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) 📕

thinking of Grandma supposedly murdering Adrianna just after arguing in front of this very same police chief. I gave him a meaningful stare and he had the grace to look away first.

“There’s Hans,” I said, getting back to the subject of who I might have upset. “I took him some cookies yesterday, too.”

“And did you also rifle through his private papers?”

“No, I didn’t need to. He lied about his house being all settled, at least that’s what Tassos said.”

“Tassos said that Hans lied?”

“Well, no, not exactly. Hans told me the house was all settled but then Tassos told me he was acting for Hans on his appeal.” I suddenly remembered the issue of the patio area.

“Do you know how the house footage is calculated? Hans has quite a large patio that’s covered by the upper floor.”

“No, Jet, I am not a housing inspector.”

“But if Adrianna decided that the patio was included in the floor plan, he would need to pay more than he did. That could give him motive to kill her.”

Aristede turned away and ran his hands through his hair. I couldn’t help noticing the way the muscles of his back moved as he did so. The tingle I felt in my stomach soon turned to guilt at finding myself attracted to this man who was convinced my grandmother was a killer.

He sighed and turned back. “I will look into it,” he said, “On one condition.”

I felt a weight lift from my heart. “Name it.”

“You stop trying to play detective and leave it to the professionals.” He held my gaze with his deep brown eyes.

“The professionals who have branded my grandmother a murderer and are hunting her down as we speak do you mean?”

“Just leave it,” he said and turned and walked out of the house.

* * * * *

It took me quite a while to find a shovel and still more time to find a suitable space to bury the offal. I finally decided on a spot to the side of the house. It was just behind a large pot of jasmine and so tucked away out of sight from the front of the house. I didn’t want any reminders of it later. I hoped the smell of the jasmine would cover the smell while I dug but it wasn’t quite powerful enough.

I dug a nice deep pit and then used the shovel to transport the various bloody bits from the front of the house to the pit. After filling it in, I ended up with a small grave-like mound. I decided to visit the flower market in Mires to find something to plant over the top. That would have to wait though. I still had to wash the blood off of the door and patio. I left the shovel standing upright, its blade driven deep into the soil to mask any remaining smell.

I was elbow deep in a large bucket of soapy water when the little old lady from next door popped up from behind the wall. I hoped she wasn’t there to complain about the smell.

As before, I smiled and nodded while she smiled and chattered. She gestured at the patio and shook her head, sadly. I made a sad face and nodded. It occurred to me that she might have seen or heard something, but I had no way of asking. I wondered if Aristede had spoken to her. Probably not. He hadn’t seemed particularly interested in finding out who had done it or why. Not once he knew the remains weren’t human.

The neighbour disappeared behind the wall again and I finished my cleaning. I couldn’t quite decide what to do with the dirty water. It seemed wrong, somehow to just pour it down the drain. Grandma would often use dirty water to water the lemon tree, but that idea repulsed me. I wouldn’t ever be able to drink lemonade again. I couldn’t think of anything else though so eventually I settled on pouring it down the sink. I followed it with plenty of hot, fresh water and then a fairly liberal dose of bleach.

I stuck my head out of the door and took a deep sniff. There was a lingering odour, but it didn’t smell of blood anymore. I sniffed again, trying to identify the remaining smell when suddenly I realised – it was me. Eeuw. No morning shower followed by hard, physical labour in the morning sun. I smelt bad. I also noticed I had splashes of blood on my shorts and considered burning them. It was after Easter though, so no fires allowed.

I made a decision and went into the shower fully clothed. I washed each layer thoroughly before removing it and starting on the next. It took a while but eventually I felt clean. The long, methodical washing had another benefit. I had decided on what I needed to do next. I was done pottering about with cookies and questions, it was time for direct action. I got dressed and headed to Melani’s taverna.

All was quiet in the square, as usual for this time of the day. A few of the tables at the taverna were occupied by tourists eating lunch or just sipping a cold beer or glass of wine. I sat down at the same out of the way table Matt and I had sat at the previous night. It seemed a long time ago now. I didn’t have long to wait before Melani came over and sat down opposite me.

“Any news?” she asked immediately.

“About Grandma? No, nothing I’m afraid.”

“Oh, I am so sorry. But I am sure she will turn up. She is tough, you know.”

“Yes, I know, thank you.” I felt tears pricking so I quickly changed the subject. I couldn’t afford to think about where Grandma might be just now.

“I do have news about Adrianna’s murder though,” I