‘We can, but you don’t get the same nuance from voice chats as you do with face to face,’ Posy says, ‘Ifyou’re looking at the caller’s face and not their inner ear, that is.’
‘You do overdramatise, Posy. Now, about your text, Evie. I don’t like the sound ofanyof this. The husband is where?’
I have to play this right and give Gran the chance to fix things herself. ‘Konstantine is working on an oil rig.’
‘Anoilrig?’ Mom shakes her head. ‘So this man she’s known for a month marries her then takes off? That doesn’t make any sense.’
‘The renovations exceeded their budget, so he’s gone offshore to bring in a salary.’
‘OK, I can understand she’s gone all out decorating – it’s Gran; she doesn’t do things on the cheap – but I don’t see how he can just up and leave her like that.’
I roll my eyes. ‘It’s not like he’s run away. He’s working to help them stay afloat.’
‘Her savings though; you can’t tell me she’s gone through all her money? It’s impossible.’
‘Really, none of us know where Gran stands financially. And why would we? It’s not our concern if she’s happy and healthy – which she is.’
Mom lets out a long sigh as if I’m testing her patience. ‘Darling her import-export business has done surprisingly well over the years. The woman has a knack for finding the next big thing. She squirrels a lot of those funds away, and now she’s got money quibbles? No. This smells fishy.’
‘Yeah, it’s fishy all right.’ Posy nods. ‘Got to hand it to Gran, she’s got the nous when it comes to the import-export side of things. It’s the rest of her life that’s a disaster.’
I bristle. ‘It’s anything but, Posy. She happens to live authentically, unlikesome people.’
Posy gasps. ‘Are you referring to me?’
‘If the shoe fits.’
‘Well at least I—’
‘Now, now, let’s not start all this,’ Mom says, having refereed us too many times to count. ‘Can we focus on the issue at hand, please? You might think everything is hunky-dory, Evie, but if Gran’s having money woes, then we need to figure out why.’
‘Do we though? She’s a grown woman. Can’t she figure it out herself? Maybe her money is tied up in investments, who knows, but it’s not our place to pry if she doesn’t want us to.’
Mom pinches the bridge of her nose.
‘She’s amillionyears old,’ Posy says, her voice high. ‘She’s gone and got herself married for the ninth time, Evie. Ninth. Her husband is missing and she’s having money troubles. Wake up! I mean, is this guy evenreal? She’s probably lost it all in crypto or something zany.’
‘Why would she make him up?’ Honestly, my family love a good conspiracy.
‘I’m with Posy,’ Mom says. ‘Something is off. I’m going to investigate this end.’
If Mom goes snooping, Gran’s secrets won’t be safe. Mom’s like a dog with a bone when there’s a mystery to be solved.
‘I wish you wouldn’t,’ I say, exasperation leaching from every syllable.
‘Keep an eye on her, Evie. She’s up to something.’
Just what planet are they living on?
Chapter 6
The day wears on and still no sign of Gran. I take a moment to gaze outside the arched windows. In the distance is an array of white, domed houses with blue roofs, stacked one atop the other all the way up the cliff face, all vying for a view of the deep blue sea. It’s picture-perfect like a postcard. So beautiful it almost doesn’t feel real. I turn back to the bookshop, which in comparison is a riot of colour.
Colour blocking is in vogue with bookworms, but it really does work well with the blue sea as a backdrop. Tomes stand out, as if showing off their spines in the hopes of being chosen by the next sandy-footed tourist.
I peruse the collection of stock. Gran’s got all sorts from romance to Goth-fic, sci-fi and the classics. There’s travelogues and memoirs, and she’s highlighted Greek authors and stories set in Greece.
While customers are sporadic, I scroll employment websites. There are a couple of book scout jobs at small indie studios, not romance-centric but maybe I can change that if I get the position. I apply just in case. My CV is current, so the application process doesn’t take long. I use Penelope the PA from Hollywood films as a character reference and shoot her a text to warn her that she may have to wax lyrical when it comes to endorsing my bubbly, sparkly personality. I’m not going to allow the whole interview panic mode to set in but seriously why can’t we interview by a series of emails since it’s a literary job and all? Surely my grasp on the English language would be better expressed that way. Still, no one tends to go this route, and how imprudent is that when a huge chunk of my role is composing emails to wordsmiths?
