Kathy Brogan was
sitting in the first class section of a jet bound for Munich. It was the best
connection to reach Santorini Island in Greece.
As she sat there nursing a scotch on the rocks and watching
flight attendants scurry around preparing the plane for departure, she felt an
odd mix of emotions. Even though she was outraged at Elaine for forcing her to
return home to her monstrous husband, she marveled at the way her grown
daughter had stood up to her, at Elaine’s strength, courage and resolve. Despite
the fact that Kathy had only raised Elaine until age ten, and admittedly had
not been a very good mother even during those years, she could not help feeling
proud of her daughter. Elaine had blossomed into a bold, strong, confident
woman.
Before the plane took off, Kathy was tempted to ask the
flight attendant for another drink. Playing the role of “the perfect grandmother”
for the weekend had also been a challenge, to say the least. If smoking had
been allowed on the plane, she would have sucked through a whole pack of
cigarettes right then and there. But she was exhausted from her grilling the night
before and was afraid more alcohol, on an empty stomach, might just knock her
out. Elaine and Luna had interrogated her over the video conferencing link for
almost two more hours after she’d agreed to their plan, asking her detail after
detail about Spyro’s requirements and tastes that might relate to hiring Elaine
as Gwen’s replacement, if she could manage to get Gwen fired.
She found herself seriously questioning Elaine’s plan. It
seemed crazy to her—risky, and extremely dangerous. Would it really work? Even
if she could get rid of Gwen, could Elaine really convince Spyro to hire her
without him getting suspicious?
Kathy had no idea how undercover police operations worked,
but Elaine, Luna and Nick were certainly well-versed in that kind of thing, and
they seemed reasonably confident. Kathy supposed it was just a matter of having
no other options—she apparently hadn’t brought enough evidence on Spyro to have
him thoroughly investigated, let alone arrested, and this seemed like the only
way to gather more information.
Live and learn, she thought, and sipped on the
remains of her drink as the plane bumped through the clouds. When she’d sought
out Elaine a few days ago, she’d been sure that all she would have had to do
was to hand over the financial data, and that her daughter, being a federal law
enforcement agent, could have Spyro arrested and put away. But what did she
know about any of this? She was nothing but a housewife, after all. Even
pulling her ace in the hole and telling Elaine about Spyro having Patrick
killed hadn’t been enough.
Two hours later, the jet was well on its way to Munich. Kathy
would have been well on her way to being drunk, too, if she hadn’t summoned the
willpower to put on the brakes. She was desperate for the chemical fixes to
cope with the fact that she had to go back and live with Spyro, even
temporarily, but that was precisely why she needed to keep her wits about her.
When the jet touched down in Germany, Kathy’s stress
reached a fever pitch. Now that she was actually about to change planes and
take the final leg home, she was having a full-blown anxiety attack, complete
with sweaty palms and a racing heartbeat. She had no idea if Spyro had
discovered that she’d broken into his safe since she’d left. What she had told
Elaine about him only opening the safe on Fridays was true, but Spyro always
had the unpleasant habit of surprising her. For all she knew, he had already
discovered the theft of the documents, and the money, and launched an
international manhunt for her.
As Kathy walked through the terminal in Munich to catch the
connecting flight home, she took in a few deep, steady breaths to calm herself,
and then pulled out her cell phone. No way would she go home without making
absolutely sure Spyro had not discovered anything missing from the safe. She
would call Vasilis, Spyro’s driver, inform him that she was coming home, and
ask him to pick her up at the airport. By carefully listening to his reaction,
she would know if the coast was clear—Vasilis was a terrible liar. If she
sensed that Spyro had found out what she’d done, all bets were off—she would
simply exit through baggage
claim
here, go straight to the departure hall, and buy a ticket for some other
destination, anywhere, the first flight out. She tried not to think about the
implications of taking that drastic action...starting her life over from
scratch, working as a cashier or waitress, living in near-poverty under a fake
identity, and hiding from her maniacal husband the rest of her life. Everything
they owned was in his name.
Without Spyro, she was penniless.
The mere thought of it made her hands shake so much she
could barely grip her cellphone.
There were only two rings before Vasilis answered.
“
Embros,” he said casually, as always
. His
voice sounded normal enough—he had to have seen on his phone’s display that it
was her calling.
“Vasilis, it’s Kathy,” she said with her mouth dry, trying
to sound relaxed.
“Tell me.” The
Greeks always started their conversations that way. “I hope you having
pleasant time in
Parisi?”
“Yes I did, thank you.” She was immensely relieved. Vasilis
was behaving in an absolutely normal way and seemed to be his ordinary, relaxed
self. “I’m on my way home now. I’ll be arrivin’ on the flight from Munich at
three-twenty this afternoon—would it be possible to pick me up at the airport?”
He hesitated. “I am sorry, Madame
. Mister Leandrou
want me pick him up at—”
“Never mind,” Kathy said. “I’ll just take a taxi.”
