Black Night, Amber Morning

By Freda Vasilopoulos

When Dion Parris returns to his hometown, the village busybodies immediately decide he will be the perfect husband for Dr. Solange Richards, a fellow Canadian expatriate. But Dion has a potentially explosive secret: he is planning to find and kill the man who murdered his parents. Romantic Suspense by Freda Vasilopoulos writing as Tina Vasilos; originally published by Harlequin Superromance

• Language: English
• Publisher: Belgrave House
• Release date: Aug 1, 1991
• ISBN: 9781610845700

Book preview

Vasilopoulos

Prologue

If they saw him, he was dead.

Anger and fear twisting in his gut, the boy shrank into the prickly, inadequate cover of shrubs lining the path. He held his breath, fearing they might hear it.

The officer came first, marching with the precise cadence learned in the military academy. The two prisoners followed him, their steps shuffling and uneven, as if their feet hurt. Behind them came two soldiers, prodding them on with an occasional, cruelly directed rifle butt.

The boy’s breath rasped in his throat, and he bit back a gasp of rage as the smaller prisoner tripped and fell, collapsing like a bundle of rags.

Fitful moonlight bathed the scene as the other prisoner stooped over the woman and tugged at her. She moaned, struggling to rise. Pushing the man aside, one of the soldiers kicked the woman and forced her to her feet. The boy clenched his fist against his mouth to stop his own scream as the woman cried out in pain.

The prisoners stumbled up the hill, driven by guttural curses. Keeping his head low, the boy followed.

At the crest of the hill, buffeted by a light wind, he paused. Below him, the city sprawled in a spangle of lights. The cone of Lykavettos, crowned by a white church etched in moonlight, rose against a faintly orange sky. A necklace of candles formed a looping garland as the Easter worshippers left the church and made their way home.

Here, on the mountain, no one celebrated the resurrection. They only celebrated terror and death.

The boy turned away, forcing his reluctant feet down the path in the wake of the prisoners and their captors. He hurried to catch up, his eyes fixed on the beam of the flashlight held by the officer. The astringent odor of pine trees stung his nostrils, and he knew he wouldn’t be seen in the dense shadows they laid on the path.

The group ahead had stopped in a clearing overlooking a heavily wooded ravine. Taking cover in a thicket of shrubs, the boy crept as close as he dared, oblivious to the thorns ripping at his hands and arms. The elusive scent of early poppies crushed beneath the soldiers’ boots rose from the ground, sickening in its sweetness.

He crouched again, a peculiar fatalism gripping his emotions and mercifully rendering them numb. It was too late, too late. His parents were about to die, and there was nothing he or anyone else could do. He touched the packet hidden inside his shirt, reassured by the crackle of the airline ticket that rested there. After it was over, he would carry out his father’s last wish.

Tomorrow he would be gone, away from the madness that held the country in a relentless vise. But tonight, tonight he had to witness the final, agonizing farewell.

The ominous click of cocked pistols pulled his attention back to the group at the edge of the ravine. His numbness receded. A searing anguish flooded his body, clawing at his heart. Two shots rang out, flat, harsh reports that didn’t carry beyond the clearing, an execution carried out in secret with deadly efficiency.

The boy’s body jerked spasmodically at the sound. No! he wanted to scream, but an instinct for self-preservation he couldn’t override closed his throat.

His own death would only prove that the oppressors had won. He had to live. He bit down on the inside of his cheek, welcoming the metallic taste of his own blood as tears scalded his face.

A slide, the officer ordered. Make sure they won’t be found.

It was over. The boy’s low-pitched moan was inaudible as a rumble more terrible than an earthquake he dimly remembered shook the night.

Done. The officer’s voice was cold, emotionless, as if he’d disposed of a minor inconvenience that hindered the smooth running of the military system.

He turned and struck a match, holding it to his cigarette. In the brief flare the boy saw his hand. The smallest finger was peculiarly bent.

He frowned. Strange. Then its significance hit him. The man had an extra finger on his left hand. Impotent sorrow gave way to a grim elation. A distinctive mark. He would be able to identify the man when he met him again.

