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pointed at Lonnie’s half empty glass of Cyprus brandy sour. “Looks
     yummy.”
    “Make it two, Kevin. What’ll you guys have?” Lonnie asked Yannis and Zach.
    “Commandaria for me,” Yannis said.
    “I’ll have a Keo beer,” said Zach.
    Lonnie and Yannis were old friends, and they punched each other in greeting. I introduced
     Zach, who shook hands with a half smile. He hooked his fingers on his hips, his eyes
     slipping from me to Yannis to Lonnie, possibly trying to figure out the relationships.
     I had a big collection of male friends, but this wasn’t the time for explanations.
    “Hey, let’s sit down at a table,” Lonnie said.
    I sat down on a scarred straight-back chair at one of the unsteady round tables on
     the street. Zach slid into the chair beside me and pulled it closer. Lonnie parked
     himself on the other side. Yannis frowned his annoyance at the two of them and sat
     across from me. The drinks arrived while we chit-chatted and exchanged pleasantries.
    “Claudie, my good woman, to what do we owe the pleasure of this visit?” Lonnie asked,
     getting back to his original question.
    “Mind if I ask you a question first?” I sipped the brandy sour, savoring the pungent
     sweet taste on my tongue.
    “Fire away.”
    “Do you know three widows that are on the island by the names of Crawford, Kelly and
     Ryan? English, wealthy.”
    “As a matter of fact, they were on my tour today,” Lonnie said. “Lively group. Besides
     the widows, we had a few Scandinavians and the American couple who travel with that
     archaeological group working on the Forty Column Castle project. They wanted to do
     the Troodos Mountains from a different angle. Had a helleva day. Great company.”
    “How well do you know the widows?”
    He shrugged. “Can’t say we are bosom buddies, but they’re regulars on my tours when
     they’re in the country. They’ve been coming for several years. Your aunt was with
     them while she was here. She’s left, hasn’t she? She didn’t mention you were coming
     over.” Lonnie bent closer and in a loud whisper said, “Why all the questions?”
    I explained, and Lonnie’s smile faded as I told the story.
    “I know there’s been trouble,” he said. “I hear it in the gossip. But your aunt? A
     smuggler? Wild, pretty wild. Do you think she’s in this ring?”
    “Of course not. Lonnie how could you even ask that question?”
    Zach broke in. “Why would you ask that, Lonnie? Don’t you know Elizabeth Davies pretty
     well?”
    Lonnie pushed back on his chair, balancing on two legs, working on his drink at the
     same time. “I’ve been in the people business for a long time, and some people surprise
     you. Remember that Brit, Ron Hanley, that use to hang out here on Sunday evenings?”
     He directed the question to Yannis, who nodded.
    “Real friendly, outgoing guy. Said he was a writer, but no one could ever figure how
     the guy supported himself. Turned out he was working for the Irish Republican Army
     laundering guns through the Middle East. He disappeared one day, and we never saw
     him again.”
    “People say that you’re a CIA agent,” I said.
    He laughed. “Yeah, I know. I’d never tell if I was, now would I? So y’all will have
     to go on speculating.”
    “We all could have double lives,” I said. “But my aunt? For heaven’s sake, be realistic.
     What does your gut instinct tell you?”
    “My gut instinct told me Ron Hanley was a regular guy. I mean, he was a friend, and
     bingo, one day he’s gone. My instincts let me down. Some people are good actors. Of
     course, your aunt doesn’t seem the type. But what does she do when you aren’t around?”
    I swizzled my drink, not meeting Lonnie’s eyes, trying not to take offense at the
     question. I could feel Zach’s eyes on me, and then he said in his soft drawl, “What
     about Robert Hanssen, the FBI agent that was arrested for passing secrets to the Soviets?
     He was everybody’s next door