Six Pack of Sleuths: Comedy Mysteries

by Barbara Silkstone

  ‘We’re going to die. We’re going to die. And we haven’t even had sex since we’ve been here!’ Strange, the things that come into your mind when your life is in jeopardy.

  Dust scattered in the air behind us as we sped along with Ferret Face barely inches away.

  We turned off onto the coast road that we’d taken earlier in the day to Deniz and Yasmin’s house.

  ‘We’re never going to lose him in this.’ I made a mental note to take the Land Rover back and hire a Ferrari or a Porsche.

  Ferret Face took the turning too.

  Kalem pushed the Land Rover to top speed. ‘Look for a track that leads off this main road. The only way we’re going to lose him is if we take one of the tracks that lead towards the mountains.’

  My eyes darted around in front, looking for some kind of escape route that we could take. ‘We’re going to die. We’re going to die,’ I whispered.

  ‘There!’ Kalem suddenly swerved the Land Rover to the right onto a narrow dirt track lined with trees that led off the main road.

  Ferret Face swerved onto it too.

  We bounced up and down, over rocks and bumpy dips, the branches of bushes and trees scraping against the side of the Land Rover like nails on a blackboard.

  I shivered inwardly.

  In the distance, I could see the dark silhouette of the mountains, lit up by the full moon. Agh! A full moon. That couldn’t possibly be a good sign, could it? There might be werewolves up there or some of those scary demons.

  Kalem manoeuvred the Land Rover across a deep, dried up riverbed with all the expertise of an experienced off-roader.

  The Mercedes slowed down, trying to get up the other side of it. His wheels caught on the sandy ground, spinning and churning up more dust.

  We gained a couple of metres advantage.

  The track climbed higher here and was lined with bigger rocks and boulders fallen from the mountain side.

  The Land Rover creaked and groaned on the rugged terrain.

  ‘We’re going to die!’ I yelled.

  We turned a corner on a particularly hairy bend with a steep drop down the mountain side.

  My stomach fell to my feet and bounced back up again.

  Kalem steered the Land Rover past a large rock and shortly afterwards there was a loud crunching sound behind us.

  I whipped my head around and saw that the Mercedes had ended up wedged on top of the rock, smoke billowing up into the night air.

  As we disappeared around the corner, I heard Ferret Face revving his engine hard.

  I kept my eyes on the rear window, waiting for him to appear again. It wasn’t until the revving sounds faded into the distance that I allowed myself to finally breathe.

  ‘We lost him,’ Kalem said. ‘I know I said I wanted to take you off-roading, but this wasn’t exactly what I meant. Now we just have to work out how to get off this mountain in the dark.’

  Uh-oh. What about the demons?

  Chapter 8

  Surprisingly, I fell into a coma-like sleep as soon as my head hit the pillow.

  The previous forty-eight hours had really taken it out of me. When I woke up at 9 a.m. to a loud banging on our hotel room door, I felt like I’d been run over by a bus. I ached. My head hurt. My throat felt scratchy and dry. I guess that’s what stress overload did to a person.

  I heard the shower going full blast in the bathroom.

  Putting on Kalem’s T-shirt, I padded to the door.

  ‘Room service,’ Charlie sing-songed on the other side.

  ‘I love you.’ I grinned at him when he wheeled in a trolley stacked high with breakfast.

  Ayshe and Atila kissed me as they wandered in behind.

  ‘Morning.’ Kalem appeared from the bathroom with a towel around his waist, his hair still damp from the shower, and his chest glistening with beads of water.

  Yummy. If we didn’t have an audience, I would’ve pounced on him there and then.

  After Kalem and I had tucked into a hearty breakfast, it was time to get down to some serious business. The capture of a crazed jewellery thief and sniper for starters. The wedding dress – or lack of it – for seconds.

  I had four days to go to the wedding, and if I didn’t get my lucky dress back, I didn’t really want to go down the aisle wearing a French Fancy. Four days to go, and I was thinking about curses, murderers, and queens with moustaches, instead of thinking nice happy thoughts like floaty wedding dresses, Kalem looking sexy in his wedding suit, dancing, drinking, and laughing at the wedding party. And lots of slow, sensual love making at the after-wedding party.

  ‘Right. First things first.’ I clapped my hands together. ‘How are Yasmin and Deniz?’ I asked Ayshe.