The soldiers left, one of them making some remark that caused the others to laugh, a macabre sound that lacerated the boy’s raw emotions.

When the tramp of their boots had been swallowed by the night, the boy rose to his feet, creeping over to the rock slide. All traces of the night’s murder had been obliterated.

He stood for an instant, his lips moving in a prayer for their souls. Silently, grimly, he made the sign of the cross, his first two fingers and his thumb joined to touch his forehead, his chest, his right shoulder, his left, repeated three times.

Laying his palm over his heart, he lifted his tear-wet face to the sky. He clenched the other hand into a fist and raised it over his head. It didn’t matter that he was only sixteen. He was the only one left in his family, suddenly projected into manhood by an act of barbarism too awful to contemplate.

Shaking his fist at the sky, he shouted, I’ll find him. I, Dion Parris, will find him. And I will make him pay.

Chapter One

She heard the first gossip before six when she met Grandma Amelia feeding her chickens under an amber sunrise.

New man in town, Dr. Solange. The old woman smiled in a sly, knowing way, and winked one of her rheumy eyes. They say he’s from Canada. You’ll have something in common.

Solange hid a smile of her own. The people in the small town seemed to abhor the single state in anyone over twenty-five. She’d been the victim of matchmaking schemes countless times in the past four years. Maybe he has a wife and children in Canada, she said calmly.

Tucking her black scarf more firmly around her chin, Amelia shook her head. He’s your age, and he’s single. Didn’t old Costa know his father? He would have heard if Dion had married. Of course it’s been more than twenty years.

Solange let loose her smile as she wrapped her arm around Amelia’s narrow shoulders and gave her a hug. Exactly. I think it’s a bit too early to arrange the wedding.

You’ll see, Amelia called after her as Solange continued down the street toward the open fields. Dion was a beautiful child. He must be a handsome man.

Laughing, Solange waved her hand and broke into a run, her long blonde ponytail swinging across her shoulders. Her feet kicked up puffs of dust as the sky changed from amber to pink, and the sun rose in a blaze of gold. Sweat began to trickle down her back and chest, soaking her cotton tank top and shorts.

Solange threw back her head and inhaled deeply, the exhilaration of supreme good health flowing through her veins. A flurry of sparrows rose next to the path, sending a patch of scarlet poppies into an agitated dance.

It was May, the time of year she liked best, warmer than early spring, but not yet settled into the heat of summer, the brief hiatus between Easter and the tourist season. Wildflowers and roses were at their best in May and early June, and the land lay quiet and fecund beneath the burden of maturing grain. Growing corn already stood waist high, its rich green maintained by colossal sprinklers that sent a cool mist drifting down the breeze.

She enjoyed running, but it had taken nearly a year for her neighbors to accept her morning exercise as normal. At first they’d shaken their heads in amused pity. Traveling on foot in rural Greece meant that you were too poor to afford a car or bus fare.

Now they took it for granted, as they had taken her to their hearts. If she missed a day, someone was sure to stop by her flat or her office to see if she was ill.

Forty-five minutes later, Solange jogged into the front door of the house where she rented a small flat on the upper floor. Voices in the kitchen told her the household was up, her landlady Demetra Candiles good-naturedly scolding her children as they prepared for school.

The heavier voice of Demetra’s husband Vasili carried clearly up the stairwell. Dion Parris is back in town? That will put the cat among the pigeons.

His teenage daughter Litsa spoke up. They say he’s as handsome as a film star.

Yes, said Demetra. Now maybe the doctor will notice something besides her microscope.

On the stairs, Solange stifled a laugh. Microscope? Is that how they thought she passed the time between patients? It was true that she was engaged in research with her assistant Penny, but analyzing a few blood samples was hardly devoting her life to a microscope.

She continued up the stairs and slammed the door loudly as she went into her apartment. They might as well be aware that she could have heard their conversation, though she knew it wouldn’t stop them.

