Hotel Murder: The most gripping, page-turning mystery of the year (Greek Island Mysteries Book 5)

by Luke Christodoulou

  GREEK ISLAND MYSTERY #3:

  DEATH OF A BRIDE

  Book Of The Month (November, 2016)

  – Mysteries and Crime Thrilers (Goodreads)

  Chosen as one of the best indie mysteries of 2016 (Top10 - ReadFreely)

  'Greece is proud to have such a masterful writer. Death of a Bride is his best offering by far.' - Athens Review Of Books

  'Superb murder/mystery. An Agatha Christie tale set in the 21st century.' - National Society of the Greek Authors.

  'A spellbinding tale...shrouded in mystery and inflamed with revenge.' - Author Elaine Bertolotti

  'The Greek island setting and the colourful Greek characters are a major bonus in this well-written story.' - Amazon Reviewer

  'A spine-chilling mystery... Real and clever...' - Amazon Reviewer

  Chapter 1

  Of all the plans a bride makes for her wedding day, dying is definitely not one of them.

  Cassandra Zampetaki crept out of her family’s mansion and dashed through the pouring rain, past the thrashing swimming pool and into the safety of the stone brick pool house. She quickly closed the glass door behind her, gasping to catch her breath. Blustery winds roamed the hilltop and fat drops of water crashed down mightily from the night sky. Nothing outside could compare with the storm inside Cassandra. Tomorrow she would walk down the aisle and become Mrs Cassandra Cara-Zampetaki. Her mother had insisted she keep her last name.

  ‘It’s a name with history behind it. What is a ‘Cara’? A barbarian name...’

  ‘Mother!’ Cassandra would interrupt her and shoot a disapproving stare towards her.

  Cassandra pulled the thick, vermilion curtains closed and turned on the lights. The expensive handcrafted chandelier came to life and pushed shadows back into corners. Cassandra ran her hands through her long, copper hair. She squeezed out as much water as she could and let it fall to the cold floor. She tied her hair up in a bun and stripped down to her underwear. Her fingers played with her gold engagement ring. It had been in Homer’s family for five generations and she felt proud to have it gracing her hand.

  With her heartbeat thrumming, she opened the doors of the heavy, wooden wardrobe and with a slight smile, she gazed at her wedding dress. She did not know why she felt compelled, but she had to try it on, just one more time before the big day. She struggled to wear it on her own and soon the silk, white Valentino dress settled on her curvy figure. She tiptoed to the wall mirror and twirled in delight.

  As she spun, her eye caught a glimpse of a shadowed figure sitting behind her in the corner of the room. Her hand instinctively covered her faint scream as she tripped and fell to the tiled floor. The shadowy figure rolled her wheelchair into the light.

  ‘Oh, it’s you,’ Cassandra said and exhaled deeply, obvious relief spreading across her diamond shape face. ‘You gave me such a fright. What are you doing here?’ Her voice climbed the decibel scale, going from abject nervousness to slight anger.

  ‘I came here in the evening to enjoy the sunset over the cliffs and when the storm grew stronger and stronger, I decided to stay here,’ the old lady said.

  ‘Oh, Mrs Lakioti, why didn’t you call up to the house?’ Cassandra thought of the evening feast the woman had missed out on. No one had noticed her missing. She had been alone for hours.

  ‘Now that is what I call a wedding dress. You look like an angel, my dear.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Cassandra turned back around and stared into the mirror. ‘It was love at first sight. I knew this was the dress from the moment the saleslady carried it out. Of course, mother found it too plain...’ Cassandra chattered away. Her flow of words covered the sound of stealthy footsteps behind her. The knife came down hard and sliced into her back. The acute, agonizing pain brought Cassandra to her knees. Before shock settled, the blade was yanked out of her fake-tanned skin. Cassandra screamed, only to be silenced by a second stabbing; this time straight into her throat. Blood sprayed onto the mirror and ran down the white dress, coloring it crimson red on its way down. The bride fell forward, eyes wide open, hands desperately seeking something to grasp. Outside, the storm grew even more violent; constant thunder broke through the air and howling, gale force winds uprooted old trees, while rain pummelled the grooved roof. Inside, Cassandra’s last breath departed from her trembling lips and her body glided down the glass surface.

  Her killer stepped into the pool of blood forming under her wedding dress. Garden cutters approached Cassandra’s ring finger and with force, her murderer cut through the bone.

