“She got taken bad after eating a fish meze,” the Pappas revealed, slipping his long black clerical dress over his pyjamas.
The bathroom door opened and Stavroula crawled out on her hands and knees, too riddled with agonising stomach cramps to stand upright.
“Oh dear, you do look poorly, just hop into this bed and I’ll bring you some lovely medicine,” the smitten old doctor said to Stavroula who was groaning too much to care the sheets were still rumpled with the Pappas’ outline. “Now if you can just sign this disclaimer to say you didn’t eat any hospital food...excellent, excellent.”
Stavroula was suffering far too much to even notice there was a donkey present, or to notice the arrival of Quentin and Deirdre with a bunch of grapes for that old fool Vasilis.
“I told ‘em he cant’s eat grapes in ‘is comatose state,” Nitsa shouted, having driven the American couple in the taxi as Deirdre refused to get in Quentin’s old banger because it still wreaked of vomit from the poisoned Doomsday trippers.
“Is there any change in Vasilis’ condition, Masha?” Quentin asked.
“We are just about to see if the donkey can penetrate his comatose state,” the smitten old doctor announced. “Good luck Masha.”
Everyone held their breath in anticipation as Masha led the donkey over to Vasilis where it immediately started slobbering all over its owner’s face and fondly braying into his ear.
“Come on, yous old fool, open yous eyes, Onos is ‘ere to see you,” Masha encouraged.
A loud groan pierced the silence as the black clad skeletal figure of Kyria Moustakos suddenly bolted upright and started screaming hysterically at the sight of a barnyard animal next to her bed. Onos turned her head, alarmed by the screaming, and one look at the toothless head with a hairless scalp looking like an exhumed skull caused her to kick out a hind leg, sending Nitsa sprawling on top of the comatose Vasilis. The donkey turned back to Vasilis and resumed its fervent licking. No one could be sure if it was the donkey’s loving ministrations, the ear-piercing screams of Kyria Moustakos, or the sudden weight of Nitsa landing indelicately onto his privates, but at that very moment Vasilis stirred and shakily came out of his coma.
“Where am I? What ‘appened?” he groaned, looking blankly round the room.
“You are in the hospital; you were attacked by a madman. See, your beautiful and devoted wife is here,” the doctor said.
Looking up and seeing Nitsa on top of him Vasilis’ face took on an expression of horror as he screamed, “Yous is my wife?”
“Dont’s be silly darling, I am yous wife,” Masha said, leaning over to kiss him. A look of elation crossed Vasilis’ face at the news he was married to this vision of voluptuous loveliness, as he gushed “yous is my wife.”
“Of course I am darling, and look, I brought the donkey to see yous,” Masha exclaimed, raising her eyebrows in confusion at the doctor who explained “sometimes coma patients can be a tad confused as they return to consciousness.”
“Onos, my darling,” Vasilis cried, throwing his arms round the donkey and showering it with slobbery kisses.
“Well he certainly remembers the donkey,” Deirdre said.
“Where am I, what happened, why are all these strange people in my bedroom?” Vasilis demanded.
“Oh dear, it does seem that the old fool may have a touch of amnesia,” the doctor proclaimed.
Chapter 29
The Cat Ate the Evidence
“My foot isn’t ‘alf giving me some gyp,” Fotini complained, pulling off her pop sock and sticking her foot up on the food preparation area of Stavroula’s taverna kitchen to examine more closely the foul fungal infection, now festering with a fetid odour that had suddenly developed.
“Ooh, that does look nasty,” Mel commiserated. “Would you like me to pop to the pharmacy for some ointment?”
“No, yous just pick a few fresh capers out of that salad and crush ‘em up with some honey, vinegar an’ olive oil, an’ I’ll smear ‘em on my foot. Yous cant’s beat the traditional old remedies an’ capers ‘ave foot fungal fighting properties.”
“I wish there was a traditional remedy to make my moustache grow back quickly,” Mel sighed, fingering the itchy moustache substitute above his upper lip. After his facial pride and joy was accidentally waxed off in the beauty parlour Fotini had persuaded him to glue on the spare hairs from her legs to disguise the obvious slug-like white line.
