A Deadly Twist Jeffrey Siger (book recommendations txt) 📖

light-blue police blouse, dark police trousers, and black leather high heels. Yianni never understood why so many female cops wore heels, but in this case he did. Without them, Popi would’ve been barely tall enough to meet the police force’s minimum height requirement.

She introduced herself as his driver and official guide to the island. “My chief thought that since my husband is local, my presence might help convince other locals to talk with you.”

“Sounds reasonable.”

“Reason doesn’t necessarily work here.”

“Meaning?”

“Let’s get the bike into the bed of the pickup, and I’ll explain later.”

Yianni nodded and rolled the bike to the truck as Popi dropped the tailgate. Yianni braced himself to bear the brunt of the weight on the lift, and together they counted, “One, two, three, lift.”

Yianni nearly lost his balance and dropped his side of the bike while Popi lifted her half with the strength of a man twice her size.

She smiled. “Surprised you, didn’t I?” She reached for a set of tie-downs in the bed of the pickup, tossed one to Yianni, and together they lashed the bike in place.

“Sure did. Could you let me in on whatever brand of vitamins you use?”

“No vitamins, just the hard life of a farmer’s daughter in the rock-infested Peloponnese, plus years of weightlifting competitions to make up for what has me wearing high heels whenever I’m asked to meet a visiting dignitary.”

“I’m hardly a dignitary.”

“Maybe not, but you didn’t try mansplaining me into why I shouldn’t be lifting the bike, so I’d say you qualify as a pretty good guy.”

“My girlfriend gets the credit for training me well.”

“Good for her.” Popi walked toward the driver’s door. “Are you ready?”

“Sure.” Yianni opened the passenger’s door and noticed a pair of women’s flat shoes on his seat. He held them up. “What do I do with these?”

She slid onto the driver seat, kicking off her heels as she did. “I hate wearing heels.” She took the flats from Yianni and put them on.

“So, what is it you promised to explain later?”

“It’s a pitch I have for visitors to explain the nature of the people here. It saves them asking me a lot of questions.” She turned on the engine and edged back out onto the road, headed in the general direction of the airport. “I can give you the Chamber of Commerce-approved version, or my cop-to-cop one.”

“I think you know which one I want to hear.”

“Just stop me if I bore you.” Popi swallowed. “Naxos spent so many centuries occupied by foreign powers that some Naxians seem bred to be naturally suspicious of everyone and jealous of their neighbors. For example, the Venetian aristocracy that once lived within Chora’s Kastro walls literally and figuratively looked down on whoever lived outside their privileged castle. That same sort of snobbery exists in many respects today among their descendants.”

She reached for one of two bottles of water in a cup holder between the seats. “The other bottle’s for you.”

“Thanks.”

“Then you have the farmers and herders who live outside of town. They’re not only considered ignorant peasants by many who live in town, but they’re also often consumed by rivalries with neighboring villages.” She took a slug from the bottle. “On top of all that local bullshit, you’ve got the resentment Naxos as an island bears toward its neighbors, Paros and Syros, and vice versa.”

“What gripes does Naxos have with them?”

“Basic islander jealousy pretty well covers it. But with Syros it runs a bit deeper. In antiquity, Naxos was rich and important far beyond any of its Cycladic neighbors, other than the holy island of Delos. But all that changed once Naxos was conquered. Centuries later, after Greek independence, Syros emerged for a time as the cultural and economic center of the Cyclades, and the airs adopted by Syriots riled Naxian pride to an extent they’ve never forgiven.”

“You make them sound like rival football fans.”

“Not a bad analogy,” said Popi. “Which means I may not be of much help if whoever we’re meeting with sees you as rooting for the other team.”

“And the rival team for where we’re headed would be…?”

“Greeks have a penchant for paranoid conspiracy theories. No telling how what you have in mind fits into their frame of reference.”

Yianni shook his head. “So, what can you tell me about Siphones?”

“It’s in a lovely location that’s been abandoned for nearly seven decades for reasons no one seems clear about. Some suggest it was a lack of water, others say floods, a few claim villagers moved away after the emery mines closed and they lost their jobs or because it lacked a school for the children.”

Yianni looked at her. “What do you think’s the reason?”

“Hard to say, but other villages have persevered and continue to this day with far less in natural beauty and resources than Siphones. In fact, farmers still work the land there during the day but leave before dark rather than turning any of the abandoned homes into their own.”

“Like I said, what do you think’s the reason everyone moved on?”

“Honestly, I’ve no idea. There are rumors it was leprosy, but that seems somewhat dramatic…another quality we Greeks are known for.” She paused. “Then again, there’s the marble cross and plaque someone mysteriously erected at the village some twenty years ago. The plaque contains an engraved prayer dedicated to a saint revered for his magic and makes mention of healing the wounds from demons and their works of magic.”

“And thus arises the haunted angle Marco mentioned.”

“Some would even say cursed. At one point the plaque was smashed to pieces, and though it’s been pieced back together on the ground, there’s been no explanation for why someone went to the trouble of destroying something bearing a prayer asking for a saint to heal wounds.”

Yianni shut his eyes and shook his head. “At the moment, I’ve got more than enough open mysteries on my plate. This new one I respectfully leave for you to solve.”

“I just thought you might like to know the background of the