Spyro Leandrou’s primary residence was located one hundred
and twenty miles from the Greek mainland, near the town of Oia, on Santorini
Island. Santorini is the southernmost island of the Cyclades chain, and the
village Oia is its crown jewel. The picture-postcard town is built on a gently
sloping caldera formed by an ancient volcano, with many of the houses carved
right into the volcanic stone. Although these so-called “cave houses” are
naturally Cubist in their design, due to their form, they look like they might
have been shaped that way on purpose by some forward-thinking architect. Their
creamy white walls, graceful arches, smoothly-rounded corners, doors and window
frames, usually painted in a contrasting royal blue, can make some of them
appear ultra-modern, even futuristic. These unique dwellings cascade down the
gentle slope of the caldera all the way to the teal Aegean Sea. Photographs
taken from the uppermost point, with the brilliant white houses and blue domes
in the background, have become a signature image for travel agencies and
airlines offering tourism packages to the Mediterranean.
Spyro’s villa was no less picturesque, perched on one of
the lower cliffs on the north side of the town, some of the walls actually
carved into the caldera rock, like the other cave houses. In the fashion of the
local churches, his villa featured two large domes, also blue, one crowning the
sprawling living room, which offered a breathtaking view of the sea and Nea
Kameni, a mountainous volcanic island only a mile across the water. The other
dome was an open, “floating” design over the patio, forming the Greek version
of a gazebo.
Besides the usual features of a multi-million dollar home—indoor
swimming pool, home movie theater, wine cellar, gym, Turkish sauna, and Russian
banya—Spyro’s latest addition was a fifty foot outdoor climbing wall, with
built in handholds and footholds, for his beloved son Alexander to practice on.
As the taxi rolled down the winding road and this
verifiable Greek palace came into view, Kathy mused that most women would have
been overjoyed to live in such luxury, with maids and cooks and gardeners to
attend to one’s every whim. And perhaps Kathy would have, too, if Spyro hadn’t
been such a cold, conniving bastard.
The taxi driver knew exactly where the house was located—all
the locals in Oia knew the home, because it was the largest house in the entire
town, the sprawling property alone worth a fortune.
The driver stopped the car at the guardhouse with a silly
grin on his face—apparently, the fact that he would have the coveted privilege
to actually drive his taxi
through the gate and all the way to the front
door of the hallowed property raised his status to the celebrity level.
The guard on duty, one of Spyro’s innumerable cousins,
leaned out the window to see who was in the back. Kathy waved at him. The guard
nodded and pushed the button to open the gate.
Kathy glanced out at the scenery as they drove down the
long driveway...at the huge Grecian urns that were artfully placed on the
perfectly manicured grass...at the arched trellises that supported climbing
roses...the Balinese teak garden benches on either side of the front door. When
she had left this dreaded place three days ago, it had been with some sadness
that it was the last time she would ever glimpse any of these elegant little
touches, or Spyro’s unpleasant Greek face, except maybe when she passed him in
the hallway of the courthouse with their lawyers in tow.
And now she had to live with the bastard again.
Hopefully, not for long. Kathy told herself to focus on the
tasks at hand.
First, put the papers and money back into his safe without
anyone seeing her.
Then find a way to get Gwen fired.
She had already thought of the obvious ways of having a
governess dismissed—planting some small but valuable item that belonged to the
family in Gwen’s room or belongings, or remove some money from Spyro’s wallet
in a situation where he thought Gwen was the only possible culprit. Kathy didn’t
feel guilty about getting Gwen fired this way. Elaine had assured her that no
matter how the deed was carried out, they would be doing the young governess a
big favor by getting her away from Spyro Leandrou. Elaine told her that if
Spyro’s illegal activities were even half of what Kathy claimed they were, Gwen
would be interrogated by the police due to her close relationship with Spyro,
and if they thought she was aware of any of it, she might be charged as an
accomplice. When they were done with their complete plan and Spyro was arrested
and convicted, Spyro Leandrou would be the last person Gwen would want to be connected
with, let alone list on her résumé as her previous employer.
Despite this, Kathy didn’t like the idea of framing Gwen
for theft. It was just too crude and obvious. She wanted the girl to have a
hand in her own undoing, behave in some unethical or immoral or disloyal way,
for at least a part of the culpability to be on Gwen’s shoulders. This wasn’t
because Kathy had any scruples about what she was doing—she was simply afraid
that a straight framing of the governess might not stick. Worse, if Spyro found
out Kathy had framed his precious Gwen, there was no telling what he would do.
Kathy had never really been able to decide if she liked
Gwen or not. The Canadian governess was plenty smart and competent, but was
otherwise a rather plain young woman, unmarried at twenty-nine, already a
little spinsterish, Kathy thought. Gwen had pale skin and was tomboyish, the
type of character not widely appreciated by the opposite sex. Her body was
muscular but bony, with modest breasts. Her blonde hair was cut into a wedge
that really didn’t suit her round face. Worse, the hairstyle revealed an ugly,
raised mole on the back of her neck. If the unsightly thing were on Kathy’s
neck, she would have either had it removed or wore her hair long.
Kathy suspected that Gwen was a lesbian.
But surely the girl isn’t honest and trustworthy all
the time Kathy thought. No one was perfect. Every human being had weaknesses.
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