  ‘Dad’s acting a bit funny, actually,’ Ayshe said.

  ‘Yes, but that’s normal,’ I said.

  ‘I think he’s going through a mid-life crisis,’ she went on. ‘I’m getting a bit worried about him.’

  ‘He’s seventy. He’s leaving it a bit late.’ I giggled.

  Atila nodded. ‘He’s had three packets of condoms off me already from our mini-bar. What the hell is he doing with them?’

  ‘I haven’t got a clue. They’re a seventy-year old married couple! It’s not like Yasmin is going to get pregnant, is it?’ I shook my head.

  ‘They’ll have an injury at this rate.’ Kalem wrinkled up his nose. ‘They’ve got food poisoning. How can they even be considering doing…you know? God, it just doesn’t bear thinking about.’

  ‘I’ve given Dad some magazines, so hopefully he won’t be quite as bored, and it might take his mind off any…’ Ayshe winced, ‘condom activity.’

  ‘OK, we’ll stop off and see them later,’ Kalem said.

  ‘But what about you, Helen? I feel so bad that I haven’t been around to help you with anything. I want Sunday to be the happiest day of your life.’ Ayshe glanced at Kalem and smiled. ‘And yours too, of course. Especially as it was my fourteen-day life challenge that got you both together in the first place.’

  ‘As long as I’ve got Helen it will be the happiest day of my life.’ Kalem beamed back at me.

  ‘What am I going to do without you when we all go back to the UK and leave you here?’ Ayshe asked, sniffing back tears. ‘Oh, I’m sorry. I keep doing this. I don’t want to spoil your wedding preparations with depressing talk.’

  ‘I’d rather have it spoiled by you than Ferret Face.’ My face crumpled. ‘Anyway, you’ll have to come out and see us. Lots. And we’ll come back to see you. I couldn’t stand it if we hardly ever saw each other.’

  ‘Yes, but I’m used to seeing you every day. And Atila can’t just up and leave his restaurant. He’s such a perfectionist – he wants to be there all the time, even though he’s got a fantastic manager.’

  ‘Yes, I am here,’ Atila pointed out. ‘I can hear you. You don’t have to talk about me as if I’m not.’

  She wiped at her eyes. ‘Oh, look at me. It must be all the baby hormones flying around.’

  ‘Actually…maybe there is a way.’ Atila suddenly sat forward with an excited look on his face.

  ‘What?’ Ayshe asked. ‘A way for what?’

  Atila pushed his floppy fringe off his forehead and leaped up. ‘Just an idea.’ He gave us all a vague smile. ‘Do you need me for anything? Want me to come with you when you go to the apricot festival? Wedding dress shopping? Anything like that? If not, I want to strike while the shish kebab is hot.’

  ‘Pardon?’ I frowned. Maybe the heat was getting to him, because he didn’t seem to be making any sense.

  ‘I have to organize a wedding present for you,’ Atila said.

  ‘We’ve already got them a wedding present. Are you OK?’ Ayshe looked up at him, worried. ‘Do you think it’s the heat? Maybe we should turn on the air conditioning.’

  ‘I’m perfectly fine, thanks.’ Atila grinned.

  ‘No, we don’t need you.’ I gave Atila a puzzled look. What was he up to?

  Atila hurriedly kissed A
yshe and me and then left.

  ‘What was all that about then?’ I said.

  Ayshe shrugged. ‘I have absolutely no idea.’

  ‘Right. So, second on the agenda. What are we going to do about Ferret Face?’ Charlie asked. ‘Are you still going to the festival to try and speak to the President? Or did you manage to finally tell the authorities yesterday?’

  Kalem relayed the previous evening’s events. ‘So, we’re no further forward. We have to try and speak to the President at the festival somehow.’

  ‘OK, well I’ll put my thinking cap on.’ Charlie mimed putting a cap on. ‘We need to do something to catch his attention; or cause a distraction, or something, so you can get close to him to have a chat.’ He tapped his lips.

  ‘Easier said than done.’ I frowned.

  ‘Hmm. What can we do?’ Charlie carried on tapping. ‘Ooh, I know! How about I distract his bodyguards by streaking?’

  I giggled.

