Captive in Crete: The First Jet Wilson Cozy Mystery (Jet Wilson Cozy Mysteries Book 1) by Lyssa Stanson (phonics story books .txt) 📗

“Hmm, not like our handsome police chief, eh?”

“Not him either,” although I could feel my blush betray me. “I’ve told you; I’m not looking for a relationship at the moment.”

“I know, I know. You’re not over Harry.” She patted my hand where it lay on the cover. “But a holiday romance could be just the thing to perk you up, and Aristede looked willing enough.” Then with a meaningful look, and before I had a chance to reply, she went off to pack her picnic.

* * * * *

After a refreshing snooze, I showered and dressed, then found a spot in the garden under the dappled shade of the lemon tree for my lounger. I made myself a pitcher of iced tea and brought it and a book out to while away the morning. I was surprised to see the cat asleep under the lounger and was tempted to try a stroke but thought better of it. I settled down and was soon engrossed in my book. It was a whodunnit by one of my favourite authors.

I was just about to find out which of the victim’s many relatives was to inherit everything when I was interrupted by a string of rapid Greek. The little old lady from next door was obviously returning from a shopping trip, she was laden with two bulging carrier bags bearing the name of one of the local mini-markets. I still couldn’t understand a word she said but this time my memory served me better.

“Then katalaveno. Signomy,” (I don’t understand. I’m sorry) I said with a rueful smile.

She smiled and shrugged and carried on talking. I smiled and nodded, hoping I wasn’t agreeing to anything drastic. Finally, she gave a little wave with one of her bags and turned in through her gate and disappeared from my view.

Not ten minutes later, I was interrupted again by a shadow blocking the dappled sunlight on my book. Irritated at being interrupted (the heir had been revealed but promptly murdered) and annoyed at someone entering the garden uninvited, I threw down the book and leapt to my feet to confront the intruder.

“Oh, Aristede, er, would you like some iced tea?” He was just as luscious as I remembered. Possibly more so. His hair was damp, and the ends of each curl dripped moisture gently onto the collar of his crisp, white shirt. I had always been a sucker for a man in a white shirt. Preferably also a suit but Aristede’s dark grey jeans were a perfectly acceptable alternative as far as I could see. Then I realised I was staring at the outline of his muscular thighs and I forced my eyes up to his face, blushing furiously.

He smiled and, as he took off his sunglasses, his beautiful brown eyes sparkled with mischief at me. I blushed even further.

“I have just been for a swim at Matala,” he told me. “It was good but crowded so I decided to head out to Kali Limones which, of course, you can only get to by driving through Sivas. I wondered if you would like to join me.”

My mind whirled. The thought of Aristede seeing my pasty white body in a swimsuit was a horrible one, but then the thought of seeing his lean, tanned body in a swimsuit was more than enticing. Also, Grandma’s comment about a holiday romance came back into my head. Maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea after all. And it had a naturally limited lifespan. But then he would be here every time I came back. Oh, but I was kidding myself if I thought he would pine for me after I left. He’d probably be onto the next pretty tourist before you could say “Jet, Jet who?”

The cat poked her head out from under the lounger and stretched. Aristede bent down and scratched between her ears. She didn’t exactly look like she was enjoying it, but she stayed still and let him pet her. Clearly I was wrong about the Cretan cats, or at least this one.

I suddenly realised there had been quite a large amount of silence and Aristede was still looking at me, patiently. As I focussed back on his face, he raised his eyebrows in query.

“Er, yes, why not. Just let me get changed,” I said, and fled into the house.

* * * * *

I hadn’t been to Kali Limones before and had no real concept of where it was. If I had known, I would have refused! We took the road to Listaros and then on to the Monastery Odigitrias. I had been there before and was a bit confused when Aristede turned his truck off the road and onto a track.

“Are we going to Agio Farago?” I asked. I had been there too, and it was beautiful, but the track only went so far and then you had to hike down the gorge to get to the beach. I definitely wasn’t dressed for a hike.

“No, we will turn off this road before the gorge.” Aristede kept his eyes forwards which I was glad about. The track – I wouldn’t call it a road – twisted downwards and occasionally we bumped over a dried-up riverbed. I felt reasonably safe in the large, four-wheel-drive truck, and Aristede was clearly an excellent driver, but I felt my adrenalin levels rising all the same.

We came to a fork in the road and turned left, passing through a rusting iron gate which looked permanently propped open. The land fell away to our left and rose steeply to our right. I hastily averted my gaze and fixed my eyes on the road ahead. A quick glance at Aristede showed his attention similarly focussed, which was a relief.

Except the road wasn’t a safe place for my eyes, oh