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

“What, the Germans get charged more than the Turks?”

“I don’t think Turks come to Greece on holiday.”

“Hmm, good point.”

“He said it was mostly for meals, souvenirs and so forth so he’d offered to revise Hans’ fee.”

“Do you think it’s a real thing? German prices?”

“It doesn’t matter really. What matters is that Hans believes it. He’s scrupulously fair and expects the same in return.”

“But he didn’t know about this until after Adrianna’s death?”

“Tassos says he knew about it before.”

“Has Hans mentioned it to you at all?”

“No, not at all.”

“So, he’s back on your suspect list?”

“Yes. But Tassos isn’t off it. He could be lying. Pointing blame at Hans to take suspicion off of himself.”

“So, we’re no closer. Was there anything else at the museum that produced lightbulbs over your head?”

“I’m afraid not. It could simply be somewhere Grandma thought I’d enjoy. It was rather fascinating.”

“Yes, even the baskets,” he said with a wink.

We sat in silence for a while. My mind was tying itself in knots. I tried to think logically but that’s never been my forte, I’m more of an instinct kind of girl.

“Where are we with our suspects list?” asked Matt, breaking into my trainless thoughts. “Who’s on and who’s off?”

“Right, let me see. Hans is back on. Tassos is still on. Grandma’s off, whatever Aristede thinks.”

“Good girl.”

“Melani and Georgios are on, but much lower than Hans and Tassos. Oh, and Spiros, he’s right up there.”

“So, Hans, Spiros and Tassos are our prime suspects?”

“Yes.” Spelling it out like this really helped. Clearly Matt was the logical one. It seemed I had Holmes as my sidekick! Which made me Watson? Oh well.

“I need to find out more about Hans’ house,” I mused out loud. “And about Tassos’ finances. And whether Spiros really does have a mistress back in Athens.”

“Hmmm, I might be able to find out about Tassos. There must be a Greek Companies House of some sort and that would be public information.”

“But you don’t speak Greek, much less read it – different alphabet, remember.”

“The bank has Greek offices; I should be able to find someone who can help.”

“Wow, that’s brilliant. Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet, wait ‘till I find something. What about you? What will you do next?”

“I’m going home to bake cookies,” I said with a sudden spurt of inspiration.

“Cookies? Well, that’s nice. I never took you for a cookie baker.”

“Oh, I’ve made a few in my time. Grandma has a great recipe…” I paused as the tears threatened, but then pulled myself together. I was a woman of action, remember.

“I’ll take homemade cookies to Hans and he’ll have to let me into the house. It’s only polite.”

“Oh, I see. That’s actually quite brilliant.”

“Alimentary my dear Holmes.”

Chapter Twelve – Thursday afternoon

It didn’t take long to get home and rustle up a batch of Grandma’s favourite peanut cookies. The cat sat in the doorway meowing, but I was fairly sure that cookies weren’t good for cats. I felt sorry for her though – and slightly guilty if Grandma had been feeding her – so I found some cold chicken in the fridge and put it down for her along with a saucer of milk. Naturally, once the cookies came out of the oven, I had to test one or two (maybe three) just to make sure they were acceptable, then I hustled over to the street where Hans lived.

I wasn’t entirely sure which house was his, but I guessed at the largest, most imposing on the street. It looked like a traditional house had been knocked down, or had fallen down through neglect, and the stones used to build a much larger property. The lower level was stone, the upper level was cemented over, and I suspected breeze block lay underneath. It looked pretty enough though. The top floor was set back to give a large balcony formed by the roof of the lower floor. Bright red geraniums in pots sat at each side of the driveway, leading up to the front door. I decided to risk it and walked purposefully up to the door and knocked.

There was no response at first and I wondered if he was out on a hike. I knocked again, this time more forcefully, and was rewarded by the sound of movement from inside. The door opened a crack and Hans peered out at me.

“Good afternoon,” I said in my cheeriest voice. “I was baking cookies and made far too many so I thought you might like some.” I held up the plate of cookies. Just enough to draw his attention but not so much as to be offering them for him to take. I didn’t want him to just grab them and shut the door, I wanted to get inside.

“They go down particularly well with coffee,” I hinted, shamelessly.

“That’s most kind of you, Fraulien. Er, please come in.” He held the door open and I walked in, inwardly beaming at my ingenuity.

The entryway opened into a large kitchen with a central area. I put the cookies down as Hans filled a kettle and set it to boil. I didn’t wait for an invitation but carried on through to the open plan dining area. Stairs led up to my right and beyond them lay a large sitting area. Vast glass doors opened out onto a covered patio area with breath-taking views over the Messara Plain.

“Oh wow,” I said, with genuine enthusiasm, “This is amazing.”

“Sorry, what did you say?” Hans entered behind me carrying a tray with two cups of coffee and a plate of cookies. “Shall we sit outside? It is most pleasant at this time of day.”

“Ooh, yes please.” I had temporarily forgotten my reason for being here.

He placed the tray on a low coffee table,