Death in the Aegean Read online

  “Some honeymoon. We were supposed to get a private tour of the Akrotiri treasure today,” the young blonde walking in front of Stefanie said to her husband. “I thought you were meeting George Papadopoulos last night to arrange it.”

  The woman’s dark-haired husband scowled as he pulled his pink polo shirt away from his back, where it clung by a wide stripe of sweat. “He didn’t show up. We’ll see it tonight.”

  Stefanie couldn’t help but overhear. The newlyweds were on the same Thera-to-Akrotiri morning bus tour as she was, and despite the blistering sun that beat down from a cloudless blue sky, sightseers packed the narrow road etched into the nearly vertical mountainside.

  Mention of the Akrotiri treasure reminded her to check in with Monty, family friend, and her one-time archaeology professor. She pulled out her cell phone and called. Clayton Montgomery answered on the second ring.

  “Monty, you’re home,” she said at the deep rumble of the archaeologist’s voice.

  “You just caught me. We’re heading to Athens for a couple of days. When do you get here to Crete?”

  “Sunday.” She lifted her elbows to relieve the prickle of perspiration under her arms. “I’ll be at the Elounda Bay Hotel.”

  The bride glanced her way at the mention of the Five Star hotel.

  “Perfect,” Monty said in Stefanie’s ear. “I’m taking you to the opening of the Akrotiri Treasure exhibit here on Thursday. Wear a fancy dress. It’s going to be a party.”

  “I think I can manage that,” she said with a laugh. “I can’t believe they finally found it—the legendary Snake Goddess of Akrotiri.”

  At nine inches tall, exquisitely crafted in hammered gold, the snake goddess statue was the highlight of the cache of ancient cult items discovered at the Santorini site of Akrotiri that summer. That same image, along with the Akrotiri skyline, was carved on a stone cylinder seal found on Crete forty years ago. By her father.

  “There’s no question,” Monty said. “She’s the one depicted on the seal stone. Every detail is the same.”

  “I brought Dad’s photograph to compare them.” If only Dad were alive to see the goddess. Not that he would have come to Greece, of course. He’d given up archaeology at the age of twenty and never had returned, not even when she’d interned with Monty for a summer. Maybe that’s why she hadn’t made a career of archaeology. Banking was more practical, anyway, or so she told herself. The chances of finding anything as remarkable as the Akrotiri treasure were one in a million.

  “Thanks for getting me into the fundraiser here,” she said. At that comment, she noticed the blond bride take even more interest, smiling at her.

  “They were pretty tight-fisted with the tickets. Rumors are flying about theft attempts,” Monty said. “But that’s normal for a find like the Snake Goddess, nothing to worry about.”

  “It happens,” Stefanie said. “We know that from Dad’s experience. But not this time, I hope.”

  “People go a little crazy at the mention of gold artifacts. Nothing to worry about,” Monty repeated. “I’ll pick you up Thursday at your hotel.”

  As Stefanie said goodbye and clicked off, the bride’s plaintive voice rang out again.

  “We’re supposed to see the Snake Goddess today. A wedding present.” She turned to her husband. “Did you call Papadopoulos this morning?”

  “He didn’t answer. Give it a rest, Emma.”

  “I’m trying Papadopoulos myself.”

  “Go ahead. Maybe you’ll have better luck than I did.”

  Emma pulled a copper-colored phone out of her purse as she walked. After tapping at the keypad, she raised the phone to her ear in a dazzling flash as the glitzy crystal pop-up handle reflected the sunlight.

  The bride’s luck at arranging a tour must not have been any better than her husband’s, because she ended the call without talking to anyone, then dropped the phone back into her oversized orange leather purse.

  “If my father was here, Papadopoulos wouldn’t dare ignore us like this,” Emma said.

  “We’ll get in touch with him soon enough,” the husband replied, aiming a scowl toward the sea. “Don’t worry, we’ll get to see it.”

