Death in The Aegean

By M. A. Monnin

When private banker Stefanie Adams travels to Greece on vacation, she is suspected of murdering a wealthy bride who accused her deceased father of artifact theft. Unfortunately, the bride's accusation also ties Stefanie, a former archaeology student, to the robbery of a newly discovered gold statue, th

• Language: English
• Publisher: Level Best Books
• Release date: May 19, 2022
• ISBN: 9781685121068

M. A. Monnin

M. A. Monnin has been a traveler all her life, living in West Germany, The Netherlands, Spain, and England. An avocational archaeologist, she attributes her fascination with archaeology to her childhood in Germany, where she visited medieval churches, castles, and villages. Her short stories have appeared in anthologies and Black Cat Mystery Magazine, and her nonfiction articles cover Victorian reception of Ancient Egypt, detective fiction, and gardening. A board member of the Midwest Chapter of MWA, Mary is also a member of ITW, SinC, SMFS, and RWA and is a trustee of the Kansas City Archaeological Society. She divides her time between writing, traveling, and hiking. She lives in Kansas City, Missouri with husband Bob and Siberian huskies Anubis and Nikita.

Book preview

Chapter One

Great. Just great.

Stefanie Adams frowned at the gray dots circling endlessly on her phone’s map, knowing only that she was somewhere between the Fira Archaeological Museum and her hotel. In the heart of the city, the close buildings made GPS reception spotty. It didn’t help that Fira was a maze of tiny streets, with few street corners marked.

The cobblestone paths were empty since the souvenir shops had closed and the throngs of tourists returned to their cruise ships and hotels. Only the night owls remained.

Finding her way back shouldn’t be that difficult. It had only taken fifteen minutes to get to the museum, which had closed an hour before. She’d arrived on the evening flight from Athens, so excited to explore the island that she hadn’t double-checked the museum’s hours, thinking that in August it closed at nine like the shops.

She retraced her steps through the narrow Santorini streets, disappointed that she hadn’t managed to get an early look at the golden Akrotiri Snake Goddess and compare it with Dad’s photo as she’d hoped. That would happen tomorrow night, leaving the rest of her vacation on Santorini free for fun and romance. Her pace quickened with the prospect.

Funny, she didn’t remember passing a bookshop on the way to the museum. She glanced at her phone to check the GPS again when two men sauntered out of a tavern ahead of her.

The taller one looked her over appreciatively. How about a drink, love? The words were slurred, his Australian accent pronounced.

No thank you. Her words were polite, but her tone wasn’t. Watching him guardedly, she sidestepped, but he stretched out his arm and leaned against the building, blocking her way in the narrow passage. The other positioned himself behind her.

Stefanie tensed. Maybe touring the Greek Isles on her own wasn’t the smartest idea.

Just one drink. Come on.

I’m not interested. How far would he try her? Her heels weren’t high, but she could come down hard on his instep if she needed to, and that would be the end of it. A glance at his feet told her it wouldn’t. Cowboy boots. And his friend? Better chance there. That one wore sandals.

While she contemplated shoving past, another man exited the tavern, dressed like most Greek men, in jeans, with the collar of his white shirt open, but his brown hair was lighter than most of the locals she’d seen. He glanced at the trio, making eye contact with Stefanie. Greek or not, he didn’t appear to be with the two Aussies.

Before she could ask him for help or directions, a ploy to allow her to pass, the outback cowboy moved in and loomed over her. Stefanie stepped back, shaken. In seconds, the newcomer was between them, facing her accoster.

He was older than the two drunks, maybe forty to their early twenties. A little shorter, but more muscular.

Go on, he said in English, with calm self-assurance. Go have your drink.

Cowboy Boots stared him down for a few tense seconds, then seemed to think better of it. He leered at Stefanie. If you get thirsty, love, you know where to find us.

The man in the white shirt stayed until the Australians reentered the bar. They won’t bother you anymore. His English was well-spoken, slightly accented.

Stefanie flashed him a smile. Thanks.

Making her escape, she headed toward the intersection, then stopped, in the same predicament that led to the Australians targeting her. Vulnerable. She consulted the map on her phone once more, chagrined to see the grey dots circling like vultures. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw that the Good Samaritan hadn’t left.