“I’m lucky the ‘airs off yous legs were so thick and black. I was thinking Evangelia was quite taken with me until she saw my denuded lip. It was quick thinking on yous part to offer ‘em up, that brillo pad I first stuck on was way too scratchy.”
“Po po, it’s ‘er fault yous lost yous moustache in the first place,” Fotini scoffed.
“I blame that young girl with the strange coffee habit,” Mel protested. “It was ‘er that passed Evangelia the hot wax instead of the moustache pomade. ‘Ave yous seen Masha today? She felt brave enough to come out of ‘iding and ‘ead up to the hospital.”
“That’s because she ‘eard that the slimy Kazakh is laid low with a bad case of food poisoning. I wish I’d ‘ad the nous to slip something in ‘is food. It would ‘ave given me a lot of pleasure to give ‘im the trots,” Fotini said, finger smearing the crushed capers over her festering fungal foot infection before immediately reaching to put the crusty bread in a basket to carry out to Adonis, who’d popped by with Achilles the borrowed builder for a spot of fish meze lunch.
“’Ow does it feel to be ‘arbouring the mafia?” Fotini spat at Adonis.
“I can ‘ardly chuck ‘im out when he ‘asn’t got the strength to lift ‘is ‘ead out of the toilet bowl,” Adonis retorted, heartily tucking into his fish meze. “As soon as he’s well enough I’ll tell ‘im to sling his hook. He would have ‘ad to go to the hospital if he didn’t have his bodyguard ‘ere to run round after him.”
“I wonder ‘ow come he isn’t sick too,” Fotini wondered.
“Apparently he ate nothing except the horse penis he brought with ‘im from Kazakhstan. His money-bags boss was too tight-fisted to pay for ‘is meals,” Adonis explained, breaking off a piece of fungal smeared crusty bread to dip in his extra virgin.
The door opened and an officious looking suited official entered, clutching a notepad. “Kyria, I would like to speak to the proprietor at once,” he demanded.
“She’s up visiting ‘er comatose father at the ‘ospital. Will Melecretes do instead? He’s standing in for ‘er?”
“Yes, fetch him at once,” the man ordered.
“What can I do for yous?” Mel asked, wiping his hands on a fungal smeared tea towel. “Just call me Mel by the way; we have a tasty fish meze on the menu for lunch today.”
“Sir, I am the public health inspector investigating an outbreak of noxious food poisoning and warts in the village. I must ask you to answer some questions. Now tell me, how many people have been handling food in this establishment?”
“Just me and Fotini since Stavroula ‘as been at the ‘ospital,” Mel nervously replied.
“Indeed. I trust you have all the stamped paperwork in order to demonstrate you are certified to handle food?”
“Well I ‘ave my own gyros shop in Idaho with all my licences up to date.”
“What about you Kyria? Kindly show me the paperwork certifying you are qualified to handle food,” the health inspector requested.
“I’ve been ‘andling food for eighty-five years without the need for a bit of paper, yous young whipper snapper,” Fotini sneered.
“That is not good enough. I must see your food handling permit at once.”
“Can I get you a bite of lunch while we discuss this?” Mel offered. “Fotini, fetch the health inspector a plate of fish meze.”
“Fish meze is off,” Fotini snapped as it slowly dawned on her that the deceased contents of Evangelia’s fish pedicure tank, lightly fried up and garnished, might not be the most hygienic choice of lunch for a busybody health inspec
tor. Hobbling into the kitchen she threw the remainder of the fish meze through the kitchen window where it was greedily pounced on by the taverna cat, Boukali, who devoured it just as the health inspector arrived on the scene, having followed Fotini into the kitchen.
“Kyria, your certification papers?” he insisted again.
“I dont’s know what yous is on about, I’m just a frail old lady,” Fotini squirmed.
“As you are handling food you must produce stamped papers certifying you have undergone all the necessary health checks. You should have had your hearing checked for one thing...”
“What’s that, I didn’t quite catch what yous said,” Fotini mumbled.
“Your hearing check. And your teeth, not to mention a stool sample,” the health inspector shouted.
“There’s no need to shout, I’m not deaf. There’s a nice rattan stool ‘ere yous can use to take yous weight off. Yous looks like yous needs it, yous is a bit on the hefty side,” Fotini scoffed.