  Was it the fact that they were newlyweds that annoyed her? Stifling a little pang of envy, Stefanie swiped her index finger across her upper lip, wiping off the sweat that beaded there. Her ex-husband wanted to honeymoon in Greece, but she’d had a plan: wait until she was established at the bank and they had enough to pay cash. Being a private banker at Markham-Briggs meant long hours building relationships with clients. Her marriage hadn’t survived the competition, but three years ago she’d been taken into Harold Markham’s paneled office and promised a vice presidency.

  Now she was alone and locked out of the position she’d worked so hard to get. She gazed at the whitecaps in the blue sea below. Planning every step didn’t mean you controlled the outcome. It merely limited your choices along the way. She’d learned that lesson well, and vowed things would be different from then on. She would be different. She’d embrace opportunities as they came and work out details later.

  That was the plan, anyway. Her stomach tightened at the competition she’d face at the larger banks in St. Louis. Submitting a few resumes before she left would have been smart. Deliberately, she inhaled deeply. Time enough to think about her career when she got back home. Until then, she’d embrace all that the Greek islands had to offer.

  The groom shared that spirit of adventure. Sort of. “Look at the color of that water, Emma.” He stopped in front of Stefanie, causing her to stumble and side-step, then glowered at her while he raised his camera for a photo.

  “If we’d used a decent trip advisor, we could have gotten a hotel right on the water,” Emma said, ignoring the deep blue sea below. “Where are you staying?” she asked Stefanie.

  Wondering if it held the same level of luxury as the Elounda Bay on Crete? Not one to one-up others, Stefanie didn’t name her hotel.

  “I got lucky,” she replied. “I’ve got a great view.”

  Stefanie passed the couple and ended up beside two silver-haired women who hiked with the aid of trekking poles. She recognized them from the bus as well.

  The shorter one was dressed in tan leggings and Birkenstocks that matched the turquoise shirt beneath her jean jacket. Her sleek silver bob gleamed in the sunlight as she gave Stefanie a knowing look.

  “We’ve had to listen to them, too, haven’t we, Rita?”

  The silver paisley pattern on Rita’s tunic mirrored her wind-blown curls, which bounced as she commiserated with a nod of her head. “We’re on the cruise. Did you come from the ship, too?” she asked Stefanie. “So many honeymooners come to Santorini.”

  “Yes, I noticed.” Stefanie pressed her lips together. It wasn’t that she missed her ex, she’d gotten over him years ago. But honeymooners reminded her that she was alone. All work and no play had made her a dull girl. Not that she needed to be. Last night had been fun.

  Why hadn’t she given Thomas her cell number, instead of leaving a second meeting up in the air? He was intelligent and good-looking. Delicious, in a very male kind of way, with the darkest blue eyes she’d ever seen. But it was his laugh that had stayed with her, and that smile. He enjoyed life, something she could do with more of.

  A frisson of excitement rose at the memory of the invitation in his eyes.

  “Stop being nosy,” the woman in turquoise Birkenstocks said with a glance at her companion.

  “You wouldn’t understand, Lauren. You’ve never been married.” Rita turned back to Stefanie. “You’ve seen photos of the Golden Goddess?”

  The golden relic again. Nothing like newly discovered treasure to spark excitement. She felt it herself. “Yes, I’m planning to see it tonight, in fact.”

  “Is it on exhibit already?” Lauren asked. “At the Archaeological Museum?”

  “This first reception is a fundraiser,” Stefanie said. “I believe it’s sold out.”

  “Well.”
Rita dabbed her forehead with a folded tissue, careful not to smudge her expertly applied makeup. “I’d rather see it when it goes to Crete. I hear a movie star or two might show up at the opening.”

  Stefanie took a closer look at the women. In their late sixties or early seventies, with their hair expertly cut and colored, they were expensively dressed and wore costly rings. Not the demographic she expected to ogle celebrities.

  Seeing her scrutiny, Lauren shook her head, causing her sleek curtain of silver hair to glint in the sunlight. “My sister lives for the tabloids.”

  “I don’t understand why the treasure isn’t staying on Santorini,” Rita said.

  “Tighter security at the museum in Heraklion,” Stefanie said. Monty explained that to her before her trip, when she’d called to see if the relics would be on display. “The museum here needs to be updated.”

