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

no. The edge on our left had crumbled away and rocks had fallen in a clump to our right. Aristede slowed down in order to inch our way forward, the big truck only just fitting between the rocks and the drop. I braced myself against the dashboard with one hand and clutched the door-grip with the other. A small sob escaped my clenched lips as the truck jolted over a small pothole in the road and I felt tears threatening to spill.

“Jet, what is the matter?” Aristede stopped the truck and turned towards me, concern written all over his face. I must have looked a state but was too terrified to care.

“Scared of heights,” I just managed to get out. “Terrified, actually.” I attempted a laugh, but it came out more as a gasp.

“Close your eyes,” he instructed. “We will be over this part very soon and the road gets better. I will tell you when you can open them again.”

“Ok,” I managed weakly and did as I was told.

I started to feel calmer, but my nerves rattled with every jolt of the truck. I felt us going down and twisting to follow the side of the mountain – although it was probably only really classed as a hill.

Finally, Aristede brought the truck to a halt and told me to open my eyes. He had stopped us just above the village and I could see a small collection of buildings nestled around a small cove forming a natural harbour. Fishing boats were tied up at each side and a deep, sandy beach separated the village from the sea. A small island nearby, covered with huge tankers, rather spoilt the view but the beach itself looked very inviting – particularly as it was almost empty. Given the road in, I wasn’t too surprised!

I hastily opened the door and stepped out of the truck; I felt the need to be away from the instrument of my recent torture. I stood with my hands covering my face, breathing deeply, trying to calm my rattled brain but having to fight back tears even so. I heard Aristede walk up behind me and felt his strong hands on my shoulders as he turned me around and gathered me into his arms. I slowly started to relax as the warmth of his body sunk into mine and he gently crooned words of comfort.

Eventually I calmed down and gently pulled away from his embrace.

“Thank you,” I said, “That was kind. Most people don’t understand and try to talk me out of it rationally.”

“Acrophobia is an irrational fear. If rational argument would help, I’m sure you could do that for yourself.”

“Thank you,” I said again, and felt more tears threatening, though this time at his understanding. “Let’s get to the beach, shall we?” I turned and started walking. I wanted to get into the sea as soon as possible and wash away all evidence of my feebleness.

The water was marvellous, warm with only small waves, and the beach shelved gently meaning we could stand whilst quite far out. Small fish darted around us as we swam but came up to investigate these strange new creatures in their world when we stood still.

When we finally tired of the water, we lay on the beach and chatted. We managed to find a patch of shade for me, but Aristede placed his towel determinedly in the sunshine and lay soaking it up. His body was a uniform light bronze colour and he looked as Adonis-like as I had imagined. He kept his eyes closed even as he spoke, so I was able to drink in the sight of him.

After some general small talk – his family were farmers, his brothers all married with children – I decided to turn the conversation to Adrianna and see if I could glean any information for my suspect list.

“Now Jet, you know I can’t talk about it.”

“Ah, so it’s definitely murder then?”

Aristede sighed and opened his eyes to look at me. “Maybe, maybe not.”

“Well that’s ok then, you can just tell me the “maybe not” parts.” I smiled what I hoped was a winsome smile which would melt his heart and make him spill all his secrets. Amazingly, it seemed to work.

“Adrianna had an EpiPen in her room, so it may be just bad luck that she forgot to take it out with her that evening.”

“What was she allergic to?”

“I do not know the English – karythiá in Greek.”

“Karywhat? Could you write it down for me so I can look it up?” I fished out my notebook and tore off a scrap of paper and handed it to Aristede with a pen. He wrote a stream of Greek letters, which I couldn’t read to save my life, and something that presumably sounded similar in English letters underneath.

“But Jet, you must not talk of this to anyone.”

“In case it is murder?”

“Yes, we do not know for sure it was this that killed her, and we will not know until all our tests are finished. Something could have been slipped into her food; or the headache pills we found from her doctor could have been tampered with; or...”

“So it could have been Spiros!”

“What? What do you know about him? How?”

“Ah, well, you see Matt and I gave him a lift yesterday and…”

“Matt? Who is this Matt?”

Aristede was getting quite worked up by this point and I was wondering what I could tell him about Matt that would calm him down again when I was saved by the bell – his phone rang, and he snatched it up. I wouldn’t have wanted to be the person on the other end of the line as Aristede’s already unhappy face turned to thunder.

“We must go, I have something to attend to.” He quickly started gathering his things but then