  AMAZON:

  https://www.amazon.com/Death-Bride-stand-alone-thriller-Mysteries-ebook/dp/B01AS1658Q/ref=sr_1_3?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1474641628&sr=1-3

  AMAZON UK:

  https://www.amazon.co.uk/Death-Bride-stand-alone-thriller-Mysteries-ebook/dp/B01AS1658Q/ref=sr_1_3/251-9608207-3208751?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1474641526&sr=1-3

  GREEK ISLAND MYSTERY #4:

  MURDER ON DISPLAY

  MURDER... UP, CLOSE AND ON DISPLAY!

  MYSTERY UNDER THE SIZZLING GREEK SUN!

  Chapter 1

  Midnight arrived on the exotic island of Folegandros, a small island shaped like a tilting eight; falling into the clear, pure waters of the Aegean. Away from the town center and the tanned-from-the-Greek-sun tourists, lay silent dark neighborhoods. The locals had long gone to sleep.

  A blue, wooden door stood slightly ajar and warm light from inside crept out into the darkness and the cool, summer breeze that roamed through the snakelike roads of Chora. Whispering words of love and the exchange of passionate kisses broke the silence.

  ‘Shh, I’ve got to go. My mother has been calling me for the last hour. You know how she can get. If I don’t get home soon, she will send out a search party,’ eighteen-year old Natalie said softly, her auburn hair gently caressing her bare shoulders.

  ‘Stay, my love. How many opportunities do you think we are going to get? My wife will be back on Thursday,’ her older lover complained, holding on to her hand.

  ‘I can’t,’ she replied, failing at hiding her annoyance. Nothing irritated her more than a man that begged. She pulled her slender hand out of his strong hold.

  ‘Good night,’ she said and forced a smile. He was a good lover after all.

  She dashed down the paved street, along picturesque, classic Cyclades homes. All were painted blue and white, some out of choice, some forced by the local council in the name of beauty and attracting tourists. Dim light fought to escape its glass lamp post prison and reach the rock-laid road. Natalie called her mother, apologizing for not answering her cell phone and in her tender, sweet voice –the fake voice that she used often- informed her mother that she was on her way home. She looked down on her phone’s screen as she ended the call, unaware of the shadowy figure approaching from outside her periphery.

  A faint scream escaped her red, lipsticked mouth when she lifted her head, and came face to face with the boy limping towards her.

  ‘For fuck’s sake! You scared the shit out of me.’

  ‘You... You... should... not swear, Natalie. It is not... nice for a lady... to talk like that,’ he replied, in his slow manner of speaking, well-known in his small town. He struggled with breathing, pausing nearly after every other word.

  ‘Really, retard? You’re giving me advice?’

  Just by uttering the word, she felt bad. Her consciousness kicked in after she saw the sorrow spreading across his baby blue eyes. ‘Sorry,’ she rushed to add and maneuvered to pass her wobbling, chubby former classmate.

  Adonis stepped in front of her. ‘Why the hurry?’ Pause. ‘Stay, talk with me.’ Another pause, longer this time. Cold sweat formed across his wide forehead, below his blond hair that blew around carelessly in the windy, dark alley. ‘You talk to all the boys,’ he added, struggling with his hectic breathing.

  Remorse quickly died inside her. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ she asked, raising her voice. ‘Besides, I only talk to the good-looking boys. Have you seen y
ourself in the mirror, freak?’

  Natalie pushed past him and quickened her pace.

  Just a few miles away, her mother, Electra, sat in her hand-made rocking chair by the large, kitchen window that overlooked the precipice of Chora. Her greyish hair was tied up high in a bun, shining in the moonlight that got lost in the deep wrinkles across her face. At only fifty-nine, Electra looked at least a decade older. A farm girl, raised in the fields, worked for years under the cruel, midday sun, bore and lost six children during her thirties before finally giving birth to twins at the not-so-youthful age of forty-one. Her joy was short lived as her husband died of a heart-attack two years later. Forced back to work as a cleaning lady at Chora Resort and Spa and raising two kids on her own, time had not been kind to her tired body.

  With slightly trembling hands, Electra raised her hot, Greek coffee to her chapped lips. Knowing her children were on their way home, she smiled as the hot beverage traveled down, offering comforting bliss to her strained body.

  ‘How you manage to drink hot coffee in this heat, amazes me,’ Gregory’s husky voice made her jump.

  ‘And what would have me drinking, my son? A frappe? A freddo cappuccino? Or maybe a mojito?’