  “More people to charge, is more like it,” Lauren commented as they continued their trek down. “The Greek economy is hurting.”

  At the sound of engines straining on the steep grade, Stefanie checked the road below, which zigzagged along the sheer hillside in quarter-mile increments. A line of buses snaked its way up, compelling the pedestrians to crowd the hill on one side and the low stone wall on the other. She moved to the wall as people pressed in to avoid the vehicles.

  In the crush, someone stepped on her foot. Stefanie tried to back up, but her heels were already against the wall. Attempting to pull her foot out from under the weight did no good, either. The offender’s back was inches from her face—a pink polo shirt, soaked with sweat. Great.

  “Excuse me,” she said. The groom didn’t move. Between the wind, the buses, and the crowd, he might not have heard. “You’re on my foot.”

  Tossing an irritated look over his shoulder, he flicked the merest glance downward. “Sorry.”

  His weight shifted off her toes as others jostled for space.

  “Oh Rita, be careful.”

  Stefanie twisted to her left to check on the sisters, reaching out to steady the diminutive Rita as the first bus roared by.

  “Hey!”

  Before Stefanie knew what the shout signified, a hard shove knocked her off her feet, and she pitched backward over the wall.

  Spiraling her arms in panic, the last thing she saw was the flash of Lauren’s diamond ring as the woman attempted to grab her.

  Lauren’s hand closed on empty air.

  Chapter Three

  Rita screamed.

  Stefanie hit the hillside on her back with a whomp. Dazed, she stared at the sky, aware only of searing pain in her shoulders. It took a second to realize she was sliding head-first on her back. Straight down. Toward the road.

  Flinging her arms wide, she grabbed wildly for grass or shrubs, anything to stop her plunge to the tarmac below. She rolled onto her stomach, scrabbling for an anchor as she slid: a tree, a shrub—a root.

  Nothing but rock and grass. Sliding faster, she shoved furiously against the ground with the heels of her palms, fighting gravity with every ounce of energy she had. She spied a lone shrub to the side, not much more than a weed, and lunged for it, inhaling the herbal scent of thyme released by her grip, hopeful for one brief instant that the shrub was strong enough to hold. Its roots pulled free, and she cried out.

  Pounding footsteps sent rocks and pebbles tumbling past her face as she slid. Abruptly, strong hands caught her ankles and Stefanie jerked to a halt. A booted foot planted itself inches from her face, then she was grabbed under both arms by a man with leathery skin, who hoisted her to her feet. With his arm gripping her waist, together they leaned deep into the steep hillside and grappled their way back up to the road. At the stone wall, others reached out and hauled her to safety.

  Stefanie collapsed onto the wall, clutching it with raw fingers to steady herself while her heart pounded against her ribs. Heaving in great gulps of air, she eyed the circle of bystanders who stared at her in concern.

  The suntanned tourist who’d helped her up returned her fedora.

  “Taking the short cut?” he joked. His accent was British.

  She managed a weak smile in appreciation. “I would have without your help. Thank you.”

  She looked down, then gripped the wall harder, attempting to suppress a shudder. It didn’t work. The next stretch of pavement was fifty feet below, with five steep jogs after that to the bottom. Thank God he’d stopped her fall.

  Following his example, she tried to laugh it off. “That’s more excitement than I was hoping for on vacation.”

  Her stinging palms and sore knees competed for attention with her wrenched shoulders, but at least she hadn’t broken any bones or suffered serious injury. A hot shower would have to wait until after the tour. She wasn’t about to miss Akrotiri.

  By some miracle she hadn’t lost her sunglasses and pushed them up on her nose, noticing that her Kate Spade bag lay several yards away on the hillside.

  Seeing Stefanie’s glance, the Brit stepped over the wall to get it, retrieving the lip balm that had fallen out, as well as her phone. After handing them to her, he picked up a backpack that had been leaning against the wall and slung it onto his shoulders.

  “Make it down by yourself?” he asked.

