A Poisonous Journey (28 page)

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Authors: Malia Zaidi

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BOOK: A Poisonous Journey
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"Hello!" Kaia is the first to reach us. Today she is wearing a sweet floral dress with matching ribbons in her wild mass of curls. In a jolly mood, she bounces and skips around like an excited pup. I elect not to share this comparison with Briony, who looks delighted and aglow.
"Not so wild, Kaia, and put on your hat, child!" Laris reaches us, shaking her head.
The men nod at one another, clapping each other on the back as though they had battled through a game of rugby. Rosie remains standing stiffly beside her husband, basking in the sun.
"How are you? Have you adjusted to island life?" Laria asks with a smile. I cannot see her face, shaded by the rim of her hat, so I am hard pressed to judge her emotional state.
"Yes, I have. I come from an island, so water all-round is not all too novel."
"I always forget!" She smiles. I am glad to observe her cheerier manner. The last time we met, her mouth was turned decidedly in the opposite direction.
"Shall we go in, have a look around?" Jeffrey asks. I imagine he considers himself the leader of the group, in spite of Darius and Paul being equally knowledgeable. Again, I shall not share these critical thoughts with my cousin. Perhaps Jeffrey is simply terribly relieved to be out of the Delage where he was subject to my whims and wheels.
We stroll along, and I watch other visitors already inspecting the pale yellow remains of once glorious buildings. As we reach the entryway, a shiver passes down my spine. How many people from all walks of life have wandered these narrow streets before me? Men and women, husbands and wives, children, elders, all with their own lives, worries, fears, and joys. What would they think if they could see it now? Probably not very happy thoughts. Oh, to have seen it in all its original glory, what a site it must have been!
"Evelyn? Shall we keep moving?" Laria is regarding me with a bemused expression. I am barring the way, staring dreamily at a crumbly set of buildings she must have passed countless times before.
"Oh, yes, quite."
We begin to make our way up the gentle slope. Some of the buildings are still partially supported by stout columns; others have collapsed into unrecognizeable heaps. The central part of the palace is an elevated structure, with a set of columns holding up one side, whileits back walls have all but disintegrated. In my state of rapture I nearly trip over a rock on the uneven path and am steadied by the surprisingly strong grip of Rosie, who has soundlessly materialized at my side.
"Thank you!" She stares at me, nods and releases my arm.
Laria points to a rectangular building on our left. "This is where they discovered frescos.
Minoan
frescos. They have been repaired and are still remarkable."
"Can we see them?" I ask as the men approach.
"The frescos?" Darius looks at the structure, blinking behind his specs.
"I’m afraid not, they are going through a process of restoration." He shrugs apologetically.
"Oh well, perhaps another time."
"Do you plan on staying longer?" he questions as we make our way along the path, sloping upwards to emphasize the ascent to the main palace and throne room.
"I believe, I shall. I like it here." I cast a quick glance around at the others, who are milling about only steps away. "As long as my cousin and Jeffrey will have me."
Darius’ expression turns grave. "I worried what happened to poor Caspar might have frightened you off."
Right, there we are again. I take a deep breath, searching for a response. I had wanted this to be a day of distraction, and now Caspar is here again, in the midst of this ghosttown. Rather appropriate, now that I think of it.
"It is terrible, but evil can be found in any place. I am afraid running away will not help me outrun my memories."
"Of course, of course. I should not have—"
"Please," I interject with aplacatory smile, "do not apologize. It is only natural to wonder. I have great faith in the abilities of Inspector Dymas and hope he will bring resolution to the horrible affair." The word elicits an expression of extreme discomfort in Laria, who has been walking silently alongside us. I catch her eyes veering in the direction of her husband, standing within earshot. Nikolas, however, seems completely at ease and is chatting amiably with Daniel.
"Of course. I will speak of it no more." We slow down as we approach one of the more intact structures.
"This was the throne room." Darius points to the building. It may have once been terribly grand, with solid pillars supporting its sides and ramps leading up an inpenetrably thick wall.
"How do you know?" I stare up, shielding my eyes from the sun.
"There is a throne, and benches made of alabaster."
"Really? Incredible."
Darius appears happy in light of my enthusiasm and continues with his narration. "This is not all part of the original complex. It was destroyed over eight-thousand years ago. What we have here today originates from a time around 1350 BC."
"To think people quarried and transported all of this stone and knew how to create such solid structures so very long ago. A proficient people, the
Minoans
!"
"Indeed."
"Is Darius feeding you information, Evie? He is the expert, of course." Jeffrey joins us as do the others, and we stare ahead for a few silent moments, absorbing the reality that we are standing amid a priceless relic of human history.
"Mama, I am hungry!" Kaia interrupts this moment of awe, a collective chuckle ensues, drawn back, as we are, into the inescapable present.
"Yes, darling, soon we will have a nice picnic."
Little Kaia’s patience is tested in exploring the rest of the site. Darius, Paul, and Jeffrey, our guides, toss out facts and anecdotes as we move along. Daniel, not contributing to this tour, has fallen into step beside me. Occasionally, I glance over at him, and occasionally he glances back. We hardly speak, listening instead, feeling momentarily released from the burdens we carry, enjoying good company and fine diversion.
After a while, we reach the end of the tour near the place where we started and come upon a small patio and green area where other people are already resting their weary feet. There is a scattering of trees providing some shade in one corner. Driven by mutual instinct, we head in that direction. Jeffrey and Paul have gone to fetch the picnic basket, and Briony is setting up two large blankets in a green check pattern on the ground.
