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Gabriel
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One by one, Gabe interviewed those on his list. He’d decided to go with a top-down approach, starting with the higher ups who lived on the estate and working downward from there. Getting a feel for the ones in charge would help him when it came time to approach the people who worked for them.
Thus far, he was not impressed. They’d answered his questions with barely leashed reluctance, and he got the feeling there was a lot more they weren’t saying. More telling, none of them seemed particularly worried or broken up over the fact that their boss was MIA.
Daskalakis remained close, shepherding him from one interview to the next and deftly answering questions without actually providing much in the way of information. For the most part, he afforded Gabe privacy during the actual Q & A, though he made sure his presence was known by lurking in the background.
Unsurprisingly, those interviews didn’t add much to what he already knew.
Sander Argyros, head of estate security, confirmed that no alarms had been triggered, nor had surveillance cameras captured anything out of the ordinary that would arouse suspicion or suggest foul play. He reluctantly agreed to provide Dawson with a copy of the footage from the night of the disappearance, which showed the arrival of the unknown mystery guest, but Argyros had only done so after Gabe assured him it would be treated with the utmost discretion.
The head of the kitchen staff, Maya Panagakos, confirmed that “the master” had requested a meal for two in his private dining room that evening and had given orders they were not to be disturbed once served. She provided Gabe with a detailed account of the meal and the time it was served, but could offer nothing more.
The head of the housekeeping staff, Phyllis Calligaris, confirmed that the private dining room had been cleared and cleaned the next morning and there had been no evidence to suggest anything had been amiss. Her husband, head groundskeeper Pearce Calligaris, said nothing unusual had been found or reported on the grounds, either.
By noon, Gabe hadn’t learned much in terms of actual information, though he now had a better idea of what he was up against. The staff had been grudgingly respectful, subdued and generally wary, either unable or unwilling to impart anything useful. They’d all had pretty much the same things to say. “Mr. Kristikos was a private man,” and “Mr. Kristikos was a fair and generous employer,” and while they had known him and his family for many years, they knew their place and didn’t stick their noses where they didn’t belong.
Gabe didn’t buy it. Their answers were too smooth, too practiced, to be completely believable. The lack of genuine emotion was suspect, too, especially coming from staff that had been around Christos Kristikos for most of his life.
Of course, their lack of outward reaction might be steeped in deep loyalty and the “perfect servant” mentality that required they never spill family secrets. He hoped Dawson and Mancini had had more luck.
He’d saved Virginia Miller for last. She was the anomaly among the live-in staff, the one who didn’t follow the same pattern. American-born, she might be more accepting of him and his questions than the others. Not to mention, depending on who was paying her bills—Christos or Darius—and the depth of her feelings for her boss, she might actually want to cooperate.
A small spark of anticipation fired in his chest as Daskalakis led him toward the west wing, into what appeared to be the more private section of the mansion. Virginia Miller’s office was set apart from the others. Gabe wondered exactly why that was.
She wasn’t in her office when they arrived, though a woman’s silhouette was plainly visible through a set of open French doors. She held something to her ear, her voice a barely audible soft murmur.
Gabe turned to Daskalakis, who continued to lurk at the threshold with the ghost of a scowl on his face. His constant presence had become increasingly irksome throughout the day. The chances that anyone was going to reveal anything useful with him around hovered between slim and none, but, he supposed, that was probably the point. If Gabe had learned anything useful about the workings of the household, it was that Daskalakis was at the top of the Kristikos employee chain of command and kept everyone else firmly beneath him and on a tight leash.
Miller’s office was a surprisingly modest space for the personal assistant of such a wealthy man. Unlike the other sections of the estate he’d seen, this one wasn’t an opulent display of wealth and privilege. It was simple. Comfortable. The room had a decidedly down-to-earth vibe, despite the obvious quality of the furnishings. Soft, neutral tones complimented the matching desk, shelves, and cabinets. Plants abounded. A set of French doors opened outward to a small veranda, the soft breeze teasing a set of semi-translucent sheers into a subtle dance.
Organized, neat, and secure, it was a functional but friendly working space. No papers were left lying about, the slim desktop monitor screen saver playing a slideshow of various nature scenes.