He checked his watch. Where are you going?

She silenced the phone volume with her thumb and dropped her hand to shield the screen from his view. She was smart enough, and at thirty-five, certainly old enough not to give out her hotel. But the truth was, she was lost and apparently so was the GPS signal.

The French Consulate, she said. Close enough, with the promise of protection.

He smiled, a move that gave warmth to his eyes and lent charm to his features. I can take you.

Mentally, she kicked herself. Would he follow her anyway? Waiting for him to walk away first left her open to another encounter with the Aussies.

He waited for her answer with the same calm demeanor he’d displayed with the drunks.

She checked his shoes. Soft leather. She could take a calculated risk.

All right. She brought up the phone and snapped his picture. For my sister, she said, sending the photo.

One corner of his mouth lifted in quiet amusement, then he gestured in the opposite direction she’d been heading in. This way.

Trying to place his accent, she asked, Dutch?

Deutsch.

Ah, German. I’m American. Falling into step beside him, she had no trouble keeping up as they climbed past closed shops and dark windows. Planters competed for space on the sidewalk, and when Stefanie brushed against them, tired geraniums released their sharp fragrance into the night air.

Studying the man’s profile, she saw a prominent nose and strong cheekbones with the shadow of a beard in the hollows underneath. Streaks bleached by the sun lightened his brown hair. He darted a glance at her.

Embarrassed that he’d caught her lingering gaze, Stefanie rechecked her phone. The signal had finally synced, and the route was clearly marked. A five-minute walk would get her to the hotel.

Concentrating on the street, she listened to the sound of her heels striking the rough cobblestones. His shoes were silent, though, as was he. Doubt crept in with the silence and shadows, her throat tightened. When he turned into a narrow alley, she stopped. Was she making a mistake? Maybe she should have declined his offer.

She checked her phone again. The tenseness in her shoulders eased—they were still on the recommended route. Only a few minutes away, each step towards the hotel would take her closer to the well-traveled pedestrian thoroughfare.

Always take the way that leads up, he said, as if aware of her doubts. The pedestrian path is at the top of the cliff.

His relaxed tone reassured her, and the speed with which he’d stepped in said a lot about his character. But taking up with a stranger in any country was risky, no matter how engaging his smile.

That’s what my sister said. No need for him to know Kristin was at home in St. Louis.

She’s not exploring Fira with you?

Jetlag.

Stefanie followed him up a short flight of stairs. The sky grew more visible as they rose above the surrounding buildings, and on the right, she saw the cable car sign. Not far to go.

Before long, they reached the familiar white stucco wall that lined the pedestrian walkway through Fira.

At the cobbled path, her guide stopped and pointed north. The French Consulate is a few meters in that direction. Got your bearings?

Yes. The small sign at the entrance to her hotel was on the right. The entrance itself just a break in the wall, the top of a stairwell that led down to rooms built into the side of the cliff.

In no hurry to leave, the German rested his elbows on the wall, facing the water. It’s too dark tonight to see Nea Kameni.

That’s the island in the center, isn’t it? Back in familiar territory, Stefanie allowed herself to relax. The night air was warm, and it was her first evening on the island, after all. The lights of a cruise ship anchored in the caldera below were strangely muted, unable to penetrate the darkness very far.

Once part of this island, her companion answered. Santorini was larger then, covered with fertile fields and orchards.

A paradise ruled by the entitled few. Stefanie groaned inwardly as soon as the words were out. Why couldn’t she get over being used and move on? Suppressing her bitterness, she added lightly, And look what happened to them.

The gods can be fickle.

Especially when you live on a volcano.

He laughed. I see I can’t impress you.

Stefanie smiled. I interned as an archaeologist not so far away. On Crete. I didn’t stick with it, she said quickly, not wanting to talk about the career she did stick with, but I like the reality behind the legends.

What do you think of it—Atlantis? Her companion swept his arm wide, encompassing the scattered islands, the sea, and the city below.

She rested her elbows on the ledge beside him and savored the view. Whitewashed, flat-topped houses and hotels, illuminated brightly, stair-stepped down the cliffs. In the inky darkness beyond, no visible line divided sea and sky.

