Six Pack of Sleuths: Comedy Mysteries

by Barbara Silkstone

I let out my breath and smiled. I didn’t know if he was suspicious or if he was just being too courteous to probe further.

  ‘Well, we still need to find a wedding dress. Helen’s case went missing, and we don’t know if we’ll get it back,’ Kalem said.

  Charlie jumped up. ‘I’m on it. Let me borrow the Land Rover, and I’ll go hunting.’

  Kalem’s mobile rang. He went outside to take the call. When he came back in, he looked pale.

  ‘Who was that?’ I asked him.

  ‘It was the University. My new boss wants to have a chat with me immediately. And he didn’t sound very happy. Charlie, can you drop me off at the University? I’ll quickly pop in and see my boss, and you can drop me back here before you go shopping.’

  ‘No problemo.’ Charlie waved to Osman and his mum. ‘Byeee.’

  ‘Is that OK with you?’ Kalem kissed me on the cheek.

  ‘Yes, of course.’

  Osman’s mum asked Osman something as the boys left.

  He turned to me. ‘Yes, of course!’

  ‘What did she say?’ I asked, smiling at her.

  ‘She says that she still has her wedding dress, and you must wear it if yours has gone missing.’

  I swallowed back a lump that had suddenly appeared in my throat, and my smile evaporated into thin air.

  ‘I’ll go and get it.’ Osman disappeared.

  I didn’t want to be ungrateful or anything, but Osman’s mum looked like she was about a hundred years old. I couldn’t get married in some frumpy looking wedding dress that came up to my chin. All floppy and flappy down to the ground. Probably with moth holes in it, too.

  ‘No!’ I said, a little too quickly. ‘Really, it’s OK. I’m sure I’ll find something else.’ I beamed back at her.

  Ayshe translated it to her, then waited for the reply. ‘She says she can’t take no for an answer. It would make her really proud. She says you have to wear it.’

  Oh, my God! ‘Tell her I can’t possibly take it. Charlie will find me something else and there won’t be a problem.’ I was so desperate for her not to give it to me that the sentence came out like one long word.

  ‘She’ll think it’s really rude if you say no. She’ll get upset.’ Ayshe pulled a just-take-it-we’ll-think-of-something-later face.

  ‘Here it is.’ Osman came back in the room, carrying the dress folded up in tissue paper.

  ‘Er…thank you.’ I took the package, trying to sound like it was the best thing since Vera Wang’s wedding collection.

  I rested it on my knee, not daring to sneak a peek at it for fear my face might give me away. Maybe if I didn’t look at it Osman’s mum wouldn’t say anything else and just forget about it.

  Osman’s mum smiled a gappy-toothed smile at me, then said something else.

  ‘She wants you to open it,’ Ayshe translated.

  Bugger. Wishful thinking. With shaky hands I unwrapped the paper.

  Actually, I was wrong. It wasn’t a frumpy wedding dress. It was far worse.

  All eyes were on me as I took in the brownish-white stained dress with a hint of mildew and something else that I didn’t even want to think about. Sheep’s poo perhaps. Even a super strength dry cleaner couldn’t get that lot out. It had long sleeves, a high neck, and was about five sizes too big for me. I think it used to be made of lace and, believe it or not, maybe sheep’s wool. But now it was just, well, holey was the only word I could use. I fought the urge to scratch myself.

  ‘It’s lovely,’ I croaked.

  Osman’s mum beamed back at me.

  ‘Good. That’s all settled then,’ Osman said to me. ‘Would you like to help me milk the sheep? They need milking now. Mother can read your Turkish coffee cup afterwards.’

  ‘Er…OK.’ How hard could it be? And when in Rome, as they say. In fact, it would be really sweet, milking a cute little Kuzu lookalike.

  ‘Good. Follow me.’ He strolled out the back door, wellies squeaking as he went.

  ‘I’ll come too,’ Ayshe said.

  Ayshe, Osman’s mum, and I followed Osman towards the pen. Ooh, the smell was a lot stronger here.

  Osman grabbed a well-used looking white bucket and handed it to me.

  Ayshe and Osman’s mum leaned over the pen, stroking the sheep.

  ‘What am I supposed to do with this?’ I asked, waving the bucket at him.

  ‘Collect the milk, of course.’ He grinned.

