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watch.
     Zach sat on the other side and stared straight out to sea behind extreme dark sunglasses.
    “Zach, what’s your assessment of my aunt’s case?” I completed my beach ritual and
     lay back on propped arms, breasts tilted up to the sun, hair pulled into a loose knot
     on top my head. It felt great.
    “Her three women friends have to be found,” he said, turning his head in my direction
     but returning his gaze quickly to the sea. “You say you tried to contact these women.
     Would there be anyone else who might know something about them?”
    Yannis spoke up. “Lonnie Walters, the man who runs Escort Tours, would know who they
     are,” he said. “I hadn’t thought of him before. We found where the women are staying
     because my father knows the man who rents to them.”
    “Then we need to talk to Mr. Walters and the landlord,” Zach said. He kept his gaze
     trained on the sea.
    The view in my direction must have been blinding. I liked his use of the word “we”
     and smiled. A new member had joined the investigating team, payment to be worked out
     later.
    “Lonnie’s usually around on Sunday evenings,” Yannis said. “He hangs out at the California
     Bar along Pafos harbor. He’s American and that’s the place where you’ll find ex-pats
     Sunday evening.”
    “He’s supposed to be CIA,” I said. “But who knows? People speculate on it when conversation
     runs out over a drink.” I looked overhead. “What time is it?”
    Zach checked his watch. “About five.”
    “We can have a swim and then head back to track down Lonnie.”
    I waded out into the water, splashed around to stir up my blood, dove in head first,
     and came up facing them. “C’mon in, the water is freezing.” It was May, and the Mediterranean
     hadn’t warmed up yet.
    Zach stood and pulled off tan shorts and a deep blue polo shirt. He wore black Speedo
     bikinis. We matched. He sure did fill his out nicely. Yannis scowled his way into
     the water in navy bathing trunks.
    As I surveyed the beach from my vantage point in the water, parked on the cliff I
     noticed a battered blue Maruti that hadn’t been there when we arrived. A man stood
     beside the jeep-like vehicle. His arms were raised to his eyes like he was holding
     binoculars, and they were trained in our direction.
    Now why would anyone be watching us?

Four
    I caught sight of Lonnie as soon as we walked into the California Bar. He was hard
     to miss since he was semaphoring and yelling my name from his perch on a seat at the
     beat-up, old wood bar.
    Locals frequented this place. It couldn’t be described as upscale. A faint odor of
     stale beer collided with the fishy smell from the harbor. The street side was open
     and small unmatched tables sat one deep on the sidewalk with a view of Pafos Harbor
     on the other side of the street. The water was dotted with small, open fishing boats
     at anchor filled with the paraphernalia of the occupation, everything from fishing
     nets in canvas bags to dirty yellow and red plastic gas cans. Pleasure craft with
     outboard motors and sail masts mingled with the fishing boats.
    It was early for the regular crowd, and Lonnie was alone. I recognized Kevin, the
     bartender, and he waved.
    I waved back in acknowledgement. Lonnie hustled over, drink in hand. He wore a T-shirt
     with green geckos in a variety of obscene positions, army fatigue shorts, and a well-worn
     pair of blue flip-flops. His blond hair was slicked back, still wet. He looked ready
     for some serious socializing.
    “Jeez, it’s good to see you.” He gave me a neck hug with one arm and a big smack on
     the cheek. I could smell pine soap on his skin. He pulled back to look me over. “What
     are you doing here? No one told me you were coming. You’re making surprise visits
     now?”
    I laughed and shook my head. “It’s a long story. I need a drink first.”
    Lonnie signaled to Kevin, who sauntered over. “What’ll you have?”
    “One of those.” I