It feels secluded, as if the sea goes on forever. The smell of salt on the breeze, which had picked up, enhanced the effect. She drew her gauze scarf around her shoulders.

A world of its own, he agreed. A good place to escape to.

She tilted her head, smiling. Do you need to escape?

Not right now. The creases at the corners of his dark blue eyes deepened attractively as he smiled. Do you?

Stefanie gave a little laugh. Only from myself. From nearby came the tinkle of glass and silverware. Laughter and bits of conversation floated up from cliff-side restaurants. Strange to think we’re on a volcano, with the town built up like it is.

It has its advantages. You can sail around the caldera. Swim in it, if you like.

I might.

Or ride the donkeys to the sea. He leaned over the wall and looked down.

Stefanie did, too. The cobblestone walk serpentined to the dock nearly a thousand feet below. I won’t be riding a donkey.

Not the adventurous type, then.

Just what a woman wanted to hear from a handsome stranger. Did she look dull and boring? The old Stefanie might have been, but she was gone. I didn’t say that.

I live for adventure. His grin mocked the words.

Stefanie laughed. The drunken Aussies could have been trouble.

He dismissed them with a shrug. Not for me.

So, what do you do for adventure?

Travel.

Where’s the adventure if you don’t get lost?

He laughed, and his gaze strayed from her eyes to her lips, then back up. She felt herself reddening. It had been a long time since she’d been out with an attractive man. Too long.

The local beer is filtered through lava rock, he said. Want to brave it? He nodded toward a nearby restaurant whose open dining deck had lights strung along the roofline.

She read the cafe sign. Taverna Atlantis.

Yes, she would. She was drawn to his eyes, his smile, his easy manner. But should she? Anyway, he’d checked his watch before he offered to escort her.

Don’t you have somewhere to be?

All is good.

Her hesitation reminded her why she was in Greece alone in the first place. Lack of spontaneity. On the other hand, she’d vowed to change, to embrace opportunities as they came, and she’d like to enjoy that smile a little longer.

With a humorous gleam in his eyes, he said, We can invite your sister.

Stefanie smiled to herself. He knew. Let’s let her sleep.

The waiter led them to a candlelit table strategically placed to view the Aegean.

Thomas, the German said as the waiter brought them two bottles of Volkan beer and glasses. He pronounced it the German way, with a long ‘o.’

Stefanie.

After emptying one of the bottles into her glass, Thomas poured his own, then raised his glass to hers. Prost.

One beer turned into two as they talked about the newly discovered treasure cache and the merits and drawbacks of volcanic sand beaches. The stress of the last few days receded, leaving her carefree and a bit reckless. Or maybe it was his charm and good looks that made it difficult to concentrate on anything else.

I can see how the Atlanteans became so pleased with themselves, Stefanie said, tearing her gaze away from him and staring out at the night sky. It would be easy to take life for granted here.

We should never take good things for granted.

No, we shouldn’t, she thought. If only life were that simple.

It can be. Look at what we have right here. The ocean breeze, the view.

Turning back, the warmth in his eyes as they met hers left her in no doubt of the view he had in mind. She couldn’t think of a reply. Her gaze dropped to the table, where his hands were almost, but not quite, touching hers. His fingers were long and elegant. Tanned. The urge to reach out and touch them was almost irresistible.

She hadn’t realized she’d leaned forward until the waiter appeared and set two tiny glasses on the table.

A gift of Vinsantos to celebrate a special evening, he said, withdrawing diplomatically.

Thomas leaned close, the mischievous gleam back in his eyes. He thinks we just got married. His mouth curved in a slow smile.

Stefanie’s laugh caught in her throat. His eyes, which reflected the flickering light of the candle, held an invitation that made her pulse quicken. She found herself wondering what his kiss would feel like, his lips on hers.

Focusing on her glass, she drank the liqueur faster than she intended. It must be the excitement of the unknown, being alone in a foreign country. The air itself felt charged with expectation.

Thomas downed his drink.

It’s getting late, she said before he could make an offer she didn’t want to refuse. If taking a walk with a stranger was risky, anything more was outright dangerous.

