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) 📕

the cat slept under my lounger, but I didn’t make any attempt to pet her. I couldn’t seem to get into my book. I guess now that I was living in my very own murder mystery, the fictional one seemed less exciting. Not that I was excited. Worried might be a more appropriate word.

It had seemed such a good idea this morning when I was all fired up. Now, as the sun started to dip and I was all alone at the end of a track with no passing traffic, I didn’t feel quite so gung ho.

Finally, I gave up on my book and went inside to change. I picked out my jeans and a dark blue, long-sleeved t-shirt. Not the black commando gear I would have preferred but they would do. I found the small torch that Grandma used to light her way home after dinner and put it into my pocket. The camera, I hung round my neck, ready for action. Point and shoot. Would I have felt happier with a gun instead of a camera? No. Knowing my luck I would either shoot myself in the foot or the killer would pluck it from my hand and shoot me himself.

Some sort of weapon would make me feel better though. I knew plenty of women in London who carried pepper spray and / or an alarm but I wasn’t one of them, unfortunately. I took a good look around the small house, collecting up anything I thought might possibly be put into use as a weapon.

No pepper spray and no alarms. I discounted the large chopping knife for much the same reasons I wouldn’t feel comfortable with a gun. The firelighters would only be of any use if the killer obliged me by standing still long enough for me to light one, so they went into the no pile as well.

That left the mosquito repellent spray and a large fly swatter shaped like a tennis racket. The swatter had an electric charge that zapped the fly when it contacted the “strings”. I had bought it for Grandma as a Christmas present one year, but it had never so much as stunned a fly and been relegated to a cupboard ever since. I decided it was more likely to disable the killer with laughter than serve as an actual weapon so the mosquito repellent spray it was. At least that could do some damage if sprayed into his eyes and give me a chance at escape. Not that I would need to use it, of course. I would be hidden. There was no danger.

Yeah, right.

I decided it would be sensible to hide myself before dusk crept up on me. In the unlikely event that the killer did decide to come earlier rather than later, I didn’t want him running into me on my way out! I went out and had a good look round the garden. The large pot with the jasmine at the side of the house looked like the perfect spot. I maybe should have thought about hiding places before I decided to bury the bloody remnants there this morning. But then I remembered that I hadn’t made the plan at that point, so I wasn’t so foolish after all.

I couldn’t see anywhere better, so I settled myself down and took a few practice shots with the camera. I had a good field of vision by poking the lens between the pot and the wall, while still remaining hidden. Although not completely hidden. The cat sauntered over, pregnant belly flipping from side to side as she walked, and poked her nose into the lens.

“Shoo, go away,” I whispered.

She ignored me and sat down in front of the lens and started purring. It wouldn’t be so bad if she were facing away from me but what self-respecting cat takes a snooze facing into the gap between a pot and a wall?

I drew the camera back and looked around behind me. I found a small stick and poked it through the gap, hoping to scare her away. No such luck.

She jumped backwards slightly but then patted the stick with her paw. We batted about for a while, until I realised the foolishness of my actions and pulled the stick back in.

Now she was sitting in front of the gap again and gazing in intently, tail twitching. She looked like she was mouse hunting which, I guess, is kind of a natural cat thing to do. But she was blocking my view. If the killer turned up, the only picture I would get would be one of the left side of the cat’s head.

I grabbed hold of the pot and wobbled it slightly forward and back. This made the cat jump up again but only momentarily. I thought it was worth persevering though and repeated the action a few more times. That worked. Finally, she got up and walked off. I sighed in relief and settled back down into my watching position.

Gradually the sun went down completely, and darkness fell. It was getting on towards a full moon so I could still see vague shapes in the garden. I was confident I would be able to spot movement from quite a way away and, more importantly, recognise whoever came calling.

I was starting to feel a bit uncomfortable but didn’t dare move my position. I tensed my right leg, then relaxed it. Then I repeated this with my left leg and with each arm. Finally, I tilted my pelvis forward and back, shrugged my shoulders up and down and rotated my neck. That helped. I settled down to watch again.

Suddenly a loud shriek split the night. I had heard the local screech owl on numerous occasions before, but never this close. I looked up and around but could see nothing in the murky darkness.

Nothing happened for a while and I started in with