TWELVE

The Trooper stepped inside and the screen door sprang back with a snap behind him. He wore his pressed gray uniform trousers tucked into the tops of his knee-high shiny black boots. He stared down at me and casually removed his mirrored aviator sunglasses, folding them and placing them in his front shirt pocket, under the badge and the nameplate that read “Lt. E. Hawthorne.”

“I’m Detective Hawthorne,” he said, unnecessarily. “I need to speak to”—he looked down at a notebook he’d flipped open—“Mrs. Nik-Nik—”

“I’m Mrs. Nikolopatos,” I said. “Please call me Georgie.” It’s about time the cops got here, I thought.

“Well, all right, Georgie.” The voice was deep, sonorous, and a bit scary, like some villain in a dark opera. I could picture him twirling his mustache as he plotted the demise of some fair young maiden. “Is there someplace we can talk privately?”

I glanced over at Dolly, who was fingering the gold crucifix in her bosom and staring at his butt predatorily.

“We can go into my office. I have something I need to talk to you about too.” I led him in and sat him down in the armchair. I sat at the desk facing him and waited for him to speak.

“Mrs.—uh, Georgie.”

“Yes?”

“I’m looking into the death of Domenic DiTomasso, sometimes known as Big Dom.”

“I’m not sure how I can help you.” This guy was definitely scary. I guess that’s a good thing in law enforcement.

“We understand that you and Mr.”—he consulted the notebook again—“Morgan found the body.”

“Yes, Keith was giving me a ride to the spa on Valentine Island when we found him.”

“You were just motoring on by and saw a floating body?” His tone was skeptical. My hackles rose.

“That’s right.”

“And you went over to investigate?”

“Yes.”

“Why did you disturb the body?”

I took a deep breath and refused to be baited. I’d seen enough winter reruns of cop shows to know that he was trying to throw me off balance and get me to admit to something.

“If you see someone floating in the water, you roll over the body and see if the person can be saved. That’s what we did.”

“It was too late, though, wasn’t it?”

“It was.”

“How well did you know the victim?”

“Not that well. I mean, I would see him around town, and we both own restaurants on the same street, so I knew him in a business sense.”

“What type of food do you serve at this restaurant?”

“I can show you a menu if you like. We serve Greek food, burgers, salads, steaks, and lobsters, with various specials throughout the week.”

“What type of food did the victim serve at his restaurant?”

“Basically the same, but Italian, at about the same prices. I don’t think he emphasized the seafood, though.”

“How many other restaurants are there nearby?” he said without looking up. He made some notes.

Was he not from around here? “The Sailor’s Rest and the Bonaparte House are the largest of the restaurants in the Bay. The rest are the diner, the pizza shop, the sub shop, and the hot dog stand at the docks.”

He pulled a stick of gum out of its paper wrapper and leisurely put it into his mouth. He made a few deliberate chews and swallowed. The prominent knob of his Adam’s apple bobbed up and down. “So, would you say that the Sailor’s Rest was your business competitor?”

“There’s enough business in this town for both of us,” I said defensively.

He locked eyes with me. My heart rate ticked up. I’d intended to tell the police about the threatening notes and about the search of our upstairs rooms. But this conversation was going in a direction I didn’t like and I couldn’t see a way to turn it around. Detective Hawthorne was treating me like a suspect rather than a victim.

“Where’s your husband?”

Crap. How much could I tell him without putting Spiro and Sophie in more danger? I could get Spiro killed. I needed time to think.

“He’s out of town,” I said.

“Really? Where is he?” The Trooper snapped his gum. “I’d like to talk to him.”

I thought fast. “He’s gone to Montreal for the week.”

“What’s he doing up there?”

“He’s on vacation.”

“In the middle of your busy season?”

I wanted to say that he didn’t do much around here anyway, but refrained. “His doctor said he should get away for a few days.”

“Does he have a medical condition?”