  Charlie looked hurt. ‘I’ve done it before. I did it at Wimbledon once. I had security guards and a whole TV crew chasing me. They said on the news that I was the best streaker they’d ever had.’ He grinned, looking rather pleased with himself. ‘And the security guards were quite fit if I remember.’

  ‘Somehow, I don’t think that would work quite as well at an apricot festival,’ Kalem said.

  ‘What about if Helen streaked?’ Charlie added, trying to be helpful.

  ‘Maybe I’ll add that to my list of possibilities.’ I rolled my eyes at him. ‘What else can we do?’

  ‘Throw darts at him?’ Charlie said.

  I gave Charlie another eye roll.

  ‘Mmm. Take your point. Probably no darts here. We could throw olives instead? Or apricots.’ Charlie looked at me for approval.

  ‘Also a possibility, as long as we want to get arrested,’ I said.

  ‘I’ve been to these festivals before, when I was a kid. They have lots of stalls selling local produce, little cafes set up, and lots of entertainment. I’m sure we’ll be able to get some opportunity to speak to him.’ Kalem shrugged. ‘It’s worth a try. What have we got to lose?’

  Ayshe nodded. ‘Well, it’s the only thing I can think of at the moment.’

  ‘In the meantime, we could see if Osman recognizes the photo of Ferret Face,’ Kalem said. ‘If he’s local, Osman will know him. He knows everybody. And if he is local, maybe we could find him and try to do something to put him out of action if all else fails. That way he won’t actually be able to do anything at the opening night, anyway.’

  ‘What, like drug him?’ Charlie asked.

  ‘I don’t know. We’d need to come up with some sort of plan. Look, why don’t we all go and see Osman and have a think on the way. I’m sure we can come up with something between us,’ Kalem said.

  ‘OK. What about a possible replacement wedding dress? Did you find one?’ I asked Charlie.

  He pursed his lips. ‘Er…no. I went to all the wedding shops I could find. Only French Fancies available.’

  ‘Shit! What am I going to get married in? A bikini and flip-flops?’ I ran a hand through my hair.

  ‘You can wear my new cream strappy shoes. I brought the ones with the heart shaped diamantes on them that you liked.’ Ayshe squeezed my hand and gave me an encouraging smile. ‘I’m not up for wearing high heels anyway at the moment. I might topple over. No sister-in-law of mine can get married in flip-flops.’

  ‘And I’ll trawl round all the non-weddingy shops,’ Charlie said. ‘I’ll look in all the women’s boutiques. If we can’t find an actual wedding dress, I’ll find the next best thing. I promise. I’m your wedding planner. I will not let you down.’ He sprang to his feet. ‘Come on. We can’t sit around here all day chatting.’

  ****

  ‘Merhaba,’ Osman greeted us Hello in Turkish, wearing a white vest, rolled up trousers, and wellies, as we pulled up outside his rustic farm on the outskirts of town. ‘How are you all?’ he said, then turned to Charlie. ‘And who is this lovely lady? I don’t remember meeting you when we dropped off Helen and Kalem at the hotel.’

  ‘This is my best man, Charlie,’ Kalem said. ‘You did meet him the other night.’

  Osman looked slightly confused. It was an easy mistake to make, since Charlie was wearing the pink kilt, a white top with a big pink heart on the front, and a pink sweatband on his forehead. I have to say that I wasn’t entirely sure that his red, leopard print flip-flops went with the outfit, but I’d seen him in a lot worse, so I supposed I had to be grateful for small mercies.

  ‘Where are Deniz and Yasmin?’ Osman asked.

  ‘They’ve got food poisoning,’ Ayshe said. ‘They’re confined to their room until they feel better.’

  ‘Deniz has food poisoning? I remember him eating all sorts when we were children. He never got ill.’ Osman smiled, reminiscing. ‘One time he ate a raw snake.’

  ‘I’ve eaten a few of those in my time.’ Charlie nodded, although I didn’t think they were quite talking about the same variety.

  ‘We must have Turkish coffee. Mother will want to read your coffee cup,’ Osman said to me as he started off up the dirt track to the simple, flat-roofed old Cypriot house with blue wooden shutters, archways, and hand-carved wooden doors.

  There was a lean-to over the front door, made with what looked like off-cuts of ancient wooden beams. Hundreds of potted plants lined the small terrace underneath.

  Under the shade of a tall eucalyptus tree at the rear of the house I could see large pens of goats and sheep, babbling away to each other in Shoat language.

