A Study of Red

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. Possibly across the island. Maybe into Italy.

She barely had time to steady her suitcase before the woman reached the end of the ramp, where a guy with a massive bouquet of flowers was already laughing.

They met in a tight hug, his arms lifting her off her feet as he spun her around. The bouquet burst open, petals tumbling into the wind. It was dramatic, loud, and unapologetically romantic — like the entire pier had just become a background set for someone else’s sitcom.

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! BEST PRICE!”

“MISS, MISS, THIS WAY!”

“CHEAP, CHEAP, VERY CHEAP!”

The voices came from every direction, overlapping in her ears as suitcase wheels dragged across the pavement in a chorus of noise.

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.

Anna Claire stepped to the side of the pier and pulled out her phone. A new message from Eleni, the woman helping arrange her stay in Paros, popped up on the screen.

Eleni:

So sorry, traffic from the other side of the island. Five minutes, maybe ten. Look for a white van.

Anna Claire lifted her head and scanned the crowd. There was no white van, no woman holding a cardboard sign with her name—only more strangers, more noise, and luggage wheels rattling past her ankles.

She exhaled and typed a quick reply.

No worries. I’m here by the pier.

Send.

Her phone buzzed again almost immediately—not Eleni this time, but the family group call.

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.

“Did you arrive safely?” her mom’s voice cut in.

“How was the trip?”

“Send pictures!”

“Are the Greek men handsome?”

The voices overlapped, all talking at once, the pier’s noise mixing with her family’s excitement.

“Yes, I arrived, I’m alive, nothing happened on the ferry,” Anna Claire said, raising her voice slightly. “And no, I haven’t met any Greek men yet.”

“So how’s Paros?” her sister, Mia, chimed in.

Anna Claire turned the camera around. White buildings climbed along the waterfront, blue shutters catching the sun, bougainvillea spilling over balconies. The sea glimmered just beyond the crowd, wind rolling in with the scent of the ocean, sun-warmed stone, and the faint smell of fuel drifting from the harbor.

“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 softened. “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 assignments.”

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

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

Their mom smiled softly. “Don’t worry about us. 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.”

“Seriously, stop worrying,” Cheryl laughed.

“Look for a hot Greek man instead,” Mia added.

“Tall, tanned, with abs,” someone else chimed in.

Anna Claire rolled her eyes, but the warmth creeping into her cheeks gave her away.

“Look at you, turning red,” Cheryl teased.

Anna Claire had always been hopeless when it came to teasing; her sisters knew they could make her blush with almost anything.

“Red flag,” Mia laughed.

Cheryl nudged her with a grin. “Greek men effect.”

“Can I have one too?” Lucas piped up, completely deadpan.

Anna Claire groaned, trying not to smile. “Stop.”

Just then, a loud voice cut through the noise of the pier.

"ANNA! ANNA-CLAIRE!"

Anna Claire turned at the sound of her name, lowering her phone slightly. “Oh—that’s probably my host,” she said quickly. “I’ll call 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 name.

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 my shop is on the main street—if you need sunscreen, postcards, or gossip.”

As the van rattled to life, the road curved along the coast. Blue water stretched endlessly toward the horizon, and white houses dotted the hillsides, glowing under the afternoon sun. The island felt bright and open, like it was breathing a little slower than the city she’d left behind.

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

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 begin to ease.

“The house is spacious,” Eleni went on. “Very private. Ten minutes from the town, twenty if my husband drives. Watch out for the goats—they believe they own the road.”

When the van finally pulled up to the gates, a sprawling villa stood behind them, 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 blinked 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 continued, already reaching for the back of the van. “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. Him,” 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 the villa 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 than she had imagined. 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.

Anna Claire 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.

She stepped further in, her sneakers quiet against the cool floors. The living room opened wide, stretching from the front door almost seamlessly to the back, where floor-to-ceiling glass doors separated it from the pool area.

Drawn by the sunlight and the gentle splash of water, she walked out onto the terrace and sank into one of the lounge chairs. For the first time since arriving, Anna Claire let herself take everything in.

The pool shimmered beneath the light, trimmed plants lining the edges, and everything—the warmth, the quiet, 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, eyes closed and unnervingly still.

Anna Claire’s stomach did a slow flip.

She had never felt so certain she would end up in a true-crime commentary. No