He would have a fatal medical condition if I couldn’t find the thing hidden in this house. “Just nerves. The stress of working seven days a week sometimes takes its toll on him.”

“How long have you been married?”

“Twenty years. We have a daughter who’s studying in Greece right now.”

“Are you aware that bigamy is illegal in this or any other state of the United States?”

Huh? He must have interviewed Inky and found out about his hopes for a future with Spiro.

“Uh, yes. I’d say virtually everyone knows that.”

“So how were you planning to legally marry Big Dom? Did you kill your husband so you could?”

“What?” I didn’t think I’d heard him right.

“The day before he died, Big Dom drove to Watertown and purchased a diamond ring.”

I shook my head in confusion. “Sorry—I don’t understand this.”

“He told the clerk at the jewelry store that he was planning to ask ‘the lovely Mrs. N’ to forget her husband and marry him, and that he was going to come into a lot of money very soon. The ring has not been found.” He leaned toward me. “So I’m asking you, how long had your affair been going on, what were you planning to do, and where’s the ring?”

I was floored. I barely knew Big Dom, and he had been going to ask me to marry him? Everyone in town knew I was already married to Spiro. Then it hit me. There was another Mrs. N in this house. And she was available. The Trooper must have known that—maybe he was just fishing for information. But maybe not. I had to get rid of this guy, and now. If the cops didn’t think I killed Dom, they might think Sophie had.

“I’m sorry, but I think your information is incorrect,” I said as evenly as I could. “I did not have any sort of relationship at all with Mr. DiTomasso. I must get back to work now. I have a restaurant to run.” I stood up.

“I’m not finished with my questions, ma’am.”

“But I am. If you want to speak to me again, you’ll need to arrange it through my lawyer.” I scribbled down the name of the local attorney who handled our business legal work. Whether he was qualified to represent a criminal client, I had no idea. “Good-bye.”

He took the paper and fastened it into his notebook with a paper clip that had been attached to the cover. “We’ll talk again, Georgie. I’m going to need to talk to your mother-in-law too. Maybe you’d both prefer to do it at the state police barracks.”

He stood up with maddening slowness and opened my office door, moving quite gracefully for a man of his size out through the kitchen and into the parking lot. Dolly stared after him, goggle-eyed. I considered handing her a napkin to mop up any drool that might have escaped her parted, frosty pink lips.

“Damn!” she said. “I wish Harold looked like that. He could interrogate me anytime.”

*   *   *

I headed up the stairs and banged on Sophie’s door. “Come in,” she said weakly.

I went inside and found her propped up on a mound of pillows, her bony legs stretched out in front of her on the yellow bedspread. I bet anything that if I had reached under those pillows I would have found that smut novel hidden away. She didn’t look tired at all anymore.

“Sophie, I’ve just had a visit from a State Trooper.”

She sat up and put her hand to her throat. “It isn’t . . . Spiro?” She seemed to shrink back again and I saw real fear in her eyes.

“He hasn’t turned up anywhere, if that’s what you mean.”

She relaxed. “What did he want?”

“He wanted to ask me some questions about Big Dom’s death.”

“Oh.” She began to fidget. I let her squirm.

“All right, Sophie, I know all about it,” I bluffed. “You might as well tell me before that Trooper comes back.”

She hesitated, then sat up straighter and began to fiddle with the fringe on one of her floral throw pillows.

“Sophie, I don’t have all day.”

She sighed, continuing to twist the fringe. “Domenic is—was—very handsome.”

Not in my book, but to each her own. “And?”

“He was in love with me, but I resist him.” Her eyes took on a dreamy quality that gave me the distinct impression she would not have resisted him forever.

“I don’t remember seeing the two of you together recently except that day he was in trying to buy the restaurant again.”

“We talk on the phone.”

“When?”

“Well, we don’t talk out loud so much.”

Curiouser and curiouser. “How did you communicate, then?”

