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

by Luke Christodoulou

  ‘My little warrior… Ioanni,’ she said and ran her index finger on her baby’s red cheek. Little Ioanni opened his eyes and Maria would swear that she saw him smiling. Ioanni survived all the nights that followed and months later, Maria returned to her empty home with a healthy boy in her arms. A boy that would grow up listening to stories how the Zampetaki family murdered his father and brothers. A boy that turned into a weakling by Cretan standards. A man that never acted upon his family’s vendetta due to walking problems, a weak heart and a weaker spirit. A man who on his death bed asked his elderly soon-to-be widow and his tall, muscular, mean-spirited sons to offer him the revenge he never took himself.

  Chapter 6

  Tragedies in Greece are dealt with in numbers. Whether you lost a loved one, were involved in a car accident, got diagnosed with an incurable disease or got fired, it was expected that nearly everyone in your life would gather around you.

  Ioli paused outside the dining room door, closed her eyes, calmed her nerves and brought distance between herself and the case. With steady footsteps, she entered the lavish room.

  Homer sat frozen in a high back, opulent designer armchair. Cretans did not cry, at least not in public, and there must have been a dozen people around him. His brother, Jason stood behind him with his hand on his brother’s shoulder. His face and pose betraying how uncomfortable and helpless he felt. Mark leaned on the wall behind them, forcing a short-lived smile as Ioli walked towards them. The room was silent. Even Homer’s mother cried in silence, held close by her husband.

  Homer did not move a muscle. His broad shoulders were still as mountains; his legs firmly sunk into the Persian carpet. Ioli approached, knelt before him and gazed into his trembling, watery eyes. She placed her head upon his chest and hugged him. His heart palpitated, echoing in her ear.

  So much for maintaining distance, she thought.

  ‘We need to talk, alone.’

  Homer took his time to raise his head. Drained of inner strength, he resisted declining. Better Ioli than any stranger cop from the mainland.

  ‘Let’s not ask them all to leave,’ he breathily whispered -as much as a Cretan man could whisper. ‘It is their loss, too. Come, follow me to my fatherin-law’s office… Fatherin-law, hmm,’ he said mocking the word. ‘It is true, then, that the whole thing seems so unreal, so distant,’ he said, standing up.

  The two walked slowly out of the room, down the long corridor with the expensive art, by paintings that you had to read the caption underneath to understand what they depicted.

  ‘I think we could all use a good drink,’ Kallisto spoke first, breaking the silence of the room. ‘What?’ she asked, with eyes wide open, when her boyfriend Leonida shot a disapproving -and in her opinion judgemental-look her way. ‘They’re all just standing around staring at Homer. Look at them. As if they haven’t seen death or sorrow before. They need a drink.’

  ‘She’s right,’ cousin George said, listening in on their conversation. ‘Excuse me?’ he nodded over to the maid, standing awkwardly by the doorway. ‘Could we have some drinks served?’

  ‘What do you have in mind, sir?’

  ‘Anything alcoholic,’ Kallisto replied. ‘Whiskey for us, wine for the old ladies, ouzo for the men and probably some weak vodka oranges for her friends,’ she ordered, looking over the maid’s shoulder at Cassandra’s friends. Alexandra, Andrea, Jenny and Amanda held hands and occasionally hugged whatever member of the group next succumbed to tears.

  Jason, also, looked upon the group, fighting against an inner desire to walk over and comfort Amanda.

  ‘Go on over,’ Mark urged him.

  Jason swung round. ‘Too obvious?’

  ‘To me at least.’

  ‘A dame in distress, in a castle’s dining room with the fireplace lit and a storm menacing outside. Under other circumstances, this would be one soppy romance tale. But, no. It would be in bad taste,’ Jason said, took the first drink from the tray that floated before his eyes, held professionally by the maid who entered the room, and walked off. ‘I’m going up.’

  Homer slid the office’s glass doors to their respective sides. A deep breath of shock came from the corner of the room. Homer’s hand searched for the light; the thick curtains preventing any light from entering the octagon shaped room from outside. Homer lowered the switch and the fluorescent lights flickered to life, revealing Melissa sitting on the lilac sofa with the golden plated frame.

