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

“No, really. It’s not what you think,” I said, sounding slightly frantic, even to my own ears. I took a deep breath and willed myself to calm down.

“The door was unlocked. I felt sorry for your loss and wanted to do something, you know, to be nice.”

He ignored me and spoke into the phone. All in rapid Greek, of course, I didn’t understand a word. Finally, he ended the call and glowered at me.

“The police are on the way. You can give your explanation to them,” he said and stood in the doorway with his arms folded. I sighed and sat down on the bed to wait.

It didn’t take long. Aristede’s muscular frame soon filed the doorway. He must have been in the area to get here so quickly.

“Ah, Jet. What have you done now?” he asked with resignation in his voice.

“I tried to explain. I made cookies and thought it would be nice to bring some to Spiros.”

“And broke in to do so?”

“I didn’t break in. The door was unlocked. I thought I’d leave them, and I was looking for a piece of paper to write a note when Spiros found me.”

“A ridiculous tale. I demand you arrest her.”

“Oh, you demand?”

“Yes, I demand. This woman has been harassing me—”

“Harassing you?”

“Yes, harassing. Asking questions all the time, making suggestions about my feelings for my wife.”

“I… I… That’s… not quite true.”

“Come on Jet,” said Aristede. “Come with me.” He took me by the arm and led me outside. Spiros watched with a smile.

“Get into the truck.”

“It really isn’t what it looked like you know.”

“No, I don’t think it was.”

“I was looking for evidence. I think he has a mistress back in Athens. It would give him a motive.”

“Yes, it would.”

I didn’t know what to say to that, so I got in the truck and sat silent as he drove me back to the end of Grandma’s track. He stopped the truck and turned to face me, his deep brown eyes gazing into mine and turning my legs to jelly.

“You really think Sheila’s innocent, don’t you?”

“Do you really think she’s guilty?” I countered.

“I am sorry, Jet, but yes, yes I do.”

I turned away from him, tears stinging my eyes.

“She ran. Only guilty people run.”

“You don’t know she ran. She could have had an accident and be lying somewhere, hurt.”

“We would have found her if that was the case. My men have been along every road and track but there’s no sign of her, or her motorbike. Face it, Jet, she ran.”

“No. You will never make me believe that,” I said, the tears running freely down my face. “Never!”

I got out of the truck and ran down the track. I thought he might come after me but, as I ran, I heard him start the truck up and drive away.

* * * * *

I spent some time weeping and feeling sorry for myself and then gave myself a stern talking to. Moping around wasn’t going to help Grandma. Aristede’s words, though upsetting, did reassure me that they were doing everything in their power to find her. I needed to do everything in mine to clear her name.

By evening I was feeling more myself and sitting with a beer while I tried to figure out my next move. I couldn’t decide who was more suspicious – Hans or Spiros – so couldn’t decide where to direct my efforts either. Then there was Tassos to consider. I was wondering if Matt had managed to turn up anything interesting when he casually walked down the track.

I sprang to my feet and ran up and hugged him. He stiffened momentarily and then relaxed into it, giving me a gentle pat on the back. He smelt clean and fresh and I could feel hard muscle across his shoulders. I let him go, feeling embarrassed. The hug had been a natural reaction to my relief at seeing him. I was so grateful that I wasn’t alone in this.

“Sorry,” I said, “but it’s good to see you. It’s been tough being alone this afternoon.”

“That’s ok. Hugs are nice.” He smiled. “I came to see if you’d found anything useful during your undercover work. And to tell you what I’ve found out.”

“Oh, you’ve found something, that’s brilliant. I was just wondering. Come, sit down, I’ll get you a beer.”

“That’d be great, thanks.”

I went inside and got a Mythos from the fridge. I brought the can and a glass back outside to the table where Matt now sat. He poured and took a sip. I couldn’t wait to hear what he said but I didn’t want to rush him, so I dived in and told him about my adventures of the afternoon. He heard me out in silence until I told him about the email I’d found in Spiros’ room.

“What did it say? You can’t skip that bit!”

“I didn’t have time to read it all. The subject line was ‘new place to meet’ and it started out, ‘My darling, I can hardly wait to see you again.’ But that’s all I saw.”

“Ok, that could be incriminating, or not. Who was it from?”

“I don’t know, the addresses were in Greek. But it must have come from a mistress; how many wives write emails starting “my darling”?

Matt shrugged. “I don’t know, maybe they haven’t been married that long.”

“Hmm, maybe, I guess.”

“Go on, he’s just found you rifling through his private papers.”

“You make it sound criminal.”

He laughed, “I’m pretty sure it is.”

“No, it’s not, the door was unlocked. Why does no-one remember that bit?”

“Sorry, please go on.”

So I did.

“Wow,” he said, when I’d got to Aristede dropping me back home – I didn’t mention my tears. “He believed