“We use that message text. On the cell phone.”

Sophie had been texting Big Dom? She had a cell phone, but I had never seen her use it to make or receive a call, let alone text anyone.

“How did you learn how to send text messages?”

“Callista showed me before she left. I talk to her this way all the time,” she said proudly.

I wasn’t much of a texter, so I was mildly impressed.

“So you and Big Dom were writing back and forth.”

“Yes, many times a day. And night,” she added.

Please, I thought, don’t let her have been sexting with Big Dom. Or at least don’t let her tell me about it. “He tell me he’s in love with me ever since Basil died.” She looked very, very sad. “I think Domenic killed himself because I no accept him.”

“What do you mean, ‘accept him’?”

“He say he want to marry me. I no believe him, though. But then he bring me a ring, and I tell him I will think about it.”

I was floored, although I shouldn’t have been, given the information the Trooper had just told me. “When did this happen?”

“The day before he died.”

“Where is the ring?”

“I keep it here.” She patted her heart.

She was not generally a sentimental woman. “No, I mean where is the actual ring?”

“Right here.” She reached into the neckline of her blouse and pulled out a rose gold chain on which hung a platinum ring. A dazzling white central diamond of at least two carats was flanked by two smaller sparkling yellow stones—canary diamonds? Her metals didn’t match, but who cared? I was skeptical that that ring could have been bought in Watertown, which was a very small city. A ring of that quality and size would have to come from Syracuse or Manhattan, I would think.

I had been standing over her this whole time but now I sat down on the edge of the bed. I reached over and held up the platinum ring to the sunlight. I was rewarded with a stunning prismatic display that literally took my breath away. I did love jewelry, but I bought all my own now that my husband no longer felt the need to show me how much he loved me.

“Sophie, you must keep this ring hidden for now.”

“Why?” She bristled, though I felt sure that was what she had planned anyway, since she was wearing it inside her top and had not seen fit to mention that she had been proposed to.

A thought struck me. “You didn’t tell Marina or Dolly about this, did you?” That was all we needed. The place would be swarming with police and gossips and lookie-loos and I would not be able to protect her, or find the thing hidden in the house. Damn, the treasure.

“No-oh.” She drew the syllable out and I knew there was more.

“Did you tell, or not?”

She played with the pillow fringe some more before she answered. “I tell them I have a secret, but I no tell what it is.” She loved to torture people, so she was most likely telling the truth.

I had to ask. “Did you love him?”

“No. But I was thinking about loving him.” So she was not completely repulsed by Big Dom, and would have considered the marriage. She had taken the ring. “A woman my age has needs, you know.” She looked up at me defiantly.

Please, don’t tell me about your unfulfilled needs, I begged silently. I had plenty of my own, and I was decades younger than she.

“I’m still a young woman. Basil died too soon and left me alone.”

I was still married yet I was alone too. I could certainly understand how she might want some male companionship. I was surprised that she wanted to have it with Big Dom, though.

“I think he kill himself over me,” she reminded me.

“Sophie, I’ve heard that the police suspect murder.”

“Oh.” Her face fell. I guess it would theoretically be rather romantic, in a Shakespearean sort of way, to have someone commit suicide over you. “Who offed him?”

I suppressed a snort. “I don’t think anyone knows yet. Can you think of a reason someone would want to kill him?” I figured it was worth a try—she’d been secretly texting him for who knew how long now and might know something.

“He was talking about getting some money soon.”

“From where?”

“He no say.” Extremely unhelpful.

“How much money?”

“A lot of money. Georgie, I hear something.”

Oh, for crying out loud. She was always hearing something. “What is it?”

“Listen.” She leaned toward one wall and put her finger to her lips.

“I don’t hear anything.”

She let out a wail. “It’s Spiro. He’s dead!”

My heart started beating wildly. “Why do you say that?”

“Because I just hear his ghost! He said, ‘Mana.’”