Georgia made her way into Lake Geneva, turned on Broad, then drove down a short alley that opened into a parking lot. At the edge of the lot was a cheerful white-brick building with blue shutters and door. A sign on the door said, “Welcome to Saclarides.”
As she opened the door, a tantalizing mix of aromas greeted her: lemon, garlic, rosemary, and other spices she didn’t recognize. Her appetite revved up as if she hadn’t eaten in weeks. Saclarides was already there, standing at the back of the restaurant talking to an older, dark-haired woman.
Without his coat, she could see he had a great body: tall, muscular, slim hipped. A great butt, too. His nose was thin and long, his eyes widely spaced and brown. Despite living in a summer resort town, those eyes had seen their fill of trouble, she could tell. Right now, though, they radiated warmth and humor. She felt suddenly shy.
He waved her over. “Georgia, this is my aunt Ava. She and my mother run the place, but Mom’s not here today.”
Georgia smiled and shook the woman’s hand. “Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Saclarides.”
“It’s Aunt Ava, sweetheart. Everyone calls me that.” The woman beamed and led them to their number one booth, as she called it. A blue tablecloth covered the table, and a small vase with artificial flowers sat on top. She launched into a rapid-fire discourse of what Georgia assumed was Greek. Jimmy answered her.
The woman folded her hands and smiled. “Kalos.”
“What was that?” Georgia asked after she’d left.
“Ava says she knows what you want to eat.”
“She does?” She’d been wondering why there were no menus on the table.
“It’s her little ritual. She tells everyone what they want so that when she brings out whatever it is she’s cooked, they’ll think she made it especially for them.”
Georgia sat down.
Saclarides smiled. “You still have no clue who I am, do you?”
“We met in front of the house, wasn’t it? Luke Sutton’s?”
His eyebrows arched. “You do remember.”
She felt her cheeks heat up. “How did you recognize me?”
“You’re not easy to forget.”
Her cheeks were on fire.
He must have caught it. He cleared his throat. “I’m a cop, remember? Got the third eye. You were trying to hide a woman who worked in a bank.”
“That’s right.”
“Heard you ended up in Arizona.”
She nodded.
“And almost got yourself killed.”
Mentally, she made a note to call Ellie Foreman when she got home. Ellie and Luke Sutton, the owner of the safe house, were a couple. What had she told Saclarides about her? Foreman knew Georgia didn’t like her business spread far and wide.
As if he knew what she was thinking, he said, “Don’t worry. Luke is one of my closest friends. It stayed between us.”
Aunt Ava interrupted with two bowls of steaming soup. After she set them down and left, he said, “We’re Greek, but this place has the best chicken noodle soup east of the Mississippi. I recommend it.”
She dipped her spoon into the bowl, blew on it, and took a sip. She felt her eyes widen. “This is good!”
He looked pleased and started in on his. She watched. He didn’t slurp. Two points.
After a few mouthfuls, she put her spoon down. “So what were you doing at a crime scene in Illinois?”
“And you know it’s a crime scene because…”
Shit. Her stomach tightened. She wasn’t supposed to know that. Or was she? She couldn’t remember what the ChicagoCrime website report said. “I…I—”
“It’s okay. I know you’re a PI.”
She felt herself relax.
“To answer your question, it was basically professional courtesy. Lake Geneva attracts a lot of people, but we don’t get a lot of murders. So when something happens nearby, we try to cooperate. Especially when it’s someone we don’t know.”
“So…” She tried to be casual. “You don’t have an ID on the woman?”
“Not yet.”
“Where was she found?”
“At the edge of Route 173 just east of Capron. Outside Harvard city limits.”
“Cause of death?”
He shook his head. “Don’t know for sure. She was partially frozen.” He spooned more soup into his mouth. “But she had multiple stab wounds on her neck and torso. Lacerations on her arms and legs too.” He paused. “And tracks on her wrists.”
Georgia picked up her spoon, wondering why he was so generous with information. “Were they fresh? The tracks?”
“Not particularly.”
“So she stopped when she got pregnant.”
He shrugged. “Maybe.”
“You think she’s from around here?”
“Don’t know.”
A busboy collected their bowls, and Aunt Ava brought two plates heaped with what looked like moussaka, grape leaves stuffed with rice, and some kind of fish. Enough food for five people.
He gave her time to sample everything. Which, of course, was delicious. Then, “Okay. You pumped me pretty good. My turn now. Why are you here?”
She’d been waiting for it. “Would you believe ‘professional courtesy’?”
“Not good enough.”
She hesitated. “Okay. It’s personal.”
He chewed and swallowed, then looked up. “Still not good enough.”
She bit her lip. “Look, I’m not here in any official capacity. But you can call Ellie. She’ll vouch for me.”
“What makes you think I don’t believe you?” He broke off a piece of bread.
She met his eyes. They were honest and direct. Unflinching. She looked down.
“Georgia…”
She looked up.
“Are you in some kind of trouble?”
“No. Nothing like that.”
He chewed the bread, then inclined his head. “So then, you won’t mind giving me your contact information. When I find out who the victim is, I could let you know.”
She wondered what he was really asking. She swallowed. Whatever his motive, she had to decide whether to let a cop back into her life, however peripherally. Still, she understood cops. She’d been one herself. And this cop seemed to get her. And despite the dance they were doing, there was a chance he might have solid information for her.
She gave him her number.