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

be strong, sat down at the kitchen table and gave myself over to weeping. After what seemed like an age but was probably only a few minutes, the tears dried, and I felt a little better. Crying wouldn’t help Grandma. She needed me to be strong; I had a murder to solve.

I finished making the coffee and helped myself to a goodly cup. Taking it outside, my heart sank as I saw Tassos walking down the path.

“Ah, Jet. How nice to see you again. Er, is your grandmother at home?”

“No, sorry,” I replied, feeling my insides tighten but determined not to show it in front of a possible killer.

“A shame. I was hoping to get her signature on a letter to the authorities in Athens. About the house business, you know?” He looked at the coffee cup in my hand. I considered ignoring his glance, I was in no mood to entertain, but I decided the sooner I narrowed my list of suspects the better.

“Yes. I’m afraid you’ve had a wasted journey, but I’ll tell her when she gets back. Would you like a coffee?”

“Oh, you are too kind. That would be lovely. When do you think she might be back?”

“I really couldn’t say.” That much was true. I went inside, hoping to avoid more conversation about Grandma. I didn’t want to tell Tassos about her being missing, but I couldn’t quite say why. I poured his cup of coffee and went back out. Tassos had seated himself at the table but he stood briefly as I came out and took the cup from me, thanking me again.

“Do you have many signatures so far?” I sat too and sipped my coffee, feeling the caffeine hit start to wake me up.

“Only one on paper so far – Hans Millar, I think you must know him? He lives just in the next street. Others have agreed but I have only just finished drafting the letter and you are only my second visit of the day.”

“Hans?” My mind did a double-take. “I thought his property was all settled?”

Tassos gave a chuckle. “Yes, it was. But someone told him that he had been charged the German price.”

“The German price?”

“Yes. You must know this. For everything there is the Greek price, the foreigner price and the German price.”

“And the German price is the highest?”

“Naturally. The Turks would be charged more but they know better than to visit our beautiful island!”

My mind was racing. I needed to know when he found out, but I didn’t want to seem too obvious.

“Wow, he must have been upset. Was it you that told him?”

Tassos looked offended. “No, I would never try to treat a client like that, the thought had not occurred to me that Adrianna would. Meals, souvenirs, yes but not something official.” The way he said “official” was almost reverent. I was tempted to believe him.

“So he knew when you spoke to him yesterday?”

“Not yesterday, Tuesday. And yes, he knew. Actually, he had spoken to me about it before then. He asked for my help to change the fee, but naturally I told him I could not do that.”

“Naturally. Er, why not?”

“Because Adrianna was the inspector. I didn’t have the qualification.”

“So, Hans knew about the fee before Adrianna died?”

“Oh yes.”

I sat back and took a long sip of coffee while I tried to process this. If Hans knew, why did he tell me it was all settled? And why talk about “only a few hundred euros” if he was upset about the amount he was charged? Was he trying to throw me off the track?

“Well,” said Tassos placing his cup on the table and rising to his feet, “I must be off. Thank you again for the delicious coffee. If you could ask your grandmother to call me when she gets home, please.” He took a battered wallet from his back pocket and extracted a somewhat creased business card. I took it from him as I also stood.

“Of course. Goodbye.” I offered him my hand which he shook and then he turned and walked up the path, whistling a merry tune as he went.

I sat morosely on the veranda and finished my coffee.

I was just setting down the empty cup as Matt arrived. He rushed down the path and then stopped, seemingly unsure of what to do next. He’d spoken to a woman in tears and rushed to her side, only to find her composed and drinking coffee.

“Thank you for coming,” I said, standing up. “I’m feeling much better now. I think getting up and making coffee put me back to rights. Would you like some?” I still wasn’t quite sure how to act with him, but I guess I had to trust someone.

“No, thank you. What’s going on?”

I plonked back down into my chair and Matt sat down opposite me. I put my head in my hands and rubbed my face, then took a deep breath and looked up at him.

“Aristede thinks Grandma killed Adrianna and has gone on the run. He thinks it may have been an accident, but she got scared and ran.”

Matt looked stunned.

“He thinks Sheila killed Adrianna? That’s bonkers.”

“Of course it is. But he saw her arguing with Adrianna the day she died.”

“Oh.”

“And, traditionally, poison is a woman’s weapon.”

“That’s just in books though, isn’t it?”

“I don’t know,” I was getting close to tears again. Matt put his hand over mine.

“Maybe I should have that coffee,” he said.

I stood up and went into the kitchen. The act of making another pot of coffee calmed me down again.

“Look,” said Matt, as I took the pot outside and gave him a cup, “if the police are looking for her, they’re more likely to find her than we are. And they won’t hurt