Several framed pictures were displayed on one of the shelves. Gabe took the opportunity to examine them while he waited. A faded photo of a young girl, maybe nine or ten, her arms wrapped around a big, shaggy Shepherd that was as tall as she was. A picture of that same girl years later, wearing a cap and gown, standing with an older woman. A wedding picture, the bride and groom beaming with happiness and promise.
Gabe frowned, feeling an irrational pang of dislike for the guy in the wedding photo. His hair and eyes were dark, his features not unlike those of the missing man. He wondered if that was coincidence, or if dark, exotic-looking guys were just her preferred type. It might go a long way in explaining her presence among the primarily-Greek staff.
He turned back to the desk, picking up a peculiarly shaped object. Slightly longer than his large hand, it was the shape of a flattened diamond. A glass tube, filled tiny metal balls and glittery bits suspended in liquid, was attached to the end. Curious, he held it up to the light for closer inspection. It was a kaleidoscope, he realized, but nothing like the cheap plastic ones he’d had as a kid. This one was heavy and finely crafted.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” asked a feminine voice from behind him. Soft, with a gentle lilt and just the hint of a Southern drawl, it instantly caused his balls to tighten. “Handmade, it’s a one-of-a-kind creation. Hold it up to the light, twist the glass tube, and see what happens.”
Feeling somewhat annoyed—both with his physical reaction and for not realizing she’d finished her phone conversation and entered the room—he did as she asked, peering through the lens to see colorful bursts of red, gold, blue, and white shifting in altering geometric patterns.
“Reminds me of Fourth of July fireworks,” he commented.
“Me, too,” she said, her voice rich and warm. “That’s exactly why I chose that one.” He lowered the kaleidoscope and looked down into the smiling face of Virginia Miller. That spark of anticipation flared, along with another stab of irritation. The woman was even more attractive in person than in her photos. Dressed in a conservative skirt and a shimmery blouse, there was a softness about her the camera hadn’t accurately captured.
Soft, he amended, but not fragile.
Her eyes, though, were just as clear and intelligent as they had been in the photo. Not even the fine wrinkles at the corners could detract from her beauty. On the contrary, they added to it. Gave her a dimension that younger women lacked. This was a woman who knew things.
She was smaller than he’d envisioned, too. If she stepped forward, her face would tuck nicely against his chest and . . .
Stop. Right. Fucking. There.
“My apologies for keeping you waiting. I’m Virginia Miller.”
She held out her hand, the first person at the estate to do so, and he took it. Her skin, like her voice, was warm and soft, her grip, pleasantly firm. And, unfortunately, had a similar effect. He compartmentalized that shit right away.
“Gabriel Michaels. And it’s no problem.”
“And who is this handsome fella?” she asked, smiling down at the hound by his side.
“That’s Fred.”
“Pleased to meet you, Fred.”
Fred gave her a big doggie grin and offered her his paw, earning a raised brow from Gabe. Apparently, Gabe wasn’t the only one affected by the intriguing Ms. Miller. Gabe had been trying to teach him how to shake for over a year, yet that was the first time the hound had actually done it without the promise of a treat in front of his nose.
Virginia shook his paw, gave his head an affectionate stroke, then straightened and turned to Daskalakis. “Thanks, Gregory. I’ll take it from here.”
For the briefest of moments, something flashed in the estate manager’s eyes. Disapproval, perhaps? Oh, yeah, Gabe thought as the moment stretched out, these two did not like each other.
Daskalakis’s features smoothed, but his eyes remained cold. “Of course. Commander, please let me know when you are finished here and I will escort you to the exit.”
“That’s not necessary. I can show the Commander out. I know how busy you are.”
Gabe remained silent, watching the exchange with interest. Virginia retained her smile, but her slightly-angled body and squared shoulders suggested she was accustomed to standing up to Daskalakis. Good for her. And, just maybe, good for him.
No, not good for him, good for the investigation.
Remarkably, it was Daskalakis who backed down first. The estate manager nodded stiffly toward Gabe, shot one last less-than-cordial glance at Virginia, then turned and walked away from the office. Once he was gone, some of the tension left Virginia’s shoulders.