The food arrives, and all exclaim in awe at the generous quantities. Kaia, in a case of
eyes-bigger-than-stomach
, fills her plate to accomodate a very large person long deprived of any nutrition and begins gorging herself unabashedly, seated beside Briony. Briony looks on in delight as a palette of various condiments is smeared around the child’s mouth.
We settle down to enjoy the picnic. There are sandwiches with egg and cheese, triangular pastries filled with Feta and spinach, small chunks of meat on skewers, tins of olives, anchovies, fruit and freshly baked lemon biscuits. No one will go hungry, not even the ants that keep trying to creep onto the blanket and are forced into a hasty retreat when Kaia begins stomping on them. A darling child!
"What do you think? Did you enjoy it?" Daniel asks between bites of
spanakopita
.
"Oh, quite marvelous. Unlike anything I’ve ever seen."
"Evans took some liberties with the renovation process, but not being an archaeologist myself, I think it all looks utterly believeable."
"Indeed. I should have liked to have viewed the frescos, but perhaps another time."
"Has that inspector Delos or Domas or whatever his name was, found anything new?" Paul asks.
I am so startled by the sudden question, natural as it is under the circumstances, I nearly choke on my food and need to gulp down a large mouthful of cold tea to stop my racking cough.
"Dymas is the name. Well, not really." Jeffrey shakes his head.
I hope he doesn’t say anything about the diary. Of course, these people are their friends and have their alibis as far as I am aware. Still, it would not feel right in light of the ongoing investigation to go around giving away clues, betraying Dymas’ confidence.
Paul chews and swallows elaborately. "I cannot imagine what is taking so long. Surely, there must be leads. This is a small community."
"Exactly. That is why people are sticking together. No one wants their friend or neighbor to be accused of being in any way involved in this." Nikolas is reaching for another sandwich. "These are excellent, Briony, by the way."
"I shall tell our cook." Briony replies, still smiling dotingly at the child, who, as far as I can see, is getting dirtier by the minute!
"Are you saying people know? That people are keeping quiet?" Daniel’s half-eaten spanakopita sits suddenly forgotten on his napkin.
"No, no of course not." Nikolas shakes his head. "I am sorry. I only meant people will be wary of cooperating. No one, and forgive me for saying this, will be keen to expose one of their own in a case that they don’t think concerns them, because the victim was English."
We are silent for a moment. I do not know whether to be insulted or grateful for his candid bluntness.
"Nikolas, please, you are upsetting everyone." Laria intervenes, two lines appearing on her forehead.
Nikolas takes another hearty bite. "I only want my friends to understand what is happening. Dymas will know this, too. What happened was tragic—is tragic—however, I somehow doubt it will ever be resolved. The murderer used rat poison, no?" At our nods he continues. "Everyone has rat poison. No one saw anyone coming to the villa? No one except Caspar was there? Or where any servants around?"
"None," Daniel answers, clenching his jaw.
"Right, no evidence, no witnesses. What can Dymas do? He even contacted us," Nikolas shakes his head in wonder, "looking for alibis. I mean, really."
"I must say, that was a bit disturbing," Paul adds. "Understandable, though." He turns his attention to Rosie to offer a sandwich, which she takes without change in her expression. I wonder how much is getting through to her. How sad for Paul, having known her the way she once was. He obviously still dotes on her, coaxing her along in her current state as though she is a helpless child. Compassion is a good thing, and Paul is a good man, standing by her so resolutely.
"Dymas seems competent enough," Jeffrey’s tone is bordering on defensive, and I hope he won’t say something foolish or damaging.
"Yes, I am sure he is." Darius adjusts his specs, frowning uncomfortably. Either the conversation is troubling him, or these pesky ants have crawled up his pantleg.
"Competence is all very good," Nikolas raises an eyebrow and pops a black olive into his mouth in a practiced motion. "I still have my doubts. What if it was a foreigner?" He looks at Daniel. "You two were traveling around before you came here, what if he was followed? What if the murderer is long gone, back home, task completed?"
"Nik! Stop! You are upsetting everyone with your remarks. I don’t want Kaia to hear this." Laria cries out, her voice as sharp and strained as the tendons in her neck. She is right. Everyone looks tense, with the notable exceptions of Rosie, who is staring dreamily into nowhere, and Kaia who, without our noticing, has befriended a stray dog and is feeding the poor creature anchovies straight from the tin, howling with glee when it licks her hand. I predict a long, soapy bath in her future.
"Fine, fine. I am sorry, if I offended anyone." Nikolas concedes half-heartedly.
"It’s all right. We are all speculating." Jeffrey admits.
"Well, I certainly hope it will soon be resolved." Darius sets down his empty plate and brushes his lips with a napkin. "Dymas, when we spoke, appeared a shrewd man. Further, he is a local, so he will know how to speak to people."
"We can only hope."
"Yes, and Evie and Daniel have been playing detectives." Briony comments absentmindedly, trying to wipe Kaia’s face. I stiffen, noticing that Daniel mirrors my motion, though no one else seems to notice.
"Oh, not really," Daniel lends voice to my thoughts. "We only spoke with Dymas, to find out whether he has discovered anything new he might tell us. Beyond having found who did not do it, there wasn’t much news."
"It was a horrible thing to happen, such a waste." Paul’s face pales as he speaks the words. I can visualize images of Rosie as she was, dancing tauntingly through his mind. So much in the history of this world may be called a
terrible waste
. A waste of life, of resources, of joy, of tears. We live in a world full of trap doors and jagged edges and are still ill equipped for dealing with such unpredictable obstacles.
"Humans have always had an ambitious attraction to depravity." Daniel mutters almost to himself. Nonetheless, I am certain we all heard the bitter words and felt their truth resonate in some shadowy place within ourselves.
Finally, Jeffrey clears his throat. "Perhaps we ought to pack up. I am being assailed by ants, and I could not eat another bite."

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