Stripping off her shorts and shirt, she stepped into the shower, welcoming the warm spray on her sweating body. Even this early in the morning, the sun’s heat was a force to be reckoned with.

She’d found Greece to be a land of contrasts, lush green fields set against stark mountains, the intense brilliance of day dying abruptly into the opaque black of night. The Greeks fought the elements of nature, drought and flood, heat and rocky soil, and when they overcame that, they fought each other.

In Greece, there were no halfway measures. Every situation contained the seeds of high drama, passion. She understood passion—understood how to fight for something.

But she’d also found that extreme passion got one into trouble. And had learned to temper it. Her reputation for cool competence not only ruled her work but had spilled over into her personal life. She liked it that way.

 She rinsed her hair and turned off the water. Wrapping a towel around her head, she dried her body, fluffing on powder from a plain white tin. Her hair, wet and dark as honey, curled around her face in tangled ringlets as she pulled off the towel and brushed it into place.

Dry, it was pale amber, the color an unusual contrast to her easily tanned skin. The combination, along with her eyes, which were dark lashed and brown instead of the blue people expected in blondes, gave a dramatic emphasis to her appearance that she didn’t always find comfortable. Frowning at her image in the mirror, she twisted her hair into a knot at the back of her head.

Oh, she looked all right. She no longer had the inferiority complex that had turned her teen years into a hell of nonconformity. But she was hardly classically beautiful; her features were far too assertive for that.

Dion Parris was as handsome as a film star, was he? Well, he wouldn’t be interested in her, then, no matter how her neighbors tried to push them together. On impulse, she stuck out her tongue in a childish gesture of derision before turning away to dress for work.

* * * *

Aphrodite, Solange’s office nurse, had already opened the little clinic on the town square. Solange strode briskly through the reception room where several patients waited, greeting them with a cheerful "Kali mera."

Morning, Aphrodite, she said as she entered her office. How does it look? As she spoke, she took a pink smock from the closet in the corner and put it on over her cotton skirt and blouse.

Aphrodite, a heavy set woman in her forties whose stolid serenity had proved an invaluable aid in treating nervous patients, handed her a clip board. "Kali mera, Solange. We’ve got a light day. Just the patients out there, and at ten a mother whose child has earache."

Although most doctors’ offices in Greece were run on the first come, first served basis, often resulting in lengthy waits for patients, Solange had instituted the appointment system. While it didn’t work perfectly, it did allow her to plan her day.

The people of Korfalli were a sturdy lot, used to taking care of minor ailments on their own. That, of course, had its bad side; some patients let illness or injury go until it became serious or life threatening before seeing the doctor.

But on the whole, Solange’s work was pleasant and rewarding. The townspeople liked her, and she liked them, even when she disagreed with them on treatment or medical philosophy.

Solange scanned the list, noting the names on it. All repeats, people she’d seen in the past weeks. An easy day.

Okay, Aphrodite, call in the first one.

By eleven the outer room was empty. Aphrodite made coffee on the little gas hot plate in the corner of the office while Solange updated the files. She opened from eight to one, then again from seven to eight in the evening. The hours weren’t long, with the substantial siesta break, but she was considered to be on call twelve or more hours a day. The work and the responsibility left her with little time for a social life but, since that was low on her list of priorities, it didn’t matter.

Penny came in as Aphrodite set the tray of coffee cups on the desk. "Yassas," she greeted them cheerfully, helping herself to a cookie.

She was a pretty woman in her late twenties, with a small, slight body whose apparent fragility hid a tireless energy that Solange appreciated during winter flu epidemics. In jeans and a bright T-shirt, she looked more like a kid than a rising expert in the relation between diet, lifestyle, and heart disease.

Morning, Penny. Solange looked up from the files. You didn’t have to come in today. It’s been slow.

I just wanted to check out some test results, Penny said, moving to her own desk and gulping from the coffee cup Aphrodite set at her elbow. Thanks, Aphrodite.

She sifted through files in the drawer, exclaiming triumphantly when she found the one she needed. Draining the cup, she set it back in the saucer with a clatter and headed for the door. Solange, I’ll let you know the results when I’ve analyzed the data.

