(9) Crucia

That evening the patio was lit in a festive manner.

There were a number of guests for the informal dinner party, in honor of Mr Cruor and for the glad tidings concerning an agreement reached with Universal Wineries. The owners of four local vineyards were present with their families, along with Mr and Mrs Saranikos, exporters of fine wines, and their two teenage daughters, Hildalga and Heidi.

The girls accompanied Ambrosia and the veterinarian to the stables to see Pegasus and a new acquisition, a mare, Aphrodite.

Rolgo handed Sanguineus a glass of Chianti, on the lawn that stretched down to the beach. "I gave Sally a .25 Berretta," he said, raising his glass as though for a toast. "If she has to use it, cheers. We'll pull up stakes and let the police sort things out. It won't be the first time a plan has been shot to hell by a first-timer opting for 'better safe than sorry.' How do you read it? Does Ambrosia know about Sally?"

Sanguineus unbuttoned his black corduroy sports coat and let the light breeze penetrate his pinstriped beige dress shirt. "We'll assume she does," he said in a laconic tone. "But she'll have her own plans. A cross, no doubt. I see Tragos is wearing his hermit garb. Did he open up to you?"

"He's trying to take this very philosophically. He doesn't know that Berenice is residing at the guest bungalow. He believes she's still missing and presumed dead."

Sanguineus looked back at the milling crowd on the patio. "I wonder who does know, besides Ambrosia, Agape, and that little vixen, Fabienne. They're a family, Sally says. They're in this cross thing together. And for what? Thrills? I hardly think it's revenge. But maybe it's about mob connections."

"Our Milan colleague is looking into the mob angle," Rolgo said. "So far, nothing of any import."

"Look, Fred, I need a friend in the enemy camp. I'm thinking of having a heart-to-heart with Tragos. If he hears that the target is his 'daughter,' there's a chance he'll cancel the contract, though if he does he'll be forfeiting most of the fee, if not all of it."

Rolgo made a face of doubt as he sipped his drink. "Claus is convinced that Tragos is firm about it. Justice for his estranged wife carries more weight with him than any relationship with Ambrosia. So you might as well tell him the truth."

Sanguineus smiled. "I see that when a complication arises you view things a little differently. Well, so do I. You know I don't like meeting the client. But in this predicament I think it's called for."

Rolgo glanced around. "He's on a meditative stroll by the fig trees," he noticed. "Now's your chance, Rick. Ambrosia's still at the stables, apparently. Go for it."

At the stables...

Sally Anne held out the apple in her palm, by the stall where the mare gave her a looking over. It wrapped its furry lips around the fruit and commenced to chew it, its sable tail swishing in delight.

"There's more to you, Sal, than meets the ears," said Ambrosia.

She was leaning against a support post, one hand on the hip of her chic riding breeches, the other fingering the string of pearls that graced her V-neck blouse of white satin that matched the color of her knee-length boots.

Sally Anne turned, her smile a puzzled one. "Oh? What do you mean?"

"Is the name of your vet doctor 'Sanguineus'? Does he put sick animals to sleep? Does he enjoy that sort of thing?"

Sally Anne forced a more accommodating smile. "You'd have to ask him that yourself," she said. "I only work there part time."

"You mean, when he needs help killing animals?"

"What sort of game are you playing? If you have something sensible to say, please feel free."

Ambrosia stepped up to her. She had to tilt her head back a little to meet the hazel eyes of the taller woman.

"Where else do you work?" she asked in a cynical voice. "This Sanguineus isn't a doctor of animals. He prefers to put human beings to sleep. And you're his assistant."

"May I ask how you know that? Has your foster dad been talking to you about Professor Rolgo?"

"Why not, they're old friends. And how is it that Fred Rolgo knows so much about private investigators seeking out the killer of Pella Markos?"

Sally Anne slapped her thighs in aggravation. "Simple. He has acquaintances in the business, those acquaintances who were students of his. Yes, I know about Tragos and the contract. I'm here for that reason. But Sanguineus stays in the shadows until it's time to come out and 'put human beings to sleep.' But I haven't met him personally. He hasn't come on the scene yet. And I would take it kindly if you wouldn't mention this to Ricklen. He doesn't know about this other career of mine. I don't think he'd understand the appeal of it. He's a good and decent man, a real gentleman."

"Maybe," said Ambrosia, turning her back to Sally Anne with a provoking smile, "but he is certainly a dynamite lover."

Sally Anne knew better than to show indifference. She acted offended. "You're a liar," she said angrily. "He hasn't a disloyal bone in his body."

Ambrosia laughed, a hand to her stomach. "Oh my God! And you're an investigator? Well, alright, my my, it's true that you've uncovered the murderer of Pella. My dear old Pella. She was a mother to me when my real mother would have nothing to do with me. I always suspected it was Berenice."

She brushed back her hair, squaring herself around, patting her chest. "I really shouldn't complain," she said with an exaggerated sigh. "I have supported Grigoris in his decision to pay, and pay dearly, for justice. Do you know where Berenice Chora is hiding? Surely you know that she was kidnapped by members of the Provlita Andres. Ruthless gangsters. Are you sure she's still alive?"

Sally Anne could not have been more pleased with the course their conversation had taken. But she kept up her offended look, now adding a heavy dose of spite. "You're not the client, Ms Kastri. You can keep your nose where it belongs. And your cunt as well."

A round if giggles heralded the entrance of Hidalga and Heidi.

They were only a year apart, and they looked nothing alike. The older, Hidalga, was shorter and had lighter hair, worn to her waist. The younger, Heidi, the taller heavier one, had dark brown hair worn short, and conspicuous freckles. They were dressed similar to Sally Anne: cotton pullovers with scoop collars, and denim trousers of an off white.

They stiffled their giggles the instant they noticed the tension between the two adults.

"Pegasus is lying down on the horse trail," Hidalga said in a somber tone and with a stricken look, as though she had forgotten about the crisis until just that moment. "That isn't good, is it?"

"He sort of looks sick," said Heidi, mimicking her sister.

Ambrosia was already heading out the doors of the stable at a fast walk. The two girls followed, smiling at each other.

Sally Anne understood no Greek, but the tone of voices and the mock horror of the looks informed her that something to do with the prize horse was cause for alarm.

With a smirk for the sisters, who were obviously enjoying the drama, Sally Anne went out to the horse trail that began at the open gate of the corral.

Pegasus lay on his side, legs straight out. It was then that Sally Anne realized her veterinary credentials were in serious jeopardy.

Ambrosia knelt at the horse's head, her phone out, tapping a contact. She was stoic about this, but beneath the veneer of her composure was a gnawing fright. It wasn't the anguish of seeing a beloved creature in pain, but a fear for one's own welfare.

Sally Anne had excelled in her Body Language classes. She had been told how essential it was to be able to read expressions, gestures, and poses accurately, and to understand and anticipate common reflexes incited by the various stimuli in stressful circumstances. She saw that Ambrosia was in a dangerous, but not a heartbreaking, situation.

Who was she calling? The local vet? Or someone who could protect her if the horse expired or became incapacitated?

Sally Anne recalled Rolgo telling her that Sanguineus believed the horse to be the most important factor in the Crucia mystery, and possibly the reason behind the death of Pella Markos. It was a bit too coincidental, she thought, that the horse should sicken at this time. Someone had poisoned it, she mused. The apple, perhaps, the apple that she had earlier fed to Pegasus, had it been injected with pathogens? If so, by who?

A scream.

Sally Anne, startled, saw a little girl running toward them, staggering and gasping for breath.

Some ways behind her, coming down from the brightly lit patio, was the old hermit of Patmos, his staff in hand.