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Galen could not do small talk. ‘Costa, what’s happening on Anapliró with the families?’
‘Crazy guns at dawn stuff.’
‘Such as?’
‘Just toxic. I’ve only heard gossip around the retreat, but Mary went and got her hair done in the village—she said she’d find out a lot more that way... Anyway, the Drakos family want the cottage back. The Kyrios family say it’s theirs. They’ve decided that Nemo did what he did to save Roula...’
‘A bit extreme,’ Galen said, tongue in cheek.
‘Ah, but, Toto, we’re not in Kansas any more. We’re in Anapliró now.’ Costa looked over. ‘That’s aWizard of Ozjoke...’
‘Thank you,’ Galen said sarcastically.
‘Oh, and I’m going to be without a head chef if Roula comes back... Mia’s threatening to resign.’
‘Bitch.’
‘Whoa!’ Costa said, because that was not the Galen he knew. ‘I guess you’ve had it all from this end...’
‘No. I told you, Roula doesn’t say much about it.’
That gnawing feeling was back in his gut and Galen didn’t like it—not because it smacked too much of feeling, more because he was starting to be sure about her husband. It wasn’t like an ulcer—just a plain old gut feeling that had been markedly absent in most of his life, but ever-present when it came to Roula...
‘Mind you,’ Costa continued, ‘Mia might not want to push her own agenda too much.’
‘Meaning?’
‘Yolanda’s looking to pull back. I’m going to be looking for a manager.’
‘Roula?’ Galen frowned, but then put up his hand. ‘I don’t want to know.’
God, another thing that would get him in trouble if they ever spoke again. Still, even though he was usually less than interested in gossip, Galen was here with a question in mind—and he hadn’t asked it yet.
‘What was he like?’ Galen was rarely nosy, but he knew that Costa read people better than he did.
‘Who?’
‘The man who died?’ Galen said. ‘I can’t really remember him—just that he was very popular...’
‘You know the type.’ Costa shrugged.
‘No,’ Galen said. ‘You read people better than me.’
Costa thought back. ‘I couldn’t stand him,’ he admitted.
‘Yet he got on with everyone?’
‘Yes, but he was a smiling assassin. You know the type. He’s a saint now, though.’