She stood up, and the gauze scarf around her shoulders slipped to the floor before she could grab it. He bent to catch it at the same time she did, and their fingers touched, sending a current up her arm that shot through every nerve.

In the flickering light of the candles, their eyes met and held as they straightened, the attraction between them pulling with a magnetic force. He took the scarf and draped the yellow gauze around her bare shoulders. The touch of his hands through the thin fabric set her skin on fire and she quivered. He pressed her shoulders with his fingertips, then stepped back.

From the doorway of the restaurant, he watched her walk the few yards to her hotel. At the top of the steps, she stopped and looked back. Her heart beat so quickly that he must see it pulsing at her throat. The imprint of his hands on her shoulders lingered, as did the touch of his fingers on her own. Her gaze ran over his broad shoulders and chest, the strong tanned arms that showed beneath the folded-up sleeves.

She gave him a regretful smile. Good night.

Perhaps I’ll see you again, Thomas said.

Perhaps.

He smiled. With a nod, he walked back the way they’d come.

She descended the steps to her room, savoring a smile herself. Yes, coming to Greece on her own had been a good idea. One point for spontaneity.

Chapter Two

Holding her straw fedora on with one hand, Stefanie raised her face to catch the warmth of the sun on her cheeks. She was halfway down the three-kilometer trek from the ruins of Ancient Thera, and from that height on the rugged mountain, the Aegean stretched as far as she could see, a deeper blue than the sky. The wind was a constant force, invigorating. She filled her lungs with the salty air, loving the adventure of foreign travel. Why had she waited so long?

Some honeymoon. We were supposed to get a private tour of the Akrotiri treasure today, the young blonde walking in front of Stefanie said to her husband. I thought you were meeting George Papadopoulos last night to arrange it.

The woman’s dark-haired husband scowled as he pulled his pink polo shirt away from his back, where it clung by a wide stripe of sweat. He didn’t show up. We’ll see it tonight.

Stefanie couldn’t help but overhear. The newlyweds were on the same Thera-to-Akrotiri morning bus tour as she was, and despite the blistering sun that beat down from a cloudless blue sky, sightseers packed the narrow road etched into the nearly vertical mountainside.

Mention of the Akrotiri treasure reminded her to check in with Monty, family friend, and her one-time archaeology professor. She pulled out her cell phone and called. Clayton Montgomery answered on the second ring.

Monty, you’re home, she said at the deep rumble of the archaeologist’s voice.

You just caught me. We’re heading to Athens for a couple of days. When do you get here to Crete?

Sunday. She lifted her elbows to relieve the prickle of perspiration under her arms. I’ll be at the Elounda Bay Hotel.

The bride glanced her way at the mention of the Five Star hotel.

Perfect, Monty said in Stefanie’s ear. I’m taking you to the opening of the Akrotiri Treasure exhibit here on Thursday. Wear a fancy dress. It’s going to be a party.

I think I can manage that, she said with a laugh. I can’t believe they finally found it—the legendary Snake Goddess of Akrotiri.

At nine inches tall, exquisitely crafted in hammered gold, the snake goddess statue was the highlight of the cache of ancient cult items discovered at the Santorini site of Akrotiri that summer. That same image, along with the Akrotiri skyline, was carved on a stone cylinder seal found on Crete forty years ago. By her father.

There’s no question, Monty said. She’s the one depicted on the seal stone. Every detail is the same.

I brought Dad’s photograph to compare them. If only Dad were alive to see the goddess. Not that he would have come to Greece, of course. He’d given up archaeology at the age of twenty and never had returned, not even when she’d interned with Monty for a summer. Maybe that’s why she hadn’t made a career of archaeology. Banking was more practical, anyway, or so she told herself. The chances of finding anything as remarkable as the Akrotiri treasure were one in a million.

Thanks for getting me into the fundraiser here, she said. At that comment, she noticed the blond bride take even more interest, smiling at her.

They were pretty tight-fisted with the tickets. Rumors are flying about theft attempts, Monty said. But that’s normal for a find like the Snake Goddess, nothing to worry about.

It happens, Stefanie said. We know that from Dad’s experience. But not this time, I hope.

People go a little crazy at the mention of gold artifacts. Nothing to worry about, Monty repeated. I’ll pick you up Thursday at your hotel.