“Not a rattan stool, you stupid old woman. You should have given a stool sample for analysis before handling food,” the health inspector shouted, completely exasperated.
“There’s no need to bully Fotini, she was just ‘elping out. Yous cant’s be demanding personal things like that from a frail old lady,” Mel leapt to Fotini’s defence. “Here is Stavroula’s up to date stamped paperwork for running the place.”
Humming under his breath the health inspector examined the paperwork before announcing “as neither you nor the old woman are actually Stavroula and cannot produce paperwork showing you have any business here, I am obliged to close down this establishment immediately.”
“But we ‘aven’t poisoned anyone, we’ve ‘ad nothing but satisfied customers,” Mel objected.
“That’s not strictly true, now is it? I have a report of a Scottish couple possibly poisoned by your fish meze, along with a very sick gentleman from Kazakhstan who also partook of the self same fish dish.”
“Yous ‘ave no proof it was the fish meze,” Fotini remonstrated, confident the cat had eaten all the evidence. Her argument carried no weight as the cat chose that very moment to wander into the kitchen with a bit of fried anchovy sticking out of its mouth and threw up all over the nice shiny black shoes of the health inspector.
Chapter 30
On the Loose
A sombre looking Mel watched in dismay as the health inspector turfed his lunchtime customers out and stuck a sign on the door saying ‘Closed Due To A Public Health Scare,’ before heading off to interrogate Takis and Yiota at ‘Mono Ellinika Trofima.’ The Scottish couple had reported they’d eaten Yiota’s octopus in red wine on the same evening they’d stuffed their faces with Fotini’s fish meze. The health inspector was duty bound to investigate all possible sources of the food poisoning outbreak and there was still the plague of contagious warts to get to the bottom of.
Fotini had ‘fessed’ up to Mel she had retrieved the fish for the first fish meze from Evangelia’s mop bucket, with today’s lunchtime offering of fish meze sourced directly from Evangelia’s fish pedicure tank. They had drawn up a list of the customers who’d eaten today’s fish meze, relieved it only comprised off Moronic Mitsos, Adonis and Achilles the borrowed builder.
“If it was the fish meze that poisoned ‘em we should at least be thankful Masha didn’t ‘ave any of it in ‘er pregnant state,” Mel reflected gratefully. “I’m going to run over to the beauty parlour and warn Evangelia the health inspector is likely to come wart investigating. ‘Appen I can persuade ‘er not to mention the missing fish.”
“She owes yous a favour after denuding yous of yous moustache an’ ruining yous ‘andsome looks,” Fotini mused. “I’m goin’ to miss working ‘ere, it made a nice change.”
“Well, look on the bright side, at least with the taverna closed it will give me some free time to research the family history and find out once and for all if we’re related. Yous can give me a ‘and with that,” he beamed, dashing off to the beauty parlour.
“We’re closed,” Evangelia called out as Mel rattled the salon door.
“Evangelia, it’s me Mel. May I speak to yous?” Mel shouted.
“Come in,” Evangelia invited, dabbing at her red-rimmed eyes with a soggy tissue.
“Oh, yous mustn’t cry,” Mel consoled, putting a tentative arm round her shoulder. “I’ve completely forgiven yous for inadvertently waxing off my moustache.”
“It isn’t that, something terrible has happened and I’m at my wits end. I just don’t know what to do,” Evangelia sobbed.
“So yous ‘ave ‘eard the public health inspector is about to descend on the salon. Please don’t say anything about Fotini taking the fish from yous mop bucket, she’s was just bein’ frugal an’ didn’t intend to poison anyone, but then again she did Masha a big favour by putting the Kazakh out of action.”
“The health inspector, oh no, I’ve got enough on my plate without that as well,” Evangelia wailed.
“So yous tears aren’t because of the wart outbreak?” Mel asked, confused. “Evangelia, ‘as something else ‘appened?”
“Yes, but I can’t discuss it. It is just too awful and it’s all my fault.”
“Take a deep breath and tell me. After all a problem shared is a problem halved and yous can rely on my complete discretion, dear lady.”
“You will hate me; everyone will hate me when they discover my awful secret,” Evangelia sobbed.
