“The killer may not have wanted it found,” Roman explained.
“When I first spotted the man, there was someone with him—a younger man he seemed to be arguing with,” I said. “He was about the same height with dark curly hair. My guess is that he’s still in his teens, and he was wearing some kind of medal around his neck.”
Miranda shook her head, but I didn’t miss the slight stiffening of her body. My description had made her think of someone, I was sure of it.
“That was where I first saw the white cat,” I said. “She led me to the body.”
“Ariel,” Miranda breathed and then clasped her hands together. “It must have been Ariel. Her twin brother, Caliban, has been missing for two days. Alexi has been very upset. He and those cats have been inseparable since his father gave them to him. He’s spent the last two days searching along the coastline.” Dropping her hands to her sides, she gave us a flustered glance. “Please forgive me for rambling on. Come out to the terrace. You’ll have something to drink while I call the police.”
Miranda seated us at a table in the shade of some pines and poured us each a glass of pale gold wine before she hurried back to the lobby.
The moment she was out of earshot, Roman said, “Take a sip of that. You’re still looking a little shaky. I have to make a couple of calls.”
I didn’t argue. I was barely able to keep my hand from trembling as I lifted the glass. The wine was cool, but it helped to take the edge off of the chill that was settling over me.
Demetria appeared and set a pot of coffee and a tray of pastries on the table. I smiled and nodded my thanks and then returned my gaze to Roman. He was talking on his cell to a man he called Gianni. Or rather listening. The man on the other end seemed to be doing most of the talking. From what I could gather, they were discussing something about hotels.
Sitting there in the dappled sunlight, Roman was at his ease, the picture of self-containment and confidence. Having him here was helping. This man seated across from me was the Roman I was familiar with—cool, competent.
“I’ll be delayed longer than I originally thought,” Roman said. “A day or two.”
The man who’d told Miranda that he was my brother Kit was a bit of a stranger. So was the man who’d kissed me on the hillside path. There’d been nothing cool about that kiss. I’d tasted a desperation that had matched my own. These new aspects of Roman intrigued me.
At the same time his ability to return to normal mode so quickly annoyed me. He was calmly conducting business while my mind was still spinning. I wasn’t even at the point where I could sort out my thoughts.
And I couldn’t blame it totally on a delayed reaction to finding a dead man on the beach.
I tried to focus by concentrating on one thing. There was the cat, Ariel. I’d sensed a bone-deep, almost frantic, fear in her. Ariel had reminded me a bit of Pretzels, and I wondered if it was part of her nature to react in a very dramatic way. Not that she didn’t have a perfect right to be afraid. It was very possible that she’d seen a man get shot. But she’d been distressed even when the man in the wide-brimmed hat was still alive.
Worry and concern about her brother may very well have been the source of the chaotic emotions I’d first sensed in Ariel. I recalled the image of the white cat lying in darkness. Could that have been Caliban? The picture hadn’t been clear, but it did look as though he was alive and he had a supply of food and water. I wished that Ariel hadn’t disappeared when I’d kissed Roman on the path.
I’d been trying to avoid thinking about that kiss. As lust curled snakelike in my stomach, I reached for my wine and took a long swallow. For a moment I sat there simply studying Roman. He was seated with his back to the marvelous view of the sea beyond. He’d angled his chair slightly so that he wasn’t facing me, and that meant he didn’t notice that I was staring.
I thought of how often I’d dreamed of kissing him. The first fantasies had been the innocent ones of a sixteen-year-old, but as I’d entered college and gained some experience with men, my fantasies had become more detailed. Still, nothing, actual or imagined, had prepared me for the reality of Roman’s callused palms or his clever, demanding mouth. I’d never before felt my will drain so completely away. He could have asked anything of me, and I would have given it. Gladly.
Another moment and we would have made love right there on the path. But he’d pulled away. And then he’d had the nerve to apologize. Again. The anger I’d felt earlier came surging back. I started to sip my wine once more, then decided on coffee instead. I needed to keep a clear head if I was going to deal with the man sitting across from me. And I was going to have to figure out how to deal with him since he’d clearly decided to hang around for the next day or two.
The coffee was strong and bitter, just the way my father brewed it at his restaurant, and it immediately began to counteract the wine I’d had. I decided the question I most needed the answer to was why Roman had told Miranda that he was Kit. Had it been to emphasize to me that he thought of me only as a brother?
I narrowed my eyes on him. Fat chance he was going to get away with that story twice. I was beginning to think that I’d been a fool to believe it the first time he’d told it.
Demetria stepped out onto the terrace and hurried toward our table. “Mrs. Kostas sends her apologies. She’s busy with some of the other guests. She said to tell you that Inspector Ionescu is on his way. Can I get you anything else?”
I smiled at her, assured her that we were fine, and she hurried away again. Through the open doors of the terrace, I could see several guests lined up to talk to Miranda. At least two of the men were wearing hats similar to the one I’d seen on the dead man.
I turned my gaze back to Roman. Maybe I was asking the wrong question. What did it matter why Roman had lied to Miranda? The question I ought to be asking was what was I going to do about the fact that Roman and I were going to be sharing a room?
Roman closed his cell and turned his chair so that he was facing me. “Your cousin lied to us about not knowing the younger man on the beach.”
He was definitely in normal mode, I thought. I quickly gathered my thoughts so that I would appear to be also. “Yes, I agree. I think it might have been Alexi I saw. And she was worried at first that he might be the dead man. Alexi must be in some kind of trouble.” I told Roman about my initial arrival at the Villa Prospero and the scene I’d witnessed between Miranda and Andre Magellan.
Roman poured himself a cup of coffee. “How old is Alexi?”
“Eighteen. According to my father and Helena, he was always a little behind in school. Not retarded, but a little slow developmentally.”
“That might explain his single-minded determination to find his missing cat and the way he’s ignoring Magellan’s warnings and neglecting his duties here.”
I lifted my chin. “I can understand his concern. If Pretzels or Peanuts were missing, I might neglect a few of my duties also.”
“Point taken. What else can you tell me about Alexi?”
“Dad told me that since Miranda’s husband died three years ago, she’s depended on Alexi to help her run the place.”
“He would have been fifteen. That’s a lot of responsibility for a young man.” Roman sipped coffee and leaned back in his chair. “I was a little older than that when I started to take an active role at Oliver Enterprises. After my mother died, my dad…well, he wasn’t himself for a while. I had to take on more responsibility in the company—more than he would have given me under other circumstances.”
“You handled it.” I couldn’t imagine Roman not being able to handle anything.
His lips curved slightly. “Actually, I loved it. Working at Oliver Enterprises, expanding our business has always been my goal. So much so that I didn’t want to go to college. My dad