Captive in Crete: The First Jet Wilson Cozy Mystery (Jet Wilson Cozy Mysteries Book 1) Lyssa Stanson (best interesting books to read TXT) 📖

“A shock?” It seemed a strange choice of words. “Yes, I guess it is. She’s stayed out late before but not when she’s expecting a guest. And she found the plant she was looking for; she would want to come home to share her excitement with me.”

A slight frown creased Aristede’s brow. “Tell me everything from the beginning.”

So I did. It all poured out. What she said before she left that morning, how I’d missed her message while in the shower, how she hadn’t turned up to dinner and was still not home when we got back.

“Hmm. You don’t know where exactly she went?”

“No, she just said into the hills. I guess there are quite a lot of them around here.”

“And no further messages? Even when you didn’t respond?”

“No. I guess that is odd. Oh no, you think she had an accident hurrying home?”

“No, that’s not what I think. Show me the message.”

I fished out my phone and found Grandma’s message feed. But no message. I tried her WhatsApp feed, thinking I must have mistaken how the message was sent, and even Messenger but nothing.

“It’s not here. I’m really sorry Aristede, I must have deleted it by accident.”

He looked grim and I realised I might have deleted important clues in my carelessness.

“Do you have the registration number for her motorcycle?”

“Oh. It was Y something, and there was a 2 or maybe a 3 near the end… I’m sorry, no I don’t.”

“Wait here, I’m going to call and start the search.”

He moved back down the path, taking out his phone and starting to speak rapidly in Greek. I understood nothing except Grandma’s name which was repeated frequently. He made several calls, and I was relieved he was taking it so seriously. Finally, he finished and came back to me. I knew the hopeful expression on my face must look pathetic, but I couldn’t help it.

“Well, she is not in any of the hospitals and no accidents have been reported involving motorcycles today. I have someone checking the registrations, we’ll know the number shortly. We’ll find her. It’s a very small island when the police are on your trail.”

“Oh, thank goodness.” I felt a wave of relief wash over me, but it was short lived. “She could still be lying somewhere.”

“Indeed. I have ordered the closure of both ferries and airports until I can get men there to check everyone.”

“Close the airports? What on earth for?”

“I agree, it’s not the most likely way for her to escape but we can’t rule it out.”

“Escape? What are you talking about?”

“Jet, you’re an intelligent woman. I know it must have been a shock when you realised, and I know you are only trying to help Sheila, but it’s better we find her. Maybe she did not really mean to kill Adrianna, maybe just frighten her and it got out of hand. I can help her. But only if she gives herself up.”

“Good grief, you think she’s a murderer and has done a bunk!”

“A bunk?”

“You’re insane. You’ve met her, she couldn’t hurt a fly.”

“Yes, I met her. Angry and arguing, after you told me how sweet she was. You clearly don’t know her as well as you think you do.”

I thought back to when I first arrived. I could see how it might look to Aristede, but I knew my grandmother better than anyone. In fairness, I believed she could kill, but only in life-or-death defence of her family. Certainly not over something as inconsequential to her as money.

“I think you’d better leave now,” I said, in as calm a voice as I could manage.

“Yes, I think so too. Do not stray too far from home Jet Wilson. I will want to talk to you again.” He gave me that lingering look of his, then turned and walked away.

I was still desperately worried about Grandma, but I realised I wouldn’t be able to dissuade Aristede from his idiotic idea. At least he would do everything he could to find her. The rest was down to me, and I would just have to prove her innocence somehow. My silly holiday past-time of playing detective had just become deadly serious.

Chapter Eleven – Thursday morning

I don’t know how I slept that night, but somehow, in the early hours, I must have dropped off. I was woken by the sound of a motorbike in the distance and I leapt out of bed and ran out of the house and up the path to the track. I was just in time to see a young man pull up and dismount. He gave me a funny look and a polite “yassou” then walked to a neighbour’s door. I realised I was still in my pyjamas and, with a muttered “yassou”, beat a hasty retreat.

I checked my phone but still no messages from Grandma and nothing from Aristede. I guessed that, after last night, keeping me informed of his progress was not top of his to-do list.

I almost jumped out of my skin as the phone in my hand rang. It was Matt. I considered not answering – he didn’t deserve it after his hasty retreat last night – but I realised he was one of the few friends I had here, and I badly needed a friend.

“Jet? How are you? Is Sheila back yet?”

I put the phone onto loudspeaker and started to fill the coffee machine. “I’m ok, I guess. No, she’s not back, and no messages or anything.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.” He genuinely sounded it. “Has Aristede started a search?”

To my horror, I felt tears overwhelm me. “Y… y… es, but... but… he… he thinks… he thinks…”

“Stay put Jet, I’m coming over. I’ll be there in 20 minutes. I promise.” And he hung up.

I gave up trying to