Valley of Thracians Read Online Free PDF Page B

huge colorful poster highlighting the wonders of the Black Sea coast.
He reached into his suit pocket and pulled something out.
    “Cigarette?” he offered.
    “No, thanks.”
    “Why have you come here?” the manager
asked, lighting up a Marlboro. He puffed a few moments and then regarded his
visitor pleasantly.
    Simon realized that his Varna police
contact hadn’t explained anything at all. He would have to begin his story from
the very beginning. He told the hotel manager briefly of his grandson’s stay in
Bulgaria, his subsequent disappearance, and of the eventual discovery of his
passport and wallet on a beach chair at the Happy Sunshine Resort Hotel in
Golden Sands.
    “This was three years ago, you say. I
see. And what was your grandson’s name?” Nikolov asked, puffing a cloud of
thick smoke in the professor’s direction.
    “Scott Matthews.”
    At the mention of the name, Nikolov
frowned, and the change in his attitude was palpable and immediate. Scott’s
name had triggered a very visible response in the man, a sign that it was
recognized and remembered—even after all this time. The manager stubbed out his
half-smoked cigarette in a glass ashtray only to light another one.
    “You’re also asking about that
American?”
    “What? Someone else was asking about
him?”
    “No, of course not,” Nikolov said,
backtracking from what had slipped off his tongue.
    “What do you know of my grandson?”
    “Nothing!”
    The loudness of the response was
unexpected, but Simon urged him to continue.
    “No, I don’t know anything at all,” the
manager insisted, making efforts to calm his voice and forcing a thin smile.
“It was three years ago, and that is a long time, quite a long time. We know
nothing, I mean, I know nothing at all about this.
There is nothing to know.”
    “Who else was asking about him?”
    “You must be mistaken. Nobody has asked
about him, and there is nothing to tell about him. That is all.”
    The hotel manager stood up, indicating
that the meeting was over and the professor was expected to leave. Simon was
shocked at the abrupt change in the man’s attitude. He was certain Nikolov had
recognized his grandson’s name. The repeated denials only convinced him
further.
    “Please, what can you tell me about
Scott’s disappearance?” he asked, almost pleading for the manager to reveal
what had caused this reaction. “Was he a guest here at your hotel? Was he
possibly a member of your staff? Why were his belongings discovered here, of
all places?”
    “You must leave now,” Nikolov said
forcefully, ignoring the questions. “I have a wedding to attend. You must go.”
And that was the end of their conversation.
    A few minutes later, Simon stood outside
the resort hotel’s entrance, waiting for a taxi to transport him back to Varna.
There was something wrong; he was quite sure of that. He would contact Stoyanov
from the police again, although he really didn’t have anything more than a gut
feeling to indicate that the hotel manager knew something that he refused to
disclose. Perhaps Stoyanov could look into Nikolov’s whereabouts at the time of
Scott’s disappearance. Or was that too much to ask, too far of a leap in
connecting the dots in the mystery of his grandson’s final days in Golden
Sands?
    “Varna?” he asked the taxi driver as he
opened up the car door.
    “ Dobre , dobre ,” the driver responded with a
toothy grin.
    The taxi lurched forward through the
hotel’s parking lot, shoving Simon back in his seat as it picked up speed. Lost
in thought, he barely glanced at the passing scenery.
    A shiny black sedan with tinted windows
pulled into the street shortly after the taxi and followed it at an
inconspicuous distance all the way back to the city.

 
 

Chapter
7

 
 
    “There are some very shady people
around, but Bulgaria is a beautiful country and that’s why I live here.”
    The English gentleman was drinking a mug
of ruby-colored Kilkenny ale at the Irish