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) 📕

knew my phone was dead,” I stammered. “I noticed when I got off the plane and tried to turn it on.” I felt better having come up with that excuse and felt the blush receding. Hopefully, he hadn’t noticed it. Wrong!

“Get in,” he said with a chuckle. “No need to be embarrassed, and no need to worry. I’m your friendly, local police chief. Your personal bodyguard from here until you are safely delivered to your grandmother.” He jumped out of the cab and grabbed my suitcase, giving me no time to think up another excuse. He hauled it into the truck bed and continued round to the passenger side to open the door for me.

A policeman? He didn’t look it. Or maybe he did, he obviously worked out, and maybe when you get to be chief, you don’t have to get your hair cut so often. I sighed and walked round the truck to get in. Aristede offered me a hand up but I ignored it. I already knew how it felt to have his hand holding mine; I didn’t need a reminder. He returned to the driver’s seat and we set off.

He drove with a calm assurance that helped to relax me. As we approached slower vehicles ahead, they all obediently moved right over to the edge of the tarmac so Aristede could pull round them easily. It was as if they knew the truck had a policeman behind the wheel. Then again, perhaps they did. Crete may be the largest of the Greek islands, but it still has a small-town habit of everyone knowing everyone else’s business.

“Tell me about your grandmother.” It sounded a bit too much like a command for my liking but I’m always happy to talk about Grandma.

“Oh, she’s lovely. Not your usual grandmother, she’s not the quintessential ‘sweet little old lady” but everyone she meets falls in love with her. She has such a zest for life it’s infectious and she just loves meeting new people and finding out all about them.”

Aristede smiled. “She would make an excellent police officer then!”

I couldn’t help but laugh. “Oh, I don’t think so. She always thinks the best of people. She couldn’t be nasty to anyone or suspect them of a crime.”

“What brought her to Crete?”

“Oh, she came to get over the loss of her last husband. She felt a new adventure would help heal her broken heart. I guess that’s why I’m here too,” I mused.

“So, you’re single then?” Aristede said with a smile as I mentally kicked myself for my lack of foresight. He leaned in just a little too close to me and I edged up closer to the truck door to compensate.

“Yes. And planning to stay that way.” I said with what I hoped was a haughty sense of being the final word on the subject. Aristede just chuckled.

In no time at all we were turning left and driving up the hill into the village. A colourful sign advertised Sivas as a “Traditional Housing Estate” which perhaps has a better ring to it in Greek. I guided Aristede through the main square, with its sleepy tavernas, and up a street leading back out of the village. Aristede parked up and then insisted on accompanying me down the track leading to Grandma’s house so he could carry my suitcase. I briefly considered refusing on feminist grounds, but the case was heavy and the track uneven and, well, sometimes a girl can accept help, can’t she?

Grandma’s house is the last property on the right at the end of the track. It is set towards the end of a plot that slopes down and away, giving a large front garden that is filled with fruit trees and flowers. A low stone wall borders the property but there is no gate, just a large gap in the wall giving way to a concrete path which, in turn, opens out to a large patio area in front of the house. This area is shaded by a pergola with a grape vine growing vigorously above to shade the table and chairs where Grandma regularly eats her midday meal.

Looking around, I saw an old motorbike leaning against the wall. Its seat was held together with grey duct tape and the dark blue paint on its fuel tank was scraped, showing bare metal in long, silver streaks, as though it had been attacked by some wild animal. A scruffy, ginger and white cat lay sunning herself on the bike’s seat. Her belly looked large with kittens and she glanced up at us as we approached but didn’t (or couldn’t) summon the energy to run away. I knew better than to try to pet her. The cats of Crete are not domesticated, even if they sometimes get fed daily in one garden.

As we entered the garden, the sound of raised voices carried on the air.

“You do not know what you’re talking about! You foreigners come to our island and think you can just import your rules and regulations along with you and we foolish Greeks will just bow down to your greater wisdom.”

“Oh poppycock. You’re just trying to take advantage of a defenceless old lady. Twisting the rules, thinking I won’t notice, but I do. I know the law here and there’s no rule against fixing your roof. Just because that’s new, doesn’t mean the house is.”

“You think you understand but you do not. And, frankly, it doesn’t matter what you think. I am the law here.”

“Actually, I am the law here,” said Aristede, quite loudly. Both women turned to look at him as he glanced at me and smiled, eyes twinkling. “Everyone loves her eh?” he said under his breath, so that only I could hear.

Chapter Two – later Monday morning

“Jet! Darling, you made it!” Grandma swept me up into her arms and hugged me. Seemingly oblivious to the audience