Feta Attraction by Susannah Hardy

back. Hopefully Dolly let him go without too much of a fuss.
    It was three o’clock before I got another break. The place was packed with tourists for lunch, most of whom wanted to know what the ghost hunters had found. Two ladies wearing a lot of twinkly beads and long swingy skirts claimed to be “sensitive” and asked, after a couple of tours around the three dining rooms and the restrooms, whether they could go upstairs and attempt to connect with the spirits inhabiting the house. I respectfully declined. I completed the work schedules for the following week, finalized the menus for Pirate Days, called in the payroll, and had enough other work to do that I was able to put the strange notes out of my mind for a while at least.
    I e-mailed Cal in Greece that I loved her and to be careful, and to please check in with me by e-mail or phone every day. She’d roll her eyes at that, but she’d comply. I didn’t necessarily believe that anybody could get to her over there, but some caution on her part couldn’t hurt.
    I grabbed a glass of ice water from the kitchen and headed upstairs.
    I looked into Spiro’s room. Still no sign of him. I opened my door. The ghost hunters must have been conscientious there as well, because I didn’t notice anything amiss. I opened my closet door and was relieved to see that they had apparently not delved too far back into that terrestrial black hole—the Shaun Cassidy record was as I had left it, covered with an old quilt and guarded by more than a few oversized dust bunnies. My small bag remained on the floor near the bathroom where I had dropped it unceremoniously this morning. Unpacking would have to wait for later.
    I went into the bathroom and washed my face with warm water and ran a brush through my hair. When I came back out, I sucked in a breath. Sophie was sitting in my armchair.
    â€œSophie, you gave me a start,” I said. Despite her claims of constant pain and infirmity, she could move like a cat when she wanted to.
    â€œThere is still no word from Spiro.”
    â€œNo.” There was no word directly from Spiro—only from his kidnapper. Maybe.
Is it kidnapping if the victim is a grown man?
I wondered.
    â€œIt is time to start looking for him.”
    â€œI’ve already started, Sophie.”
    â€œHe is not answering his cell phone.” Because it was sitting on my desk under a pile of papers where I had left it. I needed to look at that ASAP, but had gotten sidetracked with the Coast Guard guy and the influx of customers.
    â€œGeorgie, I’m worried.”
    â€œI know. Me too.” He was a pain in the ass and not any kind of husband to me, but he was a good father to Cal and I did love him. As a friend. A friend I liked to annoy every once in a while just for the heck of it, but a friend nonetheless.
    â€œPlease try to find him.” Her eyes were imploring and looked straight into mine.
    â€œSophie, is he in some kind of trouble that you know about?” I had the feeling she was not telling me something.
    She hesitated, apparently trying to decide how much, if anything, to reveal. “There is money missing from our accounts.”
    She and Spiro had both names on their local accounts, but to my knowledge they didn’t keep huge amounts in them, preferring instead to keep most of their assets in cash to avoid paying taxes.
    â€œHow much money are we talking about?”
    â€œTwenty-three thousand dollars.” It was probably more, but still, that was a substantial sum she was admitting to.
    â€œWhen was the money withdrawn?”
    â€œI don’t know. I need you to find out.”
    â€œHave you looked at the bank statement?”
    â€œI call the accountant, but he said he didn’t have it. He looked on last month’s paper and the money was there.”
    â€œThat means he withdrew it sometime in the last couple of weeks. I’ll check online for you