  Uncomfortable with the ring of onlookers whose concern had turned to curiosity, Stefanie nodded. “Thanks. I’ll be alright.”

  Upon inspection, she found purple bruises forming on her knees, and open scrapes on her hands and wrists from the rocks. Wouldn’t those look lovely with her cocktail dress that evening. Using tissue, she cleaned them as best she could.

  “What happened?” Rita asked.

  Stefanie studied the tourists once again spreading out across the road. She didn’t want to accuse anyone without cause, but her impression had been of an open palm, shoving hard. That didn’t make sense. Shaking off the suspicion, she brushed dirt from her capris.

  “The crowd got too close.” At least the capris weren’t torn.

  After a quick text to her sister proved her cell phone worked, she snapped a photo of the hikers on the road below. The camera still functioned as well.

  “You were pushed,” Lauren said.

  Stefanie’s head shot up. It wasn’t her imagination.

  Sitting on the wall beside her, Rita placed a motherly arm around Stefanie’s waist. “And you call me melodramatic, Lauren. Don’t upset her any more than she already is.”

  Emma, the blonde bride, had also stayed. She crossed her arms and gave Lauren a dismissive glance. “You weren’t pushed. I was. I fell into you, and Jason saved me from going over.”

  “Who did it?” Her husband took a hard look at the people winding their way down.

  Stefanie did, too. The entire road was in full view from that height, packed with sightseers. As she scanned the throng of tourists, one man looked up. That in and of itself wasn’t unusual, considering the daunting hillside and long trek. She’d done the same thing to see how far she had to go until the ruins of Ancient Thera. This tourist, however, had been heading down.

  Jason noticed him, too. “The guy in the green baseball cap. He’s watching us.”

  The man stared straight at them. Checking to see if she’d gotten hurt? Feeling oddly exposed, Stefanie pulled back from his gaze. He might have fallen into the crowd, trying to keep clear of the buses that swung out wildly on the hairpin turns, then left before anyone could accuse him of causing the accident.

  But what she’d felt had been more of a distinct shove. Purposeful. He hadn’t pushed into the crowd intentionally, had he? She kept the green ball cap in sight as long as she could, a task made easier by the man’s distinctive gait, which had his shoulders lumbering from side to side. Before long he was absorbed by the pressing crowd.

  “We need to report it,” Emma said. “She fell, and I could have, too. Someone could have died.”

  Someone almost did. Stefanie rubbed her arms, chilled despite the heat.

  When Emma and Jason walked on, hand-in-hand, Laure
n watched them with a critical eye. “That one thinks the world revolves around her. I saw a hand reach out. Toward you, not her.”

  “It’s lucky we didn’t all go down like dominos. At least the two of you are okay.” Stefanie resettled her fedora and stood up. Her legs were shaky, her shoulders wrenched, and she still had two kilometers to go to reach the bus.

  Rita offered the use of her trekking pole.

  “I can manage,” Stefanie said. “You’ll need it for the steep walk down.”

  “This is nothing. Last year we hiked the Alps.”

  “Are you traveling by yourself?” Lauren asked. “A woman alone can never be too careful.”

  “I’m beginning to believe that,” Stefanie said with a last look at the road below.

  The man in the baseball cap had seemed to look straight at her. Was it just nerves that made her think she’d been targeted?

  After two Tylenol and the fifteen-minute bus ride to Akrotiri, Stefanie was still dwelling on the incident. When the bus parked, she pushed her questions aside, ignoring her stinging palms and throbbing shoulders, eager to explore.

  Nestled against the rocky hillside, a climate-controlled shelter surrounded the Bronze Age port of Akrotiri. The air inside was dry and dusty, symptomatic of the volcanic ash that archaeologists were even then digging through. Stefanie strolled beside Lauren and Rita along the platform erected above the excavated streets and listened to the tour guide.

  “In 1628 BC, thirty-six-hundred years ago,” the guide said, making eye contact with each of them in turn, “a catastrophic volcanic eruption destroyed the island of Thera—the island you know as Santorini. Yet that same eruption preserved Akrotiri for us to explore today.”