“Evangelia, please, yous will make yourself sick getting so worked up. Look, let’s get out of here and take a stroll to the beach; the fresh air will do yous good. And later I will ‘elp yous scour this place from top to bottom with bleach.”
“You’re very kind Mel, yes, we’ll walk to the beach and I’ll tell you everything.”
Locking the salon Evangelia and Mel strolled in the sunshine to the beach, walking across the sand to the shore where they took off their shoes to dip their feet in the water.
“Sofia would complain this isn’t hygienic,” Evangelia reflected, smiling weakly at Mel.
“Youngsters, they think they know it all with their fancy coffees and ludicrous fashions. Now Evangelia, what can be so bad it made you weep?” Mel asked sympathetically.
“I’ve been writing to a man who’s in prison. I don’t know how it started, I just thought it would be nice to have a pen pal and that it would improve my written English,” Evangelia began.
“Well that’s very noble, Evangelia. Prisoners need letters to keep ‘em going.”
“Before I knew it I seemed to be writing letters to half the condemned men on death row. I’ve always been fascinated by serial killers; they’re just human after all and some of them are innocent, facing grave miscarriages of justice. Well not Colin, he admits to cannibalism, but he really regrets it now. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not a prison groupie, really I’m not.”
“Of course not,” Mel sympathised, taking her hand. His warmth broke through Evangelia’s defences and she finally admitted, “I started writing to all those condemned killers because I was lonely. Knowing they were locked up behind bars allowed me to feel I was developing relationships without having to really commit to them. But one of them, Marvin the Mincer, is a diabolical fiend, an evil killer who revels in chopping up his victims, mincing them into pies and stuffing embroidered pillows with their hair. He played me for such a fool. I fell for his sob stories, but he revealed his true nature when I made the mistake of telling him I had a famous client, Masha. He became obsessed with her, demanding I send him cuttings of her hair. Of course I didn’t because as soon as he asked I realised how creepy it was. At least he was locked up on death row so his threats towards Masha just seemed like hot air.”
“He made threats to hurt Masha?” Mel asked.
“Yes, he threatened to break out of prison, do unspeakable things and cut off her hair. And now he’s only gone and done it, he’s broken out of the most secure prison, escaping from death row. Masha is in the most terrible danger
.”
“How can yous be sure the vermin ‘as escaped?”
Evangelia explained the latest letter she’d received from Marvin the Mincer didn’t have the usual prison stamp on it. He’d written to say his obsession with Masha had inspired him to tunnel his way out of death row and come to surprise her. Evangelia had telephoned the prison to find out if there was any truth to Marvin’s words or if he was simply a fantasist, but the prison had confirmed the escape and that Marvin, armed with a pair of stolen scissors, was on the run. He’d even made the top ten spot on the FBI’s ‘Most Wanted’ list.
The prison had informed the FBI of Marvin’s threats and assured Evangelia there was little chance of the escapee managing to get all the way to Greece without a forged passport and money. They didn’t believe Masha was actually in imminent danger and considered warning her of the threats would send her into an unnecessary panic.
“I still can’t help worrying though Mel. What if he does make it over here and hurt Masha?” Evangelia anxiously questioned.
“Are yous frightened yous is in danger too?” Mel asked, worried about her.
“I don’t care about his threats to chop me into small pieces. He can do what he likes with me; I deserve it after putting Masha in harm’s way.”
“Evangelia, yous dont’s deserve anything bad to happen to yous. Who could have guessed prison security on death row would be so lax?” Mel consoled. “I’m inclined to think it is best to keep Masha in the dark. If the FBI think she’s in any danger they will warn ‘er and send agents to protect ‘er. If that ‘appens it’s enough for ‘er to know a notorious serial killer ‘as broken out of an American prison and is obsessed with ‘er after seeing her famous weather clips on YouTube. There’s no need to even mention yous involvement with the Mincer.”
“You are so kind Mel, it’s true his obsession developed after seeing her on YouTube, wearing that sexy raincoat Soula fashioned out of a lobster adorned shower curtain. Yous really don’t think any less of me for writing to convicts?” Evangelia asked anxiously, not quite ready to confess she was engaged to three serial killers.
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