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) 📕

“Look, why don’t I get unpacked and we’ll go to the kafenion for a coffee. I could do with stretching my legs.” Not really true after my hike out of Mires but I hoped that the distraction would calm Grandma’s nerves.

Chapter Three – Monday afternoon

Sivas village is perched on top of a small hill and spreads itself down the sides like icing on a fairy cake. The village square has three tavernas running down one side, each with a seating area crammed with tables on the other side. The main road runs through the middle but, fortunately, the road only goes on to the next, even smaller, village, so is only busy in the evening when the tavernas are full. Yes, it can get a bit dicey for the waiting staff crossing from kitchen to table and back, but this is Crete, so everyone gives way without any rancour. Dotted at either end of the square are two traditional kafenions, or cafes, two mini-markets and a butcher. All your basic needs catered for – as long as you’re fit and healthy.

Grandma’s house is on the outskirts of the village but nowhere in Sivas is more than five minutes’ walk from the square. We took the scenic route and walked in a zigzag around the hill. Small, twisty roads took us past beautifully renovated houses and virtual ruins. Often side by side. There were plenty of works-in-progress too and the occasional stunning view peeking from between buildings.

Finally, I spotted an enormous bougainvillea climbing up the side of a trellis and knew we were almost at the square. However, if I thought going into the village would be a distraction from Grandma’s worry over the housing inspector, I was wrong. No sooner had we sat down at a small table outside Grandma’s preferred kafenion than Melani, the owner of the bougainvillea strewn taverna, plonked herself down on a spare seat and said, “I am going to kill that woman!”

“Not if I get to her first,” countered Grandma. “What’s she saying to you?”

“She says the trellis over my seating area is illegal and must come down.”

“But all the tavernas have trellis over their seating areas,” I pointed out. “They always have, haven’t they?”

“Only since I put mine up ten years ago. I was the first, the others saw my success and copied me.” There was no mistaking the pride in Melani’s voice. Her appearance did not immediately scream “high-powered business-woman” – she was short and rotund with spiky brown hair that didn’t appear to have seen a comb that morning – but she knew everything there was to know about running a taverna in Crete. Her family had owned theirs for generations.

“So everyone’s in the same boat,” I said, “Surely you can work together to persuade her that you just need to pay the planning fee?”

“Pay?” For a moment I thought Melani was equally horrified at that idea, but I’d misjudged her. “That would be too reasonable,” she continued. “Adrianna Thalassa has never been reasonable. I went to school with her in Tymbaki and she was always convinced she was right about everything.”

“You were at school together?” Grandma looked bewildered. “I thought she was from Athens.”

“She lives in Athens now. She found herself a rich man when she went to college and never looked back. Except when she comes here to visit, then she just looks down.”

“So how come she’s doing the housing inspections here?” I asked. “Surely there’s someone local.”

“There is,” said Melani, “Tassos. He lives in Mires. But Sivas is a protected village so he cannot do our legalisation, it needs someone more qualified.” She gave a little chuckle. “He is spitting teeth about it. He has been trying to get the qualification, but the amnesty brought everything forward and he is now too late. He sees all those fees slipping through his fingers into Adrianna’s lap and can’t sleep at night for jealousy!”

It seems everyone really did know everyone’s business here. But one thing puzzled me.

“What amnesty?” I asked, envisioning weapons being handed into the local police station. That thought lead my mind onto Aristede and I felt myself blush.

“No need to be embarrassed, love,” said Grandma, patting my arm, “you weren’t to know, I never mentioned that. The government declared an amnesty on the illegal building, so people won’t be asked to pull anything down, just pay a fee.”

“But Melani said…” I was too confused.

“Protected status,” said Grandma and Melani in stereo.

“Anything goes if Adrianna says it does,” finished Melani.

“Wow. She wasn’t kidding when she said her word was law. I bet she’s popular.” By this time even I felt the need for a drink, so we ordered some raki and settled in for the afternoon.

* * * * *

That evening, Grandma insisted on taking me out to dinner. I was feeling a little tired from the afternoon raki, but Grandma seemed fresh as a daisy. She even insisted on a cocktail before we left, but thankfully mine, at least, turned out to be mostly fruit juice.

We took the direct route to the square and I marvelled at the difference from the afternoon. The square was bustling with activity. All the tavernas looked full but there were still people wandering up and down, peering into seating areas, and perusing the chalk boards with the day’s specials. Cars were parked all over the square and waiters threaded their way between them to get from kitchen to seating area – huge trays piled with food balanced precariously on one shoulder. It was almost dark now and the trellises were festooned with fairy lights; candles glowed on the tables. It felt magical.

Grandma lead me decisively to Melani’s taverna. I didn’t recognise the middle-aged man standing at the entrance, but he certainly recognised Grandma.

“Sheila, how lovely to see you again. And this must be your beautiful