  Gregory’s laughter warmed her better than the strong, steamy coffee.

  ‘How’s working at the bar for the summer coming along?’ she asked, patting the worn-in armchair beside her. Her lanky son approached, kissed her tenderly on her forehead and settled next to her.

  ‘Money’s good...’

  ‘Money isn’t everything...’ his mother interrupted him. ‘You should be having fun on your last summer before Uni.’

  ‘I am, mama. The music’s great, I drink for free, my mates all come round and I meet girls. What more can a guy ask for?’ he replied with a mischievous smile gracing his handsome face.

  ‘I hope local girls and not those slattern, easy European girls on holiday.’

  Gregory placed his hand upon his mother’s. He raised his eyebrows and looked into her beady eyes; the portal to her fiery soul. ‘Now, that’s just bordering racist.’

  ‘I don’t care what it is. I care only for you and your sister.’

  ‘Where is Natalie, by the way?’ Gregory asked, before his mother got too ‘worked-up’; his favorite word to describe her passionate speeches about her children.

  ‘She called, said she was on her way home. She was at Melina’s.’

  ‘I bet she was,’ Gregory muttered and sprang up. Thankfully, his mother’s ears did not catch his words. She was drowsy after a long day of cleaning and serving.

  ‘What’s that, boy?’

  ‘I said, good night. I’m off to bed.’

  ‘Good night, my treasure.’

  Soon, both had drifted away to dream land. Gregory in his single bed, under the posters of pretty girls on big bikes and first league football teams, dreamt of life in the big city. Fall was approaching quickly. Electra dozed-off in her rocking chair, staying there to hear her daughter return to the family nest. Yet, hours later, sun rays attacked through the window, spreading light around the minimal kitchen and Natalie had not yet returned home.

  The bright, Greek sun slowly rose from the oceanic horizon and began illuminating the narrow streets. Old-lady Persephone, a woman of ample proportions, was first to open her blue, wooden door, releasing the tantalizing aroma of freshly-baked bread. Her black-clothed figure ambled across her long yard and picked up the garden hose by the gate that had grown golden with the sunrise. Her flower-filled garden offered her much pride and Persephone struggled hard to maintain her flowers during summer’s scorching heat waves. Her trick was to water them early in the morning before the flaming sun dried up the earth. As the perfumed scent of her red roses surrounded her, she looked around.

  Her fragile throat grappled to voice her strident screams. The green, garden hose fell from her shaking hands and Persephone stumbled backwards before falling to the wet grass. At eighty-two, and after witnessing a World War as a child, eras of depression, eras of oppression, the violence in the world from her television, her husband’s body after his fatal car crash, Persephone had thought nothing could shock her anymore.

  She thought wrong.

  The sight on the rooftop of the abandoned house opposite her garden brought her to her knees. A mutilated, headless, nude body had been speared through the house’s cut, rusty antenna pole. The woman’s breasts had both been sliced off, leaving behind two round, bloody patches. Her stomach had been cut open and her insides were dangling out, dripping blood upon the grubby roof tiles. Persephone closed her eyes, prayed for strength and placed her hands on the moist ground, pushing herself up. As much as her elderly body allowed, she rushed towards her house. Screams from the town square echoed around and followed her into her home, letting her know she would not be the only one calling the police.

  Soon, people had gathered by the closed coffee shops and tavernas of the ‘middle’ town square –the town boasted three in total- and, sighting the brutal crime, stood motionless in complete shock. Never before, had a murder taken place on their tranquil island. Even the island’s lone police officer had frozen below the gruesome display. At the youthful age of twenty-six, Valentina had only two years of service under her gun-carrying belt. In those two years, she had dealt with a couple of bar fights, a case of domestic abuse and a few cases of stolen wallets. Mostly, she kept the one-room police station clean and presentable, and brewed coffee, which she enjoyed while checking her Facebook page. Totally unprepared, she sealed off the area around the deteriorating, dilapidated cottage and called the mainland headquarters.

  AMAZON:

  https://www.amazon.com/Murder-Display-riveting-stand-alone-Mysteries-ebook/dp/B01NAN0WYY/ref=sr_1_2?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1507563473&sr=1-2

  AMAZON.UK:

  https://www.amazon.co.uk/Murder-Display-riveting-stand-alone-Mysteries-ebook/dp/B01NAN0WYY/ref=sr_1_6?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1507563474&sr=1-6