No rush. Where are you tomorrow?

I’m doing my rounds in the hills. I’ll check on Mrs. Zogas if you want.

Yes, I’d appreciate it, Penny. She was slightly toxic with her other pregnancy. I never could prove if that caused the miscarriage, but it’s better to be on the safe side. If she shows any sign of swelling, ask her to come in.

Penny’s straight black brows knit in a frown and she pushed her glasses higher on her small nose. If I can get her husband to agree.

Oh, you won’t have any trouble with him. He comes on like a bad-tempered bear, but he loves his wife.

You could’ve fooled me.

Solange smiled. I’m sure you’ll handle it. By the way, will I see you at your aunt’s tonight?

Penny paused on her way to the door. I’ve got a lot of work analyzing these tests. I’ll see how it goes. Bye.

Which probably meant no, Solange realized, frowning. After her estrangement from her parents, Penny was determined to assert her independence.

The irony of it was that she’d settled in Korfalli, where her uncle Peter Bulgaris was mayor. Which only proved that no Greek existed in a vacuum, and given the choice of living in a strange place or a town where he had relatives, a Greek would always choose the latter. The only pressure Penny hadn’t bowed to was to actually live with her relatives. She had her own apartment in a new block on the edge of the town.

Fortunately Peter and Anna had kept out of Penny’s dispute with her parents. They were there if she needed them, but never interfered in her life.

Family relations were very complicated in this society, Solange had discovered, and rifts were often irreparable. Sighing, she turned back to the work on her desk.

Aphrodite seated herself in the chair opposite, pulling out her knitting. Dion Parris came back, she said with a certain emphasis.

Solange sighed. Yes, I know. Who is Dion Parris, anyway?

Aphrodite’s carefully plucked eyebrows rose. You don’t know? No one’s told you?

Abandoning her pretence of writing, Solange picked up the tiny cup and sipped the thick, syrupy brew. No one’s told me what? Oh, I know he’s handsome and the perfect candidate to take the doctor away from her microscope, but who is he? Why all the fuss?

You’ve heard. Aphrodite blushed, and busied herself with a stitch she’d inadvertently dropped.

I’ve heard. Solange folded her hands on the desk, and waited, her mouth turned up in amusement.

Well, you’re not married. Flustered, Aphrodite dropped another stitch. It’s not right for a woman to be alone. You should have considered Yannis Tsika’s proposal last year. The nurse eyed Solange critically. You’re not getting any younger, and most of the men your age are married.

I hardly think thirty-two means I’m ready for a pension, Solange said dryly. She’d had this conversation, or a version of it with almost every woman in town at one time or another. And there’s always Penny. She’s single, too.

Aphrodite pursed her lips. She’s even more hopeless than you are. Ever since she got away from the man her father wanted her to marry and alienated her family completely by going to medical school, she’s had no use for men at all. Besides, just now, she’s too busy. Any man who wants her will have to catch her between projects.

Well, I’ve been busy too, said Solange in her own defense. Come on, Aphrodi, who is Dion Parris?

"A handsome man. A handsome, single man." Again Aphrodite stopped.

Yes, I already know that. What else?

Aphrodite used her spare knitting needle to scratch a spot at the back of her head. His family lived here once, but they moved to Athens when he was a child, more than twenty years ago. Let’s see, Dion must be about thirty-five now.

Lowering her voice to a whisper, she leaned forward. Something happened to them—we never heard exactly what except that it was political—and Dion was sent to live with relatives in Canada.

Her voice resumed its normal pitch. He’s a professor at an important university there, and they say he’s here to study the Sarakatsani. You know, those shepherds who used to travel all over the country, south in winter, north to the mountains in summer. Of course, now they’ve mostly settled in the towns. She pursed her lips. Why anyone would be interested in them is beyond me.

Oh, really? Solange finished her coffee and set down the thimble-sized cup. I think the subject would be fascinating.

