Angie feared she’d have to drag Connie to get her to return to the Athina for dinner. She’d called Paavo at work, hoping he could join her before that evening’s TV appearance, but she had no luck reaching him. That was happening a lot lately. When he was working, she didn’t like to call his cell phone unless it was an emergency. She’d interrupted him in the middle of an important, delicately balanced interrogation one time too many and didn’t want to hear any more lectures about it. Instead, she’d turned to her best friend.
She had to admit that the more she was learning about Hannah, the more curious she grew about her and the restaurant. Besides, the food was excellent. That was when inspiration struck. “You didn’t try the baklava last time,” Angie said, “but I’ll tell you, it’s to die for.”
Connie decided the restaurant wasn’t so bad after all. They discussed their strategy on the drive over. They didn’t want to ask questions outright, since Hannah had been afraid of something or someone there and they didn’t want anyone to think they knew more than they did. They also agreed not to say a word about Stan or the baby.
Instead, they’d find a friendly face and see what developed.
Rather than the familiar Tyler Marsh or Eugene Leer greeting them, however, the hostess was an older woman with short brown hair, attractively made up.
She showed them to a booth against the wall and soon a waitress they’d never seen before greeted them. Her hair was dyed black and her black-penciled brows were long and sweeping in a classic Greek look. She must be Eleni Pappas, Angie thought, the mother of Tyler’s jealous girlfriend, Olympia.
After ordering stuffed artichokes and pastitsio for herself, and moussaka for Connie, Angie decided it was time to check out the place. She headed for the women’s room. A short hall at the back of the restaurant led to it, but when she entered the hall, she opened the first door she came to. It was a closet filled with brooms, mops, and cleaning supplies. Quickly, she shut it.
The bathrooms were farther down the hall. Instead of going toward them, she hurried across the dining room and marched into the kitchen.
People always say not to enter a restaurant’s kitchen if you ever want to enjoy a meal in it again. To a degree, that was right. She’d seen worse, but the smell of fish, more than the grease and the generally old pots and pans and appliances that were being used, was the most distasteful.
Michael Zeno turned and scowled at her, capturing her with deep-set hazel eyes. She couldn’t move. “Ah, the little restaurant critic,” he said. “What do you want, to inspect the restaurant’s kitchen now?”
“No. I must have been daydreaming. I’m looking for the women’s room. I guess I walked past it.”
He strolled toward her, a large man, yet with a strong, almost animal-like sexuality about him. Her mouth went dry. “What are you looking for? Or should I say whom? Hannah, perhaps?” His lips tightened. “I saw her with your friend. Everyone did. She was a good, obedient girl until you two came along. Now she’s gone.”
“I’m sorry. I had nothing to do with it.”
“If you see her, tell her I want her back. Tell her Michael will take care of her.”
Angie’s heart was thumping wildly as she hurried from the kitchen. After a quick trip to the bathroom to maintain her cover story, as well as to regain her composure, she returned to Connie. “Nothing, except Michael Zeno may be on to us and Hannah. He asked me where she is.”
Connie’s face went pasty white. “That’s what I was afraid of.”
As they ate, another couple walked into the restaurant. The man was tall and broad-shouldered, with graying blond hair slicked straight back off his forehead. The woman with him was also blond and looked about twenty years younger.
Eleni grabbed menus. “Welcome,” she said, “right this way.” She started toward Angie and Connie.
“We’re not here to eat,” the man bellowed. “My name is Lance Vandermeer. This is my wife. I demand to speak to Tyler Marsh.”
“I’m sorry, he worked earlier today. He’s already gone home,” Eleni answered meekly.
The man glanced at the woman at his side, then to Eleni. “You have a young woman working here, I understand. May we see her? Hannah, I believe her name is.”
Eleni paled. “She hasn’t been here for a few days.”
“A few days?” Vandermeer bellowed. “What do you mean? Where is she?”
“I don’t know,” Eleni answered, nervously backing away. “Let me ask the cook.”