  ‘Right.’ I frowned and whispered to Ayshe, ‘Don’t they have one of those milking machines that clamp on their nipples?’

  ‘Would you want something clamped on your nipples?’ Ayshe whispered back.

  Well, when you put it like that, probably not.

  Osman waved his arm at the sheep. ‘As you can see, we do things in the old, traditional way here still.’

  ‘I see. And how do I milk them, exactly?’ I asked.

  Osman opened the large pen and herded a giant, hairy, dirty sheep into a small pen at the side. It went straight up to a trough of grains and munched away. He crouched down behind the sheep and held his hand out for the bucket.

  The poor thing’s swollen udders looked about to burst.

  He put both chubby hands round two teats and squeezed in a rhythmic motion from top to bottom. ‘OK, you just squeeze the teats like this.’

  The sheep didn’t look too bothered, though. It didn’t even seem to notice.

  Osman quickly filled a third of the bucket, then led the sheep back into the main pen. He returned with another one who trotted off to the food, taking the opportunity for a quick chowfest.

  Osman smiled at me. ‘Your turn.’ He handed me the bucket.

  I glanced behind at Ayshe and Osman’s mum, who were watching me with interest. Ayshe gave me an encouraging nod.

  I crouched down behind the sheep. Whoa! It was even smellier from this angle. And it had crusty bits round its backside. Why did I agree to this?

  ‘That’s it; put your hands round the teats,’ Osman said.

  I squeezed and squeezed like I’d seen Osman do, but nothing would come out. ‘I can’t do it.’

  ‘Keep trying, you’ll get the hang of it in a minute.’

  No, still nothing. The sheep looked up from her food, turned round in my direction, and I could have sworn she gave me a dirty look.

  ‘I’ll get another one.’ He led Grumpy Sheep back to the pen and returned with another.

  I clasped my hands round the teats again. This time I got a drip. Just the one, mind you.

  ‘I can’t do it. You make it look so easy.’ I carried on trying anyway until my hands hurt. I dreaded to think how her poor teats felt. My boobs started hurting in sympathy.

  ‘OK, try one more.’ Osman brought another one in.

  This one had a really big tail hanging down, encrusted in…well, you know. I scrunched up my face and turned it sideways, holding my breath as the smell was so overpowering. I lifted up the tail with one hand, feeling for its udders with the other. Where are they? I bet he wouldn’t let me finish until I’d found one, and the idea of milking sheep didn’t seem too appealing anymore. I carried on, my hands searching by touch. I wasn’t going to stick my head under there, that’s for sure.

  ‘Ah, found it!’ I grabbed its warm udder, trying to find the teat. ‘Huh? This sheep has only got one teat.’ I turned my head back around again.

  Osman and his mum howled with laughter behind me.

  ‘That’s because it’s a ram!’ Osman guffawed.

  ‘Urgh! I dropped its thingy and scrambled far out of sheep thingy squeezing distance.

  Ayshe had to shove her hand in her mouth to stop the laughter.

  Osman doubled over, clutching his stomach. Osman’s mum gave me a gappy-toothed cackle.

  ‘Oh, look, Helen, you made the ram smile!’ Ayshe giggled at me.

  Yes, playing practical jokes must definitely be a Cypriot thing.

  I held my dirty palms up in the air to him, giggling. ‘Come here, Osman, I want to give you a big hug.�
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  He backed away and legged it out of the pen, back into the house. ‘No, no!’

  I scrubbed my hands for ten minutes at the old ceramic sink before Osman’s mum and Ayshe came into the house, still chuckling. Osman’s mum said something to Ayshe.

  ‘She wants to know if you enjoyed it,’ Ayshe translated for her.

  ‘It was…’ I glanced at Osman. ‘Interesting.’ I dried my hands on a piece of kitchen roll.

  Osman’s mum beckoned me towards her.

  Uh-oh. What now? This family was definitely crazy.

  ‘She wants to read your coffee cup,’ Ayshe told me. ‘Which means she’s going to see babies, rings, and marriage – just like Mum does.’ She grinned at me.

  ‘Well, that’s a dead cert at the moment, seeing as I’m getting married and you’re pregnant.’ I sat down next to Osman’s mum, Turkish coffee cup in hand.

  Ayshe sat forward in her chair. ‘OK, you have to put the saucer on top of the cup, with your thumb on top, then flip it over. That’s right. Now, leave the cup upside down to drain in the saucer.’

