Free The Whispers of Nemesis by Anne Zouroudi Page B

sighed.
    â€˜I did my best for him,’ he said. ‘There’s just no money in poetry.’
    â€˜But there’s money in the poems of dead poets, isn’t there?’ asked Frona. ‘And now he’s dead and made his money, someone’s trying to steal it!’
    â€˜Steal it?’ The agent seemed shocked. ‘What on earth makes you say that?’
    â€˜That does!’ She pointed at the metal case at the priest’s feet. ‘Someone who knows what was in his will has stolen his remains to invalidate it, and keep us from our inheritance!’
    Papa Tomas looked up from his plate with interest; Maria halted in her rearranging of the crackers.
    â€˜What someone?’ asked Attis. ‘Why?’
    â€˜Some enemy. Someone who has an interest in keeping the money locked away.’
    She looked hard at the agent, and made her meaning clear.
    â€˜Frona! Surely, Frona, you can’t be accusing me?’ In apparent hurt and indignation, Attis’s face grew red. ‘Why would I do such a thing, to you of all people? No one could have worked harder on Santos’s behalf, on behalf of his estate, and in your interests! Tirelessly, I have worked! I’ve sold rights to dozens of countries, and overseen the royalty payments in a fair and businesslike manner. The accounts may be frozen, but I can assure you that all the monies that should be there, are there! And might I remind you, I am myself a beneficiary of the will? It grants me a one-off sum, if you remember, which at the time of his death Santos simply didn’t have, a very generous gesture which four years ago his estate could not possibly have paid. Maybe he was a better businessman than he seemed. In willing me that sum, he willed me an incentive to make the money – which I may say I have done, alongside a considerable sum for you, and Leda. So I cannot for one single minute see why you think I should want to keep his money from myself, or you, especially in such a bizarre and ghoulish fashion! Why in God’s name would I do something so heathen as to dig the poor man up, and hide his bones? I may be many things, Frona, but a grave-robber I most certainly am not.’
    Frona sighed.
    â€˜I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I appreciate all you’ve done. But if not any of us, who?’
    â€˜Bad eyes,’ murmured Maria, ‘bad eyes.’ She made crosses over her heart, and glanced at the darkening window as if an unwelcome face might be watching. The priest made crosses too, and sipped more brandy.
    â€˜Does it matter who?’ asked Attis.
    â€˜What do you mean?’ Frona picked up a ram’s-head poker, and shifted the charred logs to shake off their ash. Small flames flickered, and died again as she placed a fresh pine log in the grate.
    â€˜We’ve exhumed the bones in Santos’s grave. Doesn’t that meet the terms of the will?’
    â€˜Not if they’re not his bones.’
    â€˜But we could say they are.’
    â€˜Say that those pig bones belong to my brother? That will bring shame on him, and on us, his family.’
    Papa Tomas nodded enthusiatic agreement.
    â€˜But what if the bones were blessed?’ asked Attis. ‘Think about it, Frona; I’m trying to help you, and Leda. A blessing would surely make it right. You’d make it right, wouldn’t you, Papa, for a consideration?’
    But Frona shook her head.
    â€˜We can’t do that,’ she said. ‘Where are Santos’s bones? Someone has desecrated my brother’s grave, Attis! That’s more important than any amount of money! We should be going after this grave-robber, this criminal!’
    â€˜Just so,’ said Attis, carefully, ‘Just so. And with money, you could hire an investigator to track him down. You’re quite right that a criminal act has been committed here, for reasons we don’t know. But without money to pay someone to find out, the truth