Greek Island Mysteries Boxed Set (Books 1-2-3): Gripping, psychological mystery/thrillers destined to shock you!

by Luke Christodoulou

  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.

  Chapter 2

  Three weeks ago

  ‘Costa, get up! And turn that hellsent alarm clock off,’ my lovely-after-her-morning-coffee wife moaned.

  My eyes struggled to open and my hand clumsily searched for my alarm ringing cell phone amongst my pile of sci-fi books. I really need to switch to Kindle, soon. I slammed my hand down, offering silence to our warm bedroom.

  ‘Shit, I’m late,’ I said, realizing the time.

  ‘Yes, I know. It’s the third time that damn thing has woken me up. You kept on pressing snooze.’

  I jumped out of bed and rushed into the bathroom. ‘Going to get up and have breakfast?’ I shouted to Tracy as I scratched my aching back and peed out last night’s Tennessee whiskey.

  ‘No way! It’s my day off and I’m planning on going back to sleep. Now, stop talking to me and close the door.’

  ‘Lucky you,’ I replied, got dressed in a hurry, laid a kiss upon her warm cheek and sprinted out the door.

  Root canal procedure. Stepping on Lego bricks while barefoot. Morning traffic in Athens. All inevitable evils of life.

  I rolled down my Audi’s front passenger windows and enjoyed the slight, November breeze. I accepted the fact that I was going to be late for work and relaxed amid in the chaos of honks and curse words that polluted the air. Thirty-five minutes later, I had parked in the underground parking of police headquarters. The air that hung between the grey, concrete walls was stale and thick with cigarette smoke lingering amongst it. Ever since administration banned smoking inside the police cafeteria, the parking and the roof became everyone’s new hot spot.

  I waved good morning to other officers on their way out for the morning’s second coffee and third cigarette –all while their card had been punched in, of course.

  The newly installed elevator carried me up to the fifth floor. I opened my brown briefcase and took out a few solved case files. I walked down the long corridor -that passed by fellow homicide Lieutenant’s and Captain’s offices-acting busy, ducked down into my papers, pretending to be reading them.

  I am not late, I am busy.

  I finally reached my office’s glass door, grabbed the cool handle with my sweaty palm and with relief of not bumping into the grumpy, I-hate-people-being-late chief, I entered the two-desk room. Cherry scented air welcomed me. Ioli had already lit her candles. She disliked the smell of confined, office air.

  Ioli looked up from her computer screen and grinned.

  ‘Well, look at the party animal coming in late.’

  ‘Shut up.’

  ‘Good morning to you too, boss.’

  ‘You look… fresh. I mean after all those drinks I saw you gulp down.’

  She flashed her trademark smile. ‘First of all, I did not realize you were going to chaperone me at your wife’s birthday party. Second, I am a Cretan. We never get drunk. Third, most drinks were just orange juice. It’s a defense mechanism. Keeps me busy, instead of looking like a Parthenon pillar. I can’t dance to save my life. You on the other hand, burned the dance floor after consuming a month’s supply of Jack.’

  I rubbed my forehead. ‘Don’t remind me.’

  ‘Midlife crisis getting worse?’

  ‘Screw you!’ I threw my head back and laughed. ‘I was just happy to see Tracy having fun. And having friends! She doesn’t say it or show it, but it hasn’t been easy moving to Greece from New York. Actually, it was really the first time we both had fun since Gaby’s death.’

  Ioli’s face darkened. ‘I can’t imagine how it must feel to lose a child…’

  ‘There’s no getting used to it or moving on or accepting it as part of life. You just keep living with a part of you missing.’

  Awkward silence filled the room. Ioli was not only my partner; she was my best friend. However, too much honesty is not always a good thing. It was too early in the morning for such a depressing, downer conversation.

  ‘What time did you leave the party?’ I asked, redirecting the conversation back to the previous night.

  ‘Around midnight. Cinderella had to get back to her parents.’

  ‘I forgot that they are visiting. How’s that working out?’

  ‘Horrible. I love my parents, but they’ve been here three days now and I am suffocating. Mama keeps cooking and cleaning and Papa keeps asking when am I planning on getting married and offering him grandchildren. He keeps saying his heart won’t last too long and going on about how the doctors said he should take it easy and enjoy his golden years with family. Hell, I tell you, hell. They want to see you, by the way. Their daughter’s Savior.’

  ‘I wouldn’t call me that…’

  ‘Well, they do. They even want to invite you to my cousin’s wedding next month. Both you and Tracy. My whole family is dying to meet you.’

  ‘Wedding? We don’t even know the bride or groom…’

  Ioli burst out laughing. ‘In so many ways, you are still so freakin’ American. Half the people at Greek weddings don’t know the couple. Parents and the family invite most of the guests. Anyway, mama said it would be a nice vacation for us all and it’s her way of repaying you, Greek-style. She will house you and feed you. I’m the one who is going to have the hardest time, listening to how my aunts are all marrying off their younger-than-me offspring and Giannis’s and Anna’s thirty-five year old, only child is a homicide cop living alone in Athens.’

  ‘Is the wedding in Chania?’