As Stefanie said goodbye and clicked off, the bride’s plaintive voice rang out again.

We’re supposed to see the Snake Goddess today. A wedding present. She turned to her husband. Did you call Papadopoulos this morning?

He didn’t answer. Give it a rest, Emma.

I’m trying Papadopoulos myself.

Go ahead. Maybe you’ll have better luck than I did.

Emma pulled a copper-colored phone out of her purse as she walked. After tapping at the keypad, she raised the phone to her ear in a dazzling flash as the glitzy crystal pop-up handle reflected the sunlight.

The bride’s luck at arranging a tour must not have been any better than her husband’s, because she ended the call without talking to anyone, then dropped the phone back into her oversized orange leather purse.

If my father was here, Papadopoulos wouldn’t dare ignore us like this, Emma said.

We’ll get in touch with him soon enough, the husband replied, aiming a scowl toward the sea. Don’t worry, we’ll get to see it.

Was it the fact that they were newlyweds that annoyed her? Stifling a little pang of envy, Stefanie swiped her index finger across her upper lip, wiping off the sweat that beaded there. Her ex-husband wanted to honeymoon in Greece, but she’d had a plan: wait until she was established at the bank and they had enough to pay cash. Being a private banker at Markham-Briggs meant long hours building relationships with clients. Her marriage hadn’t survived the competition, but three years ago she’d been taken into Harold Markham’s paneled office and promised a vice presidency.

Now she was alone and locked out of the position she’d worked so hard to get. She gazed at the whitecaps in the blue sea below. Planning every step didn’t mean you controlled the outcome. It merely limited your choices along the way. She’d learned that lesson well, and vowed things would be different from then on. She would be different. She’d embrace opportunities as they came and work out details later.

That was the plan, anyway. Her stomach tightened at the competition she’d face at the larger banks in St. Louis. Submitting a few resumes before she left would have been smart. Deliberately, she inhaled deeply. Time enough to think about her career when she got back home. Until then, she’d embrace all that the Greek islands had to offer.

The groom shared that spirit of adventure. Sort of. Look at the color of that water, Emma. He stopped in front of Stefanie, causing her to stumble and side-step, then glowered at her while he raised his camera for a photo.

If we’d used a decent trip advisor, we could have gotten a hotel right on the water, Emma said, ignoring the deep blue sea below. Where are you staying? she asked Stefanie.

Wondering if it held the same level of luxury as the Elounda Bay on Crete? Not one to one-up others, Stefanie didn’t name her hotel.

I got lucky, she replied. I’ve got a great view.

Stefanie passed the couple and ended up beside two silver-haired women who hiked with the aid of trekking poles. She recognized them from the bus as well.

The shorter one was dressed in tan leggings and Birkenstocks that matched the turquoise shirt beneath her jean jacket. Her sleek silver bob gleamed in the sunlight as she gave Stefanie a knowing look.

We’ve had to listen to them, too, haven’t we, Rita?

The silver paisley pattern on Rita’s tunic mirrored her wind-blown curls, which bounced as she commiserated with a nod of her head. We’re on the cruise. Did you come from the ship, too? she asked Stefanie. So many honeymooners come to Santorini.

Yes, I noticed. Stefanie pressed her lips together. It wasn’t that she missed her ex, she’d gotten over him years ago. But honeymooners reminded her that she was alone. All work and no play had made her a dull girl. Not that she needed to be. Last night had been fun.

Why hadn’t she given Thomas her cell number, instead of leaving a second meeting up in the air? He was intelligent and good-looking. Delicious, in a very male kind of way, with the darkest blue eyes she’d ever seen. But it was his laugh that had stayed with her, and that smile. He enjoyed life, something she could do with more of.

A frisson of excitement rose at the memory of the invitation in his eyes.

Stop being nosy, the woman in turquoise Birkenstocks said with a glance at her companion.

You wouldn’t understand, Lauren. You’ve never been married. Rita turned back to Stefanie. You’ve seen photos of the Golden Goddess?

The golden relic again. Nothing like newly discovered treasure to spark excitement. She felt it herself. Yes, I’m planning to see it tonight, in fact.

Is it on exhibit already? Lauren asked.