  Osman plonked himself on a rickety wooden chair. ‘She’s so accurate, it’s amazing. People come from miles around to get their coffee cups read. She’s been doing it since she was a little girl. Her grandmother taught her. She’s got the gift, you know.’ Osman beamed at me.

  Osman’s mum lifted up my coffee cup, placed the saucer to one side, and stared intently into it. She sucked her teeth.

  Was that good or bad?

  She slowly rotated the cup clockwise; starting at the handle and working her way back round. She smiled. Tutted. Frowned. Then looked like she’d seen a ghost.

  ‘What? What can you see?’ Butterflies flew around in the pit of my stomach.

  The whole room was silent as we all waited in anticipation.

  When she finally spoke, Ayshe translated.

  ‘She can see a ring.’

  I relaxed with relief. She was probably just being a drama queen, and all she would see was exactly what Ayshe had predicted.

  ‘This means marriage.’ Ayshe translated Osman’s mum’s rapid Turkish and gave me a sceptical look.

  Surprise, surprise.

  ‘She can see a baby.’ Ayshe patted her stomach. ‘She says it’s a girl.’ Ayshe looked at Osman’s mum open-mouthed. Ayshe really was having a baby girl. ‘And she can see a rat.’

  ‘A rat? Ew. A rat sounds bad. What does a rat mean?’

  Osman’s mum tilted the cup to get a better look.

  ‘It means something will be stolen,’ Ayshe said.

  I thought about the sculpture. Ayshe and I passed an “oh fuck” look between us.

  Osman’s mum brought the coffee cup closer to her face, peering inside, tutting again.

  ‘She’s looking to see if there’s a dot inside it,’ Ayshe said.

  ‘What does a dot mean?’ I shouted anxiously.

  Was it like a black dot? Maybe it meant a sniper shot! Murder! The dreaded black dot of death.

  ‘She says if there’s a dot inside, the item will be returned.’

  Look for the dot! Look for the dot!

  Osman’s mum tilted the cup again.

  ‘She says she can’t see clearly. There might be a dot or there might not be. But she can see a ladder.’

  Hmm. A ladder could be good, couldn’t it? It might mean I’d be climbing to great heights.

  ‘But it’s broken.’

  Oh. My shoulders deflated. Not so good. More like falling into a pit of despair, then.

  ‘It means you have a difficult journey ahead of you,’ Ayshe translated.

  Oh, for God’s sake, tell me something I don’t know.

  ‘She can see a Turkish coffee cup,’ Ayshe said.

  I know that! Get to the good bits.

  Ayshe said something to her, then turned to me. ‘It means someone will be drinking Turkish coffee.’

  Well, that wasn’t exactly hard in a country where practically everyone drinks it.

  ‘And a glass of water next to it.’

  ‘Yes, but what does that mean? Everyone drinks water after having Turkish coffee because it’s so strong,’ I said.

  ‘She’s not sure. But she can see a man. He’s lying down.’

  Osman’s mum gasped at the cup.

  ‘Is he…sleeping?’ I asked hopefully.

  ‘She can’t tell. He could be sleeping, or he could be dead.’ Ayshe locked fearful eyes with me.

  The palpitations started again. I did some deep breathing. In. Out. In. Out.

  ‘And she sees a fish.’

  Agh! That man lying down would be sleeping with the fishes!

  ‘She sees a big fish. It means money, apparently. A lot of money.’

  I thought about the five hundred thousand dollars in the suitcase. Well, that bit was accurate, at least.

  Osman’s mum drained the coffee cup residue into the saucer and turned her attention to that.

  No, not more. I didn’t think I could take much more. Maybe it was better not to know what was going to happen.

  ‘She can see a cross.’

  Uh-oh.

  ‘Sometimes a cross means victory. But it could also mean a hospital sign.’

  No, no, no. I definitely couldn’t take any more. Ibrahim Kaya was going to be shot by a black dot and would end up in hospital, then he’d die and be swimming with the fishes.

  I was about to slap my hands over my ears so I couldn’t hear anymore when, thankfully, Kalem and Charlie returned.

  Kalem looked pale, bordering on a greenish tinge.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ I asked him.