  ‘No. In Gavdos.’

  ‘Where? Is that a small Cretan village, I have never heard of?’

  ‘It’s an island actually. Only geography nerds and nudist know its existence.’

  ‘You are a weird one, Cara. Why would only geography nerds and nudist know its existence?’

  ‘Here, let me show you.’ She swung round her computer screen and typed in Gavdos. Images of a small, triangular dot below Crete appeared in the first row of pictures. A caption read: THE MOST SOUTHERN POINT OF E
UROPE. Deserted beaches with the sign NUDIST PARADISE, followed.

  ‘Please tell me, it’s not a nude wedding.’

  ‘Stop making me laugh. Of course not, it’s winter next month and freezing cold winds roam the island. Men would never agree to it.’ Her laughter made it difficult to hear all her words clearly. ‘The bride is from there. The wedding will take place at her mother’s mansion. Her family is the richest family on the island, out of all sixty inhabitants.’

  ‘That few?’

  ‘Probably fewer in the winter. Until recently, the island did not even have electricity. Everything worked with generators.’

  ‘Sounds lovely.’ I raise my thick eyebrows and looked away.

  ‘Don’t be sarcastic. We’ll have a great time. I don’t want to go alone anyway.’

  ‘Need a chaperone again?’

  ‘I need a boyfriend to be honest. Someone to show off to my evil cousins and aunts and then dump the next day.’ She fixed her high ponytail and turned back to her computer.

  ‘Why dump him?’ I dared to ask.

  ‘Last thing on my mind…’

  ‘So you say, so you say…’

  I fell into my white, leather desk chair and stared at the phone. I needed a good case to wake me up.

  Chapter 3

  Two days before the wedding

  My phobia of planes –yes, I have finally accepted it as a phobia-has made me a seafaring man. But, even I was unprepared for the storm forming before us. The Greek, postcard perfect, cyan sky darkened into a gravel grey. Soon, the turning to charcoal sky gathered black clouds above us. Aeolus, the Greek god of winds, was having a field day, unleashing his menacing winds all around us. The waves churned and swayed the steel, 200-yard ship. The vast, dark sea made the immense cruise ship seem insignificant, powerless even.

  ‘Why didn’t we just take the plane?’ Gianni Cara, Ioli’s father, complained as he sat, uneasy, on a stiffly uncomfortable lounge sofa, hand upon his stomach.

  ‘Ssh, Gianni,’ his wife, Anna, whispered. ‘Costa is afraid of planes.’

  ‘What? A tall, grown, muscular man like him? Ridiculous.’

  I must admit, I was more pleased overhearing that I was considered muscular than offended. Last time I entered a gym, Freddie Mercury was still rocking the world.

  Ioli’s parents were just over a decade older than me, so around sixty, but looked much older. Working the land your whole life under the Greek sun has that effect. Both with white hair and deep, crow’s feet lines around their eyes, but with kind, lively eyes and a genuine, Greek island smile. I watched as Gianni’s thick and well-trimmed mustache jounced wildly as he complained about the eight hour journey from Peiraeus Port to Souda Port, near Chania.

  ‘I’m sure we are going slower because of the high winds. It will take us twelve hours to get there.’

  Sea water splashed against the round porthole that served as windows, making quite a few passengers jump and exchange worried looks at each other.

  ‘I’m sorry, sir, for choosing…’

  ‘Nonsense,’ Ioli interrupted. ‘Gianni loved the idea of taking the ship when he heard it was half the price.’

  ‘Ioli always knew how to shut her father up,’ Anna whispered to Tracy, who sat beside her, pale and motionless, in an effort to keep her egg and bacon breakfast in. Tracy forced a toothless smile. Her doleful face, stood out pale amongst her auburn, silk hair.

  ‘Why the hell are we going to go to Gavdos in this weather? Stupid date for a wedding, if you ask me,’ Gianni shifted his rant.

  ‘Well, no one did ask you,’ his wife finally spoke up. ‘People do get married in the winter.’

  ‘Not during a storm, on an isolated island reachable only by boat.’

  ‘Maybe, it won’t be as bad tomorrow,’ optimist Anna said and placed her hand upon her husband’s. Their love was obvious, deep, meaningful and after forty years of marriage still fresh. It brought shame to modern, shallow relationships. My own relationship with Tracy had so many ups and downs it could be a circus trampoline act.

  As with all bad situations in life, the storm finally passed. Black clouds departed from the evening sky and the day’s last rays journeyed down, a majestic shade of golden brown. Nothing is as beautiful as a winter sunset. Much calmer and quite relieved, passengers of Minoan Cruise Ship disembarked. A dull green bus awaited most, but not us.

  ‘Ioli? Aunt Anna?’ a deep, husky voice called over.

  ‘I’d recognize that sexy voice anywhere. Homer!’ Ioli shouted and ran into the tall man’s long arms.

  ‘Well, well, well. The groom himself, coming to pick us up. It is an honor,’ Gianni joked and effortlessly carried his family’s luggage to the dented, mud-covered pickup truck behind the chisel-faced young man.