  ‘How is Kuzu?’ I tried to spy her in one of the pens.

  ‘She’s very well. She can now find Kedi with no help.’

  ‘Who’s Kedi?’ I asked.

  ‘Our cat.’

  ‘And what does Kedi mean in Turkish?’ I asked.

  ‘Cat,’ Ayshe said.

  The house was basic and sparsely furnished with old wooden chairs and tables. The armchair that I’d seen on top of the car at the airport took centre stage in front of a huge, iron wood-burning stove in the kitchen-diner. It was spotlessly clean, though, but it looked like Osman wasn’t really into DIY.

  Kuzu came running towards us, wagging her woolly little tail.

  Charlie clapped his hands together. ‘I want one! She’s so cute.’

  Kuzu chewed on the bottom of my dress. I bent down to stroke her, scratching behind her ear, which she seemed to particularly enjoy.

  ‘She likes you.’ Osman grinned. ‘Maybe I’ll give her to you as a wedding present.’

  ‘Do you keep her in the house?’ Charlie asked.

  ‘Yes. I hand-reared her after her mother died. She follows me everywhere.’ Osman petted her on the head.

  Osman’s mum appeared, grinning and pinching our cheeks. She set about making the coffee in a small pan on top of the burner, squawking in high-pitched and animated Turkish to us all.

  I thought I could make out her saying a sentence with the words “cucumber” and “toilet” in it, but I must’ve been mistaken because I couldn’t possibly imagine what she was talking about. Maybe Charlie would know.

  She handed us all small, ornate Turkish coffee cups, which must have been reserved especially for guests. I sipped on the strong coffee, feeling the caffeine rush zap through me like a bolt of adrenaline.

  Charlie downed his in one go, forgetting about the thick, pasty granules left at the bottom of the cup that weren’t for drinking.

  He coughed and spluttered loudly, tears streaming down his eyes.

  I slapped him on the back.

  Osman’s mum shook her head and said something to Ayshe.

  ‘She says there’s an ancient saying that the one who swallows the seed of the coffee will turn into a donkey.’ Ayshe laughed.

  ‘Which particular part of the anatomy will turn into a donkey?’ Charlie looked pretty excited at the prospect.

  Kalem pulled the camera out of my bag and showed the digital picture of Ferret Fac
e to Osman. ‘Do you recognize this man?’

  Osman stared at the picture. Frowned. Stared some more. Scratched his curly, long hair. ‘No. He’s not Turkish Cypriot,’ Osman said.

  ‘How do you know?’ I asked.

  ‘You can tell by his facial features. This is a small island, where most people are related to each other in one way or another. Practically everyone you meet will be a cousin of a cousin of a cousin.’ Osman pulled up a wooden chair. It creaked under his weight. ‘In the old days, people lived in small villages and didn’t go outside the village to look for a wife or husband. People intermarried with cousins. It’s easy to tell who is Cypriot and who isn’t.’ He pointed to the camera. ‘This man has tiny little eyes, like a mouse, and a pointed nose and chin. He looks like a ferret. No, this man isn’t Cypriot. He definitely looks foreign. Maybe Syrian or Israeli. Why do you want to know?’

  I debated about whether we should tell him. I quickly decided that maybe we should just spill the beans on what was going on. Maybe Osman could help us find him. Then I decided equally as quickly not to. What would a shepherd know about dealing with a crime of this magnitude? Probably not much more than us. And if we did tell him, then he’d tell Yasmin and Deniz that we were caught up in this whole scary thing. They would freak. And what if they had a stroke? Or a heart attack? Especially as they were ill. And they were getting on a bit now, too. The shock could kill them. Even I’d been having palpitations, so what could it do to them? Maybe it was psychological, but as soon as I thought that, I could feel my heartbeat jumping around.

  No, we absolutely, definitely, one-hundred-percent couldn’t tell him.

  I glanced at Kalem. He shook his head slightly at me, affirming what I thought.

  ‘Er…I thought he looked like someone I used to know,’ I said vaguely, hoping Osman wouldn’t think that was a strange explanation.

  Osman paused for a while, watchful, as if pondering my answer.

  I held my breath, wondering if he was going to question us further.

  Then Osman slapped Kalem on the back. ‘So, it’s the big day on Sunday. How are all the plans going?’