Captive in Crete: The First Jet Wilson Cozy Mystery (Jet Wilson Cozy Mysteries Book 1) by Lyssa Stanson (best motivational books of all time .TXT) 📕

saw the look on my face and stopped. His expression softened as he said, “Do not worry my Jet, we will go back the long way. It is not so bad. But we must go now, I am sorry.”

He was right – the drive back was not so bad – though I still had to close my eyes a few times, and Aristede gallantly refrained from quizzing me about Spiros or Matt. But he left me in the square at Sivas with an “I’ll be back” look and I knew it was a temporary reprieve.

Chapter Eight – Wednesday afternoon

I needed a shower, but I was also hungry; I guess adrenalin gives you an appetite. I weighed up a shower versus food and, naturally, food won, so I made for Melani’s taverna.

It was empty except for Hans nursing a beer. All the other tables were completely cleared, and I feared I was too late. My stomach growled just as I spotted Georgios sitting on the wall separating the seating area from the school playground. He must have heard it as he looked up and beamed at me.

“Am I too late?” I asked.

“No, not at all.” He grabbed a menu and came towards me, gesturing expansively with his arm. “Where would you like to sit? I will make up a table, anywhere you like.”

“I don’t want to put you out. I just need something small. Maybe a salad to take away?”

“You can join me if you like,” said Hans, looking up from his beer. “The company would be nice, and it saves them the cleaning.”

“Oh, well, that would be nice, thank you.”

I wasn’t entirely sure about having lunch with Hans. We hadn’t exchanged more than a dozen words before and he had always seemed so humourless, but I saw the sense in his suggestion. I sat down and Georgios promptly brought me a huge Greek salad and a glass of white wine, and then disappeared back inside.

“Does he never ask about drinks? Last night he brought red wine without asking and I assumed he knew what Grandma liked. But he’s brought me white today, after watching me happily drink the red.”

“He brings whatever he thinks you should be drinking at the time,” said Hans, taking a sip of his beer. “I’ve never known him to be wrong.”

I decided to ask Hans about Adrianna; it would give me lots to talk about with Matt this evening and we could induct Grandma into our amateur sleuths’ club. But how to bring the subject up?

“Did you enjoy your hike yesterday?” I ventured. Not a very promising start but all I could think of.

“Not really. This business with Adrianna has been very upsetting.”

Bingo! I could hardly contain my glee.

“Yes, I imagine it is. Had she legalised your house? You mentioned a few hundred euros yesterday.”

“Yes. The house is only a few years old, I had it built to my specifications. And I got all the necessary permissions so it should have been perfectly legal.”

“But it wasn’t? How come?”

Hans took a sip of his beer and looked at me intently, as though trying to gauge my trustworthiness. Or maybe trying to translate “how come?” into German.

“The builders added an extra half-metre onto the bathroom and a metre onto the kitchen. I spoke to my lawyer about compensation, but it would cost more to claim it than I might receive, and the courts would possibly not award anything at all.”

“Really, why not?” I tried to fix my face into a sympathetic look, but it seemed to me like he’d got a bit of a bargain.

“They would say I have the benefit of the extra space at no extra building cost and should be happy. The Greeks always stick together, particularly against a German!”

“Oh.” I didn’t know what to say to this. But it sounded like his complaint was against his builders rather than against Adrianna. I mentally crossed him off my suspect list.

“They are saying it was murder you know,” he said.

“They?” I smiled. “It might have been an accident. She had an allergy you know.” I stopped short and bit my tongue. Aristede would be even more unhappy with me if he knew I had blurted out that little titbit. But I needn’t have worried, the Greek grape vine was nothing if not efficient.

“Yes, I know. Melani told me.” he said in response to my confused expression.

“Ah yes, she would know.” An allergy serious enough to need an EpiPen would surely have been present when she was at school and all the children would know not to bring the relevant food into class.

“Do you know what it was she was allergic to?” I asked, but Hans shook his head.

“A food allergy of some sort, I understand,” he said.

I fished in my backpack for the piece of paper Aristede had written the Greek name on.

“Do you know Greek? Do you recognise this name?”

“I know a little,” he frowned at the paper, “but I do not recognise this.”

“No matter, I can look it up in my dictionary.”

I had a sudden thought. “Has Tassos been to see you?”

Hans gave a grim laugh. “Yes, indeed. He was most disappointed when I told him my property was all settled. The Greeks don’t like German efficiency.”

“He came to see my grandmother this morning. Do you think they’ll let him take over Adrianna’s work?”

“I doubt it, but maybe. It would not happen in Germany, but in Greece, anything can happen.”

I pondered that while I finished my lunch. Georgios came to clear my plate and I insisted on paying him then and there. If I didn’t, I could be sitting there for another hour and I desperately needed a shower.

I said goodbye to Hans and left him still nursing the same beer. As I walked