  ‘My job.’ Kalem swallowed hard. ‘They’ve cancelled it. They said the funding has unexpectedly been cut for their department and there’s no job available anymore.’ He slumped down in a chair.

  Chapter 9

  ‘They can’t do that,’ I said to Kalem on the drive back to the hotel.

  ‘They just did. They told me the government has suddenly cut their funding without giving them a reason.’

  My mind started running away with me. ‘Who in the government?’

  ‘He didn’t say.’

  Why would the funding suddenly be cut when the University had practically begged Kalem to take the job? I thought back to Erol Hussein and his interest in Kalem’s job. Call me cynical, but it had to be him. Who else could it possibly be? He probably didn’t want us running around town, spouting off about suitcases filled with hundred dollar notes or plots to kill Kaya and steal the Cleopatra sculpture, because he didn’t want anyone to know about the money. I bet he was probably spending it as we spoke. Horrible little man.

  ‘That was my dream job.’ Kalem shook his head, more to himself than anyone else.

  ‘Kalem, I’m so sorry,’ Ayshe said from the back seat.

  ‘What do you think happened?’ Charlie asked.

  ‘I bet it was that bloody Erol Hussein,’ I said.

  Although, actually, maybe he’d done me a favour. I know this is going to sound really bad, but I didn’t know if I could really live here now, anyway. I thought that moving abroad to start a new life in the sun would be an exciting adventure. I’d wanted to live the dream, but so far it had been a complete nightmare instead. I ran through my mental list, counting off the reasons I had not to stay. I mean, yes, I did have a list of nice things about the country that were probably good reasons to stay – things that I couldn’t experience in the UK. But the list of reasons to leave was getting worse by the day…

  1) Crazy extended family.

  2) Involved in assassination and art heist.

  3) Cursed by Queen Cleopatra’s statue.

  4) Spooky demons and giants running around mountains scaring the shit out of people.

  5) No convenient superstores or big shopping malls.

  6) French Fancy wedding dresses.

  7) Erol Hussein.

  8) No job for Kalem.

  9) No custard creams.

  I felt a kind of weight
lift from my shoulders. I’d really wanted to tell Kalem that I was having some serious doubts about moving here, and that I wasn’t sure if I was cut out for the simple life. I know it might sound selfish, but now I wouldn’t have to pretend anymore that I really wanted to stay here for Kalem’s sake. If there was no job for him, we couldn’t stay anyway. At least it meant that after the wedding there was no chance of us running into Ferret Face again if we were on the next plane home. But it was awful because I did feel heart-broken for him, losing his dream job. And all probably because of some greedy, nasty little man and my clumsiness in picking up the wrong suitcase. It was all my fault.

  ‘Do you think we should try and speak to Erol again?’ I suggested, because inside I was battling with thoughts of relief that we could leave the island, versus thoughts of self-loathing that, if it hadn’t been for me, everything would be just going along as we’d originally planned. Poor Kalem.

  ‘It won’t do any good,’ Kalem said. ‘You saw him throw the evidence in the bin. He’s not likely to investigate anything if there’s a chance the money will be discovered. He just wants us off the island, so we don’t tell anyone he’s got it.’ He paused for a beat. ‘No. No, we’ll just have to go back to the UK, and I’ll have to find another job.’ He smiled, but it was half-hearted, and I could see the pain behind it.

  ‘I’m sure the college will give you your old job back.’ Charlie tried to be helpful.

  Kalem glanced in the rear-view mirror. ‘Thanks, Charlie. When I left, they said I could always come back. It’s just that this job was so perfect for me. Whereas in the UK I was teaching sculpture and woodcarving, here I was finally getting the chance to teach about my passion – historical sculpture. Now we’ve got to tell Mum and Dad that we won’t be living in their house as well. They always knew my dream was to live the simple life here. They’ll be really disappointed. And Dad will want to kill Erol Hussein.’

  ‘Why don’t we wait until after the wedding to tell them,’ I said. ‘It’s probably not a good idea to tell Deniz now. His blood pressure is pretty high as it is, without being ill as well.’

  ‘My lips are sealed.’ Charlie clamped his lips shut.

  ‘We’ve got enough to worry about at the moment. We’re getting married soon, and I want to be able to relax on my wedding day. And in order to relax, we need to get the President to take notice of us tonight, and I need to find my wedding dress.’ I kissed Kalem on the cheek.