Would Dion Parris be equally fascinating? She told herself she didn’t care but curiosity nipped at her, a persistent nuisance that spoiled her concentration as she turned her attention back to the files.

Aphrodite had the last word, however. You’re a beautiful woman, Doctor Solange. You need a man.

Solange couldn’t help the laugh that tumbled from her lips. Beautiful? Me? I’m too tall, too thin, and my nose is too long.

Nevertheless, said Aphrodite, her needles clicking, you’re beautiful. Never mind those cute girls in magazines with their turned-up noses and round cheeks. You’ve got character.

Character? That was something at least, Solange conceded, with inward amusement. And character certainly wore better than prettiness as one grew older. Maybe it was just as well that God hadn’t given her the snub nose she’d prayed for at fifteen.

Aphrodite rolled up her section of sweater and stuck the spare needle through the bundle of blue wool before stowing it in an embroidered knitting bag. She stood up, stretching, with a hand pressed to her lower back. One o’clock. Looks like no one else is coming.

Picking up her bag, she paused by Solange’s desk. Once he sees you, Dion Parris won’t be able to help himself. He’ll fall in love.

Before Solange could recover from this amazing statement and form a coherent reply, Aphrodite was out the door, closing it gently behind her.

Solange locked up shortly afterward. Swinging a string bag from her wrist, she walked by the shops, stopping to buy lamb chops at the butcher’s and vegetables at the green grocer’s.

She good-naturedly fielded the comments that flew around her, the speculations on a future relationship between her and Dion Parris. She wondered if anyone was setting odds on how long it would take for them to be married, then dismissed the thought as ludicrous. They hadn’t even met yet, for heaven’s sake.

If Dion Parris is anything like his father, you’ll meet him before the day is over, the woman who sold her a carton of yogurt warned. You’re single, foreign and educated. She lifted her hand and touched Solange’s cheek. And all that fabulous blonde hair as a bonus—he won’t be able to resist.

Other men don’t seem to have any problem resisting me, Solange said with a wry grin.

Dion lived in Canada. He’ll know how to handle a Canadian woman.

Solange laughed but as she walked up the street toward home, her smile faded. What if the Canadian woman didn’t want to be handled? Still, she had to admit, she was dying of curiosity to meet this paragon of manhood.

They’d probably hate each other on the spot.

* * * *

The meeting came sooner than she expected.

At nine that evening Solange presented herself at the home of Peter and Anna Bulgaris, Penny’s uncle and aunt, where she’d been invited for dinner. Anna, who knew everyone in town, had been one of Solange’s first patients when she’d set up her practice. She’d been invaluable for public relations.

Solange had originally come to Greece as a volunteer member of a relief organization, treating the victims of a devastating earthquake five years before. She’d liked Korfalli and its people. And she’d felt as if she knew it from fading photos in the family album. Her parents had lived there for the first year of their marriage.

True, it had grown and changed, but after the relief organization pulled out, she’d stayed on and opened her own office. Now, four years later, she was well established, both personally and professionally.

Anna greeted her at the door. Solange, I’m so glad you could make it. No babies due to take you away early, are there?

Not at the moment. Solange smiled, allowing her hostess to draw her into the living room where several other couples sat or stood, all talking at once.

Coming from a rather reserved family, Solange had at first been taken aback by the sheer volume that was a necessary part of every gathering. But her neighbors meant well, for all their exuberance, and their open-hearted congeniality had helped pull Solange out of her depression when she’d first arrived.

Ah, here she is, Peter boomed as he mowed a path through the small crowd. Solange dropped a kiss on his cheek as he pulled her boisterously into his arms, his ample belly making her feel as if she hugged a pillow. Lovely as ever, I see. He pretended to leer at her, winking broadly at his wife as she went to get Solange a drink.

Solange glanced around the room. Penny didn’t make it.

Peter frowned briefly. Said she was too busy.

Solange nodded. As she’d expected. Penny would use almost any excuse to avoid social gatherings, especially since the subject of marriage always cropped up.

Never mind, Peter said. "She’s promised to come