A Study of Red

[Parikia Port — Paros, Greece]

THUMP.

Someone barreled into Anna Claire, a wild splash of hair slapping her cheek as they sprinted past, shouting—

”NIKOOOOS—cough—OOOSSS!”

The name echoed down the pier, delivered with enough lung capacity to turn every single head within a mile. Anna Claire barely had time to steady her suitcase before a woman stepped off the ramp, rushing into a tight hug with a guy holding a massive bouquet of flowers. He spun her off her feet, sending a small cloud of petals tumbling into the wind. It was dramatic, loud, and unapologetically romantic—like the entire pier had just become a set for someone else’s rom-com.

Anna Claire paused to rub her shoulder, glancing once more at the couple locked in their own world. When it started to feel a little too intimate, she looked away, heat creeping into her face, and continued down the ramp, the wind tugging at her hat as laughter and cheers rippled through the pier.

“TAXI! TAXI, LADY!”

“Don’t listen to him, miss—this way! Best price!”

“TAXI! MY TAXI HAS TRUNK SPACE! THIS WAY!”

The voices came from every direction, overlapping in her ears as suitcase wheels dragged across the pavement. People rushed toward the taxi stands, some dragging oversized luggage, others waving cardboard signs with names scrawled across them in thick marker.

Drivers called out destinations.

Tourists shouted back.

Somewhere, a couple argued about directions.

Somewhere else, someone was already lost.

Stepping to the side of the pier, Anna Claire pulled out her phone and checked the last message from Eleni, the woman helping arrange her stay in Paros.

Eleni: So sorry, got stuck in traffic coming from the other side of the island! Five minutes, maybe ten. Look out for a white van.

Anna Claire lifted her head, searching the crowd for a white van or a cardboard sign with her name, but finding only a sea of strangers and the relentless rattle of luggage wheels past her ankles.

She exhaled and typed a quick reply.

No worries. I’m here by the pier.

She tapped send, but before she could even drop the phone back into her bag, it buzzed again with an incoming video call. It wasn’t Eleni this time, but the family group chat. The first thing that filled her screen was her nephew Lucas’s face, squished far too close to the camera, his nose distorted, and his eyes huge.

“Tita!”

Anna Claire let out a laugh at the sight of him. On the other end of the line, her mom’s voice cut through the noise. “Did you arrive safely? How was your trip? You still got your passport on you?”

“Take pictures of everything you eat, okay? I’m living vicariously through you!” someone else yelled, only to be cut off by a louder shout. “Forget the food, what’s the situation with the Greek men? Are they living up to the hype?”

The voices jumbled together into a loud, affectionate blur that seemed to amplify the heat and racket of the pier around her.

“Yes, I arrived, I’m alive, the trip was fine,” Anna Claire said, raising her voice slightly. “And they look like normal people. I don’t know.”

“You’re no fun,” her sister, Mia, said. “So how’s Paros?”

Anna Claire turned the camera around. White buildings climbed the hillside behind the bustling port road, their blue shutters catching the sun. The chaotic harbor buzzed around her while the sea wind rolled in from behind, carrying salt and the heavy smell of fuel from the idling ferries,

“Wow!”

“Ang ganda!”

“Are there sharks there?”

“Bring us souvenirs already,” her other sister, Cheryl, added.

“I want a live octopus,” Lucas said. “So it can be my best friend.”

Anna Claire stared at him for a second. “You already have friends. And they don’t squirt ink.”

The wind rushed through her curls as she slowly spun in place, letting them see the boats, the taxis, the people shouting in different languages.

“Okay,” she said, finally flipping the camera back. “Ma, don’t forget your maintenance medicine. Someone stop Papa from overworking in the garage. And you—” she pointed at the screen, at Cheryl, “—no more online shopping until you finish your thesis.”

Cheryl groaned dramatically. “Even in Greece, you’re still bossing us around.”

“Someone has to be,” Anna Claire replied calmly.

On screen, her mom smiled softly, taking the edge off the lecture. “Don’t worry about us, anak. We’re fine. Just enjoy your trip.”

Anna Claire’s shoulders relaxed a little at that. “Still,” she went on, “call me if anything happens. Even small things.”

“Nah, look for a hot Greek man instead,” Cheryl shot back instantly. “A brooding, dangerous captain who will kidnap you onto his ship, pin you against the railing under the moonlight, and swear he’ll never let you go!”

“Yes! A forbidden romance!” Mia chimed in, laughing over Lucas’s loud groan in the background. “He’ll defy his entire billionaire family just to possess you, drag you into his mansion, and kiss you so passionately right in front of the paparazzi that it ruins your reputation forever!”

Anna Claire rolled her eyes, but a sudden warmth crept into her cheeks. She tried to look away from the camera, but it was already too late—Cheryl cackled into the microphone. “Oh my god, look at you, you’re turning red!”

She had always been hopeless when it came to teasing; her sisters knew they could make her blush with almost anything. It didn’t matter if they were talking about boys, a silly mistake she made years ago, or just turning the spotlight on her for too long—her face always ratted her out.

“Look at that, the return of the Red Flag!” Mia laughed, pointing a triumphant finger at the screen while Cheryl nudged her with a grin. “And so begins the legendary, scandalous summer romance chapter of Anna Claire.”

“Does the romance chapter have an octopus in it?” Lucas piped up, his face appearing at the bottom of the screen, completely deadpan. “Because if not, it sounds boring.”

“You guys are terrible, stop,” Anna Claire grumbled, tilting the phone down to hide her face.