“Find out how I can locate her,” Vandermeer snapped.
“Yes, sir.”
Connie started to speak when Angie shushed her. She was leaning toward the couple, trying to listen, wishing she could move to a table even closer to them.
“She had the baby!” Mrs. Vandermeer said, elation clear in her voice. “I just know it. Lance, isn’t it wonderful?”
“Quiet, Frieda.” He spoke in low tones. “I don’t like this. I don’t like this at all.”
Michael Zeno came out of the kitchen and eyed the couple, his expression harsh. “Who are you?” he asked fiercely. “What do you want with Hannah?”
Vandermeer glared back at him a moment, then spat out the word, “Nothing.” He took his wife’s arm and pulled her from the restaurant.
Angie sat and pondered what she’d just heard. Did anything here make sense? Increasingly nervous, she and Connie decided now wasn’t the time to question anyone about Hannah or anything else. Their dinner half finished, they left as well.
“Wait!”
Angie turned at the sound and saw the hostess running toward them.
“What’s going on with Hannah?” she asked.
“The missing waitress?” Angie asked innocently.
Connie stood mute.
“Don’t play dumb,” the woman countered. “I saw her and your neighbor on the dock. I saw the way she looked at him. I don’t know who else she would have gone to.”
Angie looked heavenward. What did those two do on the dock, for pity’s sake? “Who are you?” she demanded.
“Gail Leer. My husband owns Athina. I’m Hannah’s friend. Her only friend.” Gail looked over her shoulder back toward the restaurant. “Let’s walk. Let’s cross the street and head away from the wharf.”
Angie and Connie followed as she led them down a block. “I’m worried about her,” Gail said when they were out of sight of the restaurant. “Her baby is due and I know she doesn’t have any money or relatives around. I want to help. I’d planned to tell her that, but before I could, she disappeared.”
“She didn’t know you wanted to help?” Angie asked.
Gail chewed her bottom lip. “I never put it in so many words. I guess I thought she understood. Where is she?” She twisted her fingers with agitation. “I was sure she’d gone to your neighbor for help, especially since I saw him here several times. Something about her makes some men want to protect her, take care of her. And, in other cases, to use her.” She shut her eyes as if trying to erase some ugly memory. “She’s a sweet girl, an innocent, which is hard to believe in this day and age. Where is she?”
“If she’s so sweet, innocent, and loved, why would she leave and not tell anyone?” Angie asked. “Especially in her condition. Was she afraid of something? Someone?”
Gail’s gaze darted from side to side. “I…I don’t know. I’ve asked myself what I could have done to help her.”
“If you were a friend, why didn’t she go to you for help?” Angie asked. “Me and my neighbor are strangers to her. I don’t see a pregnant woman wanting a stranger to help her when she has friends, do you?”
“You think I’m lying about being her friend?” Gail shook her head woefully. “I’m not! I loved her like a daughter! Now, though…now she’s gone and I don’t know where. I’ve got to find her! She might be in danger.”
“Danger from what?” Angie asked.
Gail paused, searching their faces. When she answered, her tone had become stiff and formal. “The baby’s due anytime. Without help, it’s a dangerous situation.”
Angie caught Connie’s eye. Even Connie realized Gail was lying.
“She can trust me,” Gail pleaded. “You—both of you—can trust me. I wouldn’t hurt her. I’d protect her. Please tell me what you know.”
“Protect her from what?” Angie asked.
Gail shook her head again. “I don’t know,” she murmured. “You don’t understand.”
“Why do you think I know where she is?” Angie asked.
“Because I know Hannah!” With that, her frustration getting the better of her, she spun on her heel and headed back toward the restaurant.
Angie and Connie watched her a moment, then got into Angie’s car.
“What are you going to do?” Connie asked. “Something awful is going on at that restaurant. I can feel it.”
“That woman worries me,” Angie said. “There’s a lot she isn’t telling us.”