  She immediately stood up and as always when faced with people, she lowered and tilted her head to an angle that hid her horrific markings. Or so, she wished to believe.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she quickly uttered, and rushed to leave the room. ‘I’m so sorry for your loss,’ she said with the same speed, as she walked past Homer, who dragged himself through the room and fell into the soft sofa.

  ‘What were you doing here?’ Ioli asked, stepping in front of Melissa as she exited the room.

  ‘Oh, I…’ she started to say, looked into the room and lowered her voice to such a level that even Ioli struggled to hear.

  ‘Death brings no sadness to me. Call it apathy. Call me insensitive, but I lost my parents, my sister and half my face in that fire and I know how fragile and cruel life can be. I cannot stand in a room watching people cry, when my eyes are incapable of tears or any emotions of sorrow.’

  Ioli forced a flat smile. ‘I understand,’ she said and with that Melissa was off. Ioli exhaled, crunched her knuckles and entered the room with the thought that in this life, you never know what you are going to hear.

  Or see.

  As Ioli entered the room, loud thuds echoed through the house. The deluge raged outside and strong winds knocked over the array of flowerpots that were once the pride and joy of Mr Zampetaki. Suddenly, a large branch from the lemon tree that stood proudly just outside the office broke off and slammed through the office window. Pieces of glass shot and scattered through the room. Ioli managed to duck in time, her reflexes always a strong point, however, Homer received multiple scratches on his arms and a couple on his face. Crimson lines shortly appeared on his forehead and cheeks.

  ‘Not my day, huh, universe?’ he asked, looking out the smashed window. ‘Quick, let’s go to the next room, before everyone comes and makes a fuss,’ Homer said, passing by Ioli who stood, admiring his attitude. Homer opened the next door without knocking. The mansion’s laundry room light was on, though no machinery was at work. Katerina, the tall maid, sat on a wooden bench, her eyes swollen from her ongoing tears. The smoke from her slim cigarette circled her head before travelling to the barely opened window.

  ‘I’m sorry…’ both said simultaneously.

  Katerina bowed her head, threw her lit cigarette out to be eaten by the storm and faltered by Homer.

  ‘Are you okay?’ Homer asked, placing his hand on Katerina’s shoulder. Katerina’s eyes moved around rapidly, without staring at anything in specific. A third generation maid, taught well to never make direct eye contact or start conversations with any members of the family. Some traditions so outdated, yet so hard to change, especially in the countryside. Especially now, when most maids, cleaners and gardeners were immigrants from countries worse off; immigrants who had no idea of their rights.

  ‘Oh, yes, sir. Though, I am the one that should be asking you? My sincere condolences.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Homer forced another smile; another pointless, meaningless smile. Condolences are just a word, just something people around the grieving one need to say. People need to act, have an inner need to help, but, in tragic situations like these, nothing can be done. Homer’s Cassandra would never be coming back, so we say a word and move on.

  Homer sat down on the bench, his eyes examining his cuts.

  ‘Katerina? You were the one who found the body, right?’ Ioli asked, bringing Katerina to a halt. Katerina placed her right hand, upon her chest that moved up and down from her heavy breathing. She swallowed hard, and then opened her mouth, but the words never came out. A singl
e forty year old and a resident of an island of fifty, this was the first body she had seen. The covered with blood room and the sliced open throat of the bride, did not help the experience. Katerina finally nodded, realizing she had not answered Ioli’s question.

  ‘I understand how stressful it must have been for you, but I need you to think hard and remember, was the door locked?’

  Katerina’s eyes looked up and then journeyed down and met Ioli’s. ‘Closed, but not locked.’

  ‘Was there any blood on the handle?’

  ‘No, no blood. Though, it was raining hard.’

  ‘Have you been to the pool house before?’

  ‘Yes, many times.’

  ‘Notice anything out of place? Anything peculiar?’

  ‘No… Well, after seeing Miss Cassandra, I just fled the room, screaming.’

  ‘Thank you, Katerina. If you remember anything, anything at all, just let me know.’

