LITMIR.BIZ

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Instead I’d backed up his lie. “Do you think he’ll arrest us?”

      Roman reached across the table and gave my hand a squeeze. “I hope not. I called Kit yesterday when Ionescu was questioning you and gave him a heads-up about what was going on here. I also called my father. I imagine the inspector knows exactly who I am by now.”

      Just then the inspector joined us. “Mr. Oliver, Ms. Angelis.”

      The jig was obviously up. The moment Ionescu sat down, Demetria placed his coffee in front of him. He sipped it, then met Roman’s eyes. “Why did you lie about who you were yesterday?”

      “Mrs. Kostas didn’t have any rooms. She was going to put me up somewhere in the village. Since she’s related to Philly, and I understand she’s had a very traditional Greek upbringing, I thought she might have concerns about my sharing a room with her. But I wasn’t about to let Philly stay here alone after someone took a shot at her.”

      Ionescu turned to me. “You went along with the lie Mr. Oliver told Mrs. Kostas.”

      “Yes.”

      “Why?”

      I met his eyes squarely. “Because I wanted Roman to stay with me.”

      “I see.” He sipped his coffee, then asked, “Is the young man seated in front of my men the same person you saw arguing with the man in the wide-brimmed hat on the beach?”

      “Yes.”

      “But you didn’t know it was your cousin Alexi?”

      “I’d never met him before. We still haven’t been formally introduced.”

      Inspector Ionescu studied me for a moment as if he was weighing the truth of my explanation. I could feel heat staining my cheeks—I’d given him good reason to doubt my honesty.

      “You’ve found out the identity of the dead man?” Roman interrupted.

      Ionescu shifted his gaze to Roman. “Antony Delos. He was a guest here at the Villa Prospero for the past five days. His body was recovered by a fisherman early this morning about three miles down the coast. But I had already tracked his identity through his cell.”

      “What have you found out about him?”

      Ionescu paused to take another sip of coffee. “I know you are an astute businessman, Mr. Oliver. I also know you have powerful contacts here in Greece. This morning, I received several phone calls—one from a Detective Nik Angelis with the San Francisco Police Department, and another from Gianni Stassis. Both gave you glowing character references.”

      “You know of Stassis?” Roman asked.

      Ionescu shrugged. “We’re not quite so isolated here as you might think. He’s one of the richest men in Greece and he’s politically well connected. I dare say there are very few people in my country who would not recognize the name. I’d like to make a deal with you.”

      “What kind of deal?”

      “Normally, I don’t share information about an ongoing investigation. But in this instance, I’ll fill you in on what I know so far about Antony Delos on the understanding that you’ll share any information you can gather through Stassis and your other contacts.”

      For a moment, Roman said nothing. Mentally, I urged him to make the deal. If indeed my cousin Alexi was a prime suspect, then we needed as much information as possible to help him.

      “You believe that through Stassis I can gather information that you can’t?”

      “What I believe is that you can access it more quickly.” He glanced at Alexi, then turned his attention back to Roman. “And because you have a family connection, I’m sure you can see the advantage of that.”

      “You can’t believe that Alexi had something to do with Antony Delos’s murder,” I said.

      Ionescu’s eyes, when they met mine, had the same flat expression that my brother Nik’s eyes always had when he was in cop mode. “What I believe doesn’t matter, Ms. Angelis. I have to go with the evidence.”

      I swallowed hard when I realized that I’d supplied much of the evidence.

      “Deal,” Roman said. “What have you found out about Antony Delos?”

      “He used to work for Interpol, mostly on high-profile gem thefts. Five years ago, he went private. He was still doing the same work, but for insurance companies and even more frequently for the well-heeled victims of the thefts. I did a little checking. The last call placed on his cell was to Carlo Ferrante, an Italian billionaire whose villa in Tuscany was robbed of a fortune in jewels six days ago. Five days ago, Delos checked into the Villa Prospero. I don’t believe in coincidences, do you, Mr. Oliver?”

      Something tightened in my stomach. Inspector Ionescu couldn’t suspect that Alexi or Miranda had something to do with the theft? I glanced over at my cousin again. He looked young and scared, hardly the picture of an international jewel thief.

      Roman seemed equally unconvinced. “I remember reading about that jewel heist. The Wall Street Journal did an article on it complete with photos.”

      Ionescu nodded. “I don’t know how detailed the article was, but the jewels have been in the Ferrante family for centuries, and they have an interesting history. Reputedly, they were part of a dowry when a Ferrante son married a French aristocrat in the fifteenth century. They’ve been passed down to the male heirs ever since. And this is the second time they’ve been stolen from Carlo Ferrante.”

      “I don’t recall reading that,” Roman said.

      “The first time, they were snatched from a museum in Belgium. Ferrante had loaned them out as part of an exhibition of medieval jewelry. Six months later, they were miraculously and anonymously returned to him by the thief. Ferrante returned the small fortune he’d collected from the insurance company.”

      “Any idea of how Delos tracked the jewels to Corfu?”

      For the first time since he’d seated himself at our table, the inspector smiled. “I’m hoping you can find out, Mr. Oliver. I couldn’t get Mr. Ferrante to take my call. But he might take a call from Gianni Stassis. Perhaps, you might be able to expedite matters on that front?”

      “What’s in it for me?”

      I stared at Roman. My contacts with him had all been social—either at my family’s restaurant or at our fishing cabin. For the first time, I was catching a glimpse of the cool, ruthless businessman I’d heard Kit brag so often about.

      The blunt question didn’t bother the inspector at all. In fact, his smile grew wider. “For starters, I won’t mention to Mrs. Kostas that you’re not Ms. Angelis’s brother. I agree with you that she shouldn’t be alone until this matter is cleared up.” Then his expression sobered. “And the sooner we find out who shot Antony Delos, the safer Ms. Angelis will be.”

      I was getting a little tired of being left out of the conversation, but before I could say anything, two men in uniform strode onto the terrace and came directly to our table.

      “Someone searched Mr. Delos’s room before we got there,” the taller one said.

      The other one wore gloves and lifted the rifle he was carrying. “We found this in Mr. Kostas’s room.”

      Ionescu rose and moved to the table where Alexi was still seated in front of the other two policemen.

      “Alexi, you’ll have to come down to the station with me.”

      Miranda rushed over to her son, and I sprang from my chair to join her.

      “You can’t think that he shot Mr. Delos,” I said to the inspector. “The man with the rifle was high up on the cliff face, close to the Castello. I can testify to that.”

      The inspector ignored my outburst and I stood staring, horrified as the two uniformed men assisted my cousin to

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