  ‘My God, you’ve grown all adult. Last time I saw you, you were just out of law school and then off to America.’

  ‘Has it really been that long? Shame on us. Looking good, by the way,’ Homer said and swirled Ioli around ala ballet style.

  ‘You have to meet my friends. Costa lived most of his life in New York and his lovely wife, Tracy, is an American. Homer lives in Chicago,’ Ioli said, turning towards us.

  Homer extended his hand. He had a firm grip; my way of judging a man.

  Tracy found the strength to shake off her drowsiness and talked about Chicago with Homer, while I –not so effortlessly-placed Tracy’s ‘all-necessary’ luggage in the back of the ‘does-this-still-run?’ nineties truck.

  ‘I love the name Homer,’ Tracy said. ‘There is something so Greek about it.’

  ‘Really?’ Homer said, and chuckled. ‘Whenever I introduce myself back in the states, people normally go duh!’

  ‘Guess we live in a world where the Simpsons are more famous than the Iliad.’

  ‘To be honest, I prefer the Simpsons to the Iliad,’ Homer joked and under the disapproving eye of his uncle, he rushed to unlock his vehicle.

  Five foot Gianni rode shotgun, so six-foot-plus I had to squeeze into the back with Anna, Tracy and Ioli. I never knew my long, tree-trunk legs could bend that way.

  ‘Your balls okay, babes?’ Tracy whispered in my ear as she placed her right leg up on mine.

  I chuckled and whispered back. ‘Maybe you will have to check them afterwards.’

  I looked over with envy at Ioli enjoying her space behind her rather short father while regretting sitting behind tall-as-me Homer. My knees could feel his heavy back, the leather chair creaked against my knees and suddenly a sense of claustrophobia kicked in. Without thinking, I rolled down the window in search of fresh air and the strong winds outside furiously invaded the confined space.

  ‘What the…’ Gianni turned around.

  ‘Mmm, I love the smell in the air after a good downpour. So pure and fresh,’ Anna cut him off.

  ‘You know, there is a word for it. And it’s based on ancient Greek of course,’ Homer proudly announced, as I quickly rolled the window back up. ‘Petrichor. From the words petra (stone) and ichor, the fluid that runs through the veins of the Olympian Gods.’

  ‘I see you are still Mr Encyclopedia,’ Ioli mocked him.

  ‘That’s nothing. I could have mentioned how the smell is really from bacteria in the earth, coming out of the soil as it is kicked up by the rain or analyze how the oxygen in the ozone…’

  ‘La, la, la… please stop!’ Ioli uttered the words between squeaky laughing sounds.

  ‘Twenty years later and you two are still acting like kids,’ Gianni said, but I could not tell if he was joking or being serious. I had a feeling it swung more towards the latter.

  The timid winter sun was falling to the west, sinking into a stormy horizon. More rain was heading our way. As the last sun rays vanished from the serene, blue sky, we entered the picturesque town of Chania, Ioli’s home town. Homer took the scenic route and soon the magical aura of the Venetian harbor surrounded us.

  ‘It’s so beautiful,’ Tracy said. It was her first time in Crete. ‘No, be
autiful is too small. It’s magnificent,’ she continued.

  I could see all four Cretans gloat. There were proud islanders. As if there is any other kind?

  Arabs, Turks, Egyptians and Venetians all made a pass from the island on the rising of their empires and left when they fell. All had left their mark on the landscape. Unique buildings blended together to create architectural marvels. As if a cultural, architectural festival had been held and participates from all over competed and left their buildings behind. A Venetian fort was on one side, a gracious mosque on the other. Cretan houses next to Arabic mansions. A sense of living history lingered in the air. That and the smell of meat being cooked for kebabs ready-to-go. Thankfully, my belly –though empty-refrained from ruining the silence with its usual, loud, crocodile-resembling rumbles.

  Very few people could be seen walking down the narrow streets, and most of the souvenir shops and tavernas seemed closed.

  ‘This is how you know the best places to eat,’ Ioli said. ‘They stay open in the winter as they serve locals, too. The tourist places take the winter off.’

  The light from the grand, stone lighthouse swooped through the night sky and flashed right through the car, revealing angry waves crashing over the mouldy stone walls below.

  ‘In my tour guide…’

  You could take Tracy for a day trip to a nearby village and she would still buy a tour book or search the internet for things to do and sights to see. She believed in being informed.

  ‘… it had a line that I loved about Chania. A rural town, with the comforts of a city and the beauties of a developed village.’

  We said goodbye to the ocean and turned into town. The fluorescent street lights were too weak to fight off the invading darkness that surrounded them. Clouds blocked out the stars and the crescent moon. Lightning forced through the dark clouds and cracked the night sky, shining light above the gothic arch to our left.

  ‘This is the entrance to the archaeological museum…’ Gianni paused his tour to let thunder run its course. ‘… It used to be a Franciscan monastery up until the sixties. I used to love coming here for school trips,’ history buff Gianni continued. ‘You can see the whole history of the island. The blend of cultures. Minoan artifacts upon a Roman era mosaic floor, Arabic spears and swords against Venetian walls…’