She was saved from a further interrogation when a sharp, commanding shout sliced through the ambient roar of the ferry engines and the crowded dock.

“ANNA! ANNA-CLAIRE!”

Anna Claire snapped her head toward the sound of her name. Lifting the camera back up to her face, she said quickly, “Oh—that’s probably my host. I have to go, I’ll call you guys later!”

A chorus of goodbyes, reminders, and last-minute jokes followed before she ended the call and searched the crowd for whoever had called her. A middle-aged woman stood a few steps away, holding a jagged scrap of cardboard with Anna Claire’s name scrawled across it in blue marker. Her dark curls were escaping a loose bun, and her sunglasses perched on her head like a crown. She scanned the crowd carefully, eyes darting from face to face, until they landed on Anna Claire.

“Anna Claire!”

The woman didn’t wait for a formal introduction. She stepped into Anna Claire’s personal space, her hand darting out to snatch the handle of the heavy suitcase before Anna Claire could even offer a polite greeting.

“Eleni?” Anna Claire managed, her fingers still gripping thin air where her luggage had been a second ago.

“I know, I know,” Eleni said, already steering her through the crowd with practiced ease. She hadn’t asked for a passport or a booking code. Clearly, Anna Claire already looked exactly like her profile picture—just more exhausted in person.

“You are smaller in person than in your pictures. Pame, pame! The truck is double-parked and the policeman is my cousin, but even he has a limit.”

Anna Claire stumbled slightly as she tried to keep pace with Eleni through the crowd.

“Honestly,” Eleni continued, not slowing down, “if my husband fixed the van when I told him, we would not be in this rush. But no—‘Tomorrow, Eleni, tomorrow,’ he says. And tomorrow never comes. Only problems come.”

They reached a slightly battered white van, its hazard lights blinking in quiet rebellion against local traffic laws.

“Welcome to paradise,” Eleni said, flinging the passenger door open. “The island is beautiful, the food is good, the tourists are loud, and once we get up to Naoussa, you can find my shop inside the old market lanes—if you need sunscreen, postcards, or gossip.”

Anna Claire stepped inside and shut the door. As the van rattled to life, the road climbed up into the hills. Blue water stretched endlessly toward the horizon behind them, and white houses dotted the hillsides, glowing under the afternoon sun. The island felt bright and open, its pace moving a little slower than the chaotic city she’d left behind.

“It’s really beautiful here,” Anna Claire smiled.

Eleni nodded proudly. “Paros is beautiful, yes. But in August? Too many people. In winter? Too quiet. Always something to complain about.”

Leaning back against the seat, Anna Claire felt some of the tension in her shoulders slowly fade as she lost herself in the passing scenery.

“The house is spacious,” Eleni went on. “Very private. Ten minutes from town—unless my husband is driving. Then it takes twenty, because he has to roll down the window for everyone he knows. Watch out for the goats, too. They think they own the road.”

They drove a few more minutes, winding higher up the hillside until the van finally pulled up to the gates. A sprawling villa stood just ahead, its pale walls glowing softly in the heat. It was far larger than what Anna Claire remembered from the listing photos—and definitely bigger than what she’d expected for the price.

She stared up at the entrance. “Are we sure this is the right place?”

“Of course, of course.” Waving a hand dismissively, Eleni scoffed. “You think I bring you to the wrong house?”

Anna Claire laughed softly, still staring up at the building.

“The owner is French,” Eleni said with a shrug, already moving to open the trunk. “He comes maybe once a year, if the wind feels romantic enough. Better someone stays here than the house sits empty, no? Houses get lonely.”

She was still talking as she pulled out Anna Claire’s suitcase—until her phone rang.

“Ah,” Eleni sighed, answering immediately. “Ti theleis, Yiannis? I am working!”

Anna Claire watched quietly as rapid Greek words flew past her, mostly unintelligible, though a few familiar ones helped her catch the gist.

“Yiannis, the shop is open?” Eleni snapped.

“Not there yet?” she added, rolling her eyes.

“Fishing again? With the boys?”

“Pente lepta, Yiannis! Five minutes, yes?”

She turned back to Anna Claire, pressing a key into her hand. “Go inside, sit, relax. I’ll bring your suitcase. He will survive without me for a moment.”

Anna Claire nodded and walked to the door, pushing it open with a soft creak. Inside, the villa felt even larger. White walls rose to soaring ceilings, the kind that made ordinary furniture look like tiny stage props. Plush sofas and artful chairs were arranged with effortless elegance, tables gleaming as if polished hourly, rugs soft and perfectly centered. The air carried the faint scent of expensive wood polish and cool linen. She tugged at the sleeves of her travel-worn jacket and adjusted the strap of her bag, suddenly conscious of how out of place she felt.

Rich people collected houses like trophies, she thought. Everything about the villa felt so perfect it barely seemed lived in.

Stepping further into the room, she found herself facing floor-to-ceiling glass doors that opened right onto the pool area. The terrace outside was bright and warm, offering a peaceful sanctuary that felt a million miles away from the crowded port. As she sank into a lounge chair, the rest of the world seemed to slow to a stop. The pool shimmered beneath the light, trimmed plants lined the edges, and everything—the quiet, the heat, the distant hum of cicadas—felt perfectly still.

It was peaceful. Beautiful, even.

Just what she needed.

Sunlight, a pool, and plants. And a dead body in a tub.

She blinked. Once. Twice. To her left, sitting motionless in the sunken tub, was a man with pale, almost corpse-like skin and closed eyes, frozen in place.

Anna Claire’s stomach did a slow flip.

She had never felt so certain she would end up in a true-crime commentary.