  Katerina nodded, bowed her head and without saying another word, left the low ceilinged room. Katerina’s perfume lingered in the stale, confined air. Ioli enjoyed a whiff of the lemony scent and sat down beside Homer. His hands were icy cold, his eyes colder.

  ‘If you are not ready…’

  ‘Come on, cuz. Don’t go soft because it’s me. Do your cop routine and I’ll be fine. I’m a big boy now; you don’t have to protect me anymore.’

  Ioli leaned her head upon his trembling shoulder. ‘If only it was as simple as beating up the bully that took your lunch money.’

  ‘As simple? You beat up guys twice our size, and with ease I may add. Simple!’ Homer chuckled. ‘Fuck memory lane,’ he suddenly said. ‘Tell me what really happened. What did that old bitch do to Cassandra?’

  Anger. Always there. Alongside the confusion, the sorrow, the regrets, the pain, anger always gave a show.

  ‘Homer…’

  ‘Don’t Homer me like that! Give me the details.’

  ‘She was stabbed. She died within minutes. There is nothing else I can tell you at the moment. What’s important, now, is for you to remember anything Cassandra may have said about any quarrels, any misunderstandings, any…’

  Homer shook his head the entire time. ‘She was lovable,’ was all he whispered.

  ‘When did you last see her?’

  ‘Last night. We stood in my bedroom’s doorway, joking how this would be our first and last night apart. I should never have left her…’

  ‘What time was this?’

  ‘Must have been around half past twelve. After midnight for sure.’

  ‘Why would she be out at the pool house? And in her wedding dress, too?’

  ‘That is where she kept it. She did not want to risk me seeing it. She was quite the superstitious type.’ Homer’s eyes shined a shade brighter. ‘Well, I be damned. That old witch had sat with Cassandra just before dinner and spoke about her wedding day and how the night before she just had to try on her wedding dress, one more time. She said she slept in it. It was a funny story, actually. Guess the joke is on me.’

  ‘Oh, my God.’ Voices were heard from the office next door.

  ‘Guess they found the tree,’ Homer said, stood up and mechanically walked out the room. Mark stood in the long corridor.

  ‘What the hell? You’re cut.’ His doctoring instincts kicked in; he placed his arm around Homer, who in a zombie-like state followed his friend into the kitchen.

  I traipsed past the ongoing commotion in the office, with Herculean Cretans -led by Uncle Thomas-trying to push the thick tree back out of the window while their wives gave them instructions. Freezing air attacked through the window, carrying icy droplets and dried up leaves from the ground below, and that ground was disappearing, sinking, turning into a watery world. Mark had informed me of Ioli’s whereabouts. I found her alone, lost in thought. She heard my heavy footsteps and raised her honey-colored eyes in my direction.

  ‘Finished with the parents?’

  I nodded and sat down beside her, stretching my long, tired legs. Now, my knees were aching greatly. My body, once my temple, was now an old car begging for new parts. ‘Got a long vendetta story out of the mother. Seems like a classic revenge story.’

  ‘I hate clichés, but I’m too drained to think. I’m all ears.’

  Ioli sat quietly and listen to my retelling of the story that began over one hundred years ago. She did not speak until I had reached the end of the horrible tale.

  ‘And she waited until the poor girl’s fucking wedding day to take revenge on her husband’s behalf?’

  ‘Hate can be the most powerful emotion.’

  ‘Well, I hate all this shit going on. And I’m telling you, I’m sure the old lady had help.’

  ‘Maybe someone wrote her letter before she came. From what Mr Zampetaki told me, she had kids. Two sons. I called Headquarters and have asked for a check up on her. I want to know if she travelled alone. How did she show up here, pretending to be aunt Myrrine and no one questioned anything?’

  ‘Well, to my family’s defense, no one had seen aunt Myrrine since she left for America fifty or so years ago. I called HQ, too. I asked for background checks on all the guests I do not know personally. I need no more shocks. Like one of the bridesmaids turning out to be her daughter or some crazy shit like that.’

  ‘You curse more when you’re worked up.’

  ‘Doesn’t everybody?’

  ‘Guess so. How’s Homer?’

  ‘Acting strong and keeping silent. Greek male DNA. He last saw her when they separated last night. Seems like he did not have a clue that she would go down to the pool house. She said she was going to bed. I think we have to talk to her friends, they might know more.’

  Knocking on the door echoed through the badly lit laundry room. Mark stood by the door with an awkward smile below his kind hazelnut eyes.

  ‘Sorry for interrupting. Homer wants to go see the body.’

  ‘In this weather?’ I asked.

  Mark raised his hands. ‘I think it will help it set in. The initial shock is still with him.’

  Ioli stood up with that determined look that suited her so well. She wore confidence over all other emotions. ‘Just the four of us, though.’

  Like most crazy decisions in life, things took place in minutes. Our warm bodies welcomed our dried coats and out into the continual downpour we went. The ceaseless rain gathered into large puddles that covered the distance between the mansion and the pool house. My hand fiddled around in my turned-dark-brown-by-the-rain trouser’s left pocket and with the key in hand, I led the party of four, through a rain Noah and his ark would be proud of, to the safety of the inner environment. An environment now of blood and of the body of a girl whose life was cut short just at the worst time imaginable.

  Homer fell to his knees and with Ioli’s hands upon his shoulders, he finally let the tears fall. His right hand caressed Cassandra’s bare leg. He did not dare approach her face. Her bruised from the fall face, her bloody back and her cut open throat were too much for him to bear.

  ‘Goodbye, baby.’ He placed two fingers upon his dry, pale lips, kissed them and carried the kiss to her icy skin.

  A painful sight to witness, though my attention was drawn to the stabbing wound of the neck. I have seen my fair share of stabbings in my line of duty and have observed many messy wounds. This one was so precise, so surgical. Never mind the steady handwriting; the old lady had one hell of a steady hand indeed.

  If she stabbed the girl, that is…

  Chapter 7

  Mrs Irene Zampetaki stood naked in the middle of her private, en suite, deluxe bathroom. A smile of sorrow was etched across her aging face. As peculiar as it may sound, this was her favorite place to be; the room she took the longest to design and decorate. The round tub in the center of the room, the colossal mirror with the golden frame overlooking the pure African granite basins, the expensive marble tiles, even the various oil based candles; all chosen carefully from an array of choices. Fresh flowers were brought up daily
every morning, while a tall glass of chardonnay arrived every evening to accompany Irene on her mission of resisting modern, hectic life. That is how she viewed showers; part of a new lifestyle, a lifestyle she wished not to belong to. She wanted to soak in the bath tub for an hour, enjoying Maria Callas, Vivaldi and Bach; all her favorites. How insignificant it all seemed to her now. She knew she had to force herself to wash and get ready for dinner. Dead daughter or not, Greek hospitality was alive and she had dozens of guests gathered in the dining room below. She stood in front of the mirror, unconsciously checking her body like she did every time before a bath and found herself focusing on her tummy. Her hands rubbed her belly and tears streaked down her ashen face. She had once carried Cassandra inside her. Flashbacks of memories catalysed her mind. Her baby girl that she would have died to protect was no longer a part of the world of the living. Irene fought for air. The room, now cold and hostile, was suffocating her. She rushed to the window and pulled down the handle, pushing the tinted glass window open. Cold, freezing air jetted inside and dried her running tears. Just then, loud thunder roared mightily.

  Thunder that shook the very ground.

  ‘My God, what shitty weather,’ Uncle Thomas said downstairs, and gulped down his ice-free scotch.

  ‘Shh, Thomas,’ his wife, Georgia, protested and drank the last drops of her red wine.

  Everyone stood around, talking in a whispery manner and drinking their favorite alcoholic beverage.

  Ioli sat between her parents on the violet sofa opposite the grand fireplace with the tall candlesticks and the never used candles.

  ‘Is there not a priest in the nearby village to come and bless the body? It’s unholy to leave the body locked up in the pool house. She should be brought in, put in her bed,’ Anna spoke with eyes wide open and hands clumsily stroking one another.