Gianni rolled his eyes and held back from shouting for the millionth time a watch your language young lady warning. He had given up. Defeated once more by Ioli’s rich vocabulary.
‘Will she ever learn?’ he asked his wife.
Anna raised her hands. ‘I try to believe, that God made her just the way he intended.’
‘You sure it was God?’ Gianni asked, smiling for the first time. A smile knocked off his face by Anna’s right hand.
‘Don’t be silly,’ she said, and slapped him on the back of his going-bald head.
The 19th century, twenty-bedroom country house towered us as we exited the bus.
‘The walls of Troy with windows,’ Thomas joked.
The sound of the heavy doors opening, gathered us into a half-cycle before its carved wooden facade. Bright light shone through the gap and out ran a young lady wearing faded jeans and a burgundy turtle neck. She ran straight into Homer’s arms and kissed him with force on his dry lips. Everyone smiled at the couple. Everyone, that is, besides the bride’s mother who stood by the door wearing a formal evening dress, white pearls and a bored expression. Her husband was more expressive. In his black suit he shook hands with everyone, introducing himself and ushering us into his home.
‘I am Cosma Zampetaki, please come in out of the cold. This is my wife Irene. You might not be able to tell, but she is very pleased to meet you.’
The icy look from his wife competed with the cold winds as to who could freeze us first. ‘This is my mother, Helena Zampetaki,’ Cosma continued, ignoring his wife’s mien. ‘Age 91,’ he proudly announced, hugging the fragile looking, black-wearing woman. Her white, silvered hair was escaping her black head scarf and whipping her wizened face. She smiled a friendly smile, though her eyes examined us thoroughly. A sample of the Greek hospitality blended with the suspicious mind of elders.
‘And this is my wife-to-be, Cassandra,’ Homer proudly announced lifting his fiancé up.
Inside, the Zampetaki family and friends gathered in the vast reception area with the two twirling stairways and the golden, hanging chandelier.
The introductions, the explanation of who was who and the exchange of gifts lasted longer than our journey to the isolated island. A quite stout lady in her late forties went around offering her hand and introducing herself as the bride’s aunt. The bride’s very bubbly and very colorful friends stood out like a farm fly in strained yogurt. Alexandra, Andrea, Jenny and Amanda tried hard to remember all the names they heard. The four single ladies were sure to remember Jason, who had kissed each one on the hand.
‘Oh, to have young blood running through your veins,’ lamented Aunt Myrrine.
Two patient, serious-looking butlers waited to escort us all to our rooms. The rest of the house’s help was busy in the kitchen below, preparing the night’s feast.
Soon, all settled into 1940’s style bedrooms with thick, colorful carpets and the tall beds that you had to long jump or climb up if you wished to rest. Outside, lighting sliced the dark sky like a pitchfork through hay. Thunder shook the ground and ferocious winds carried the rain through the cold air. As the storm grew stronger, my eyelids grew weaker. A midday nap in the arms of my lover came as a treat after all the travelling. I set my alarm clock for six. One hour would be enough for Tracy to prepare for tonight’s party at seven.
I always found it funny how clothes and make up -clothes and a good shave for the guys-could change a person. Every guest walked down the granite stairs all shiny and new. Diamonds cleared from the mud. Expensive jewels lay around necks and fingers while hair defied gravity and was formed into fashionable hairstyles. More importantly, all wore an aura of relaxation, a vibe of vacation, a feeling of we are going to have a good time.
The dining room doors opened and welcomed us into its stomach. And what a stomach it was.
‘You could fit my apartment four times over into this room,’ I whispered to Ioli. She looked stunning in her black silk dress.
‘Sorry, I wasn’t listening,’ she joked, as she pointed to the mile long buffet table. ‘I think I’ve died and gone to food heaven.’
Towers of porcelain plates stood at the beginning, a variety of Greek salads were next and every single food in a Greek cookbook followed. A scent of well-cooked meat lingered in the heated, thick air.
‘I’m going to need more plates,’ Ioli laughed.
‘I’m taking an extra plate for the kontosouvli at the end,’ Mark said and politely squeezed between us. Tracy double raised her eyebrows at me.
‘I love watching people flirt,’ she said, and her almond shaped eyes glowed with excitement.
‘Then, just look at me baby,’ I replied with the same grin that had graced my mischievous face since puberty.
Through the huge oval windows we witnessed the night sky fall like a curtain down to the dark sea. The storm rolled in strong; blaring music and Kallisto’s riotous laughter covered the plethora of thunder served out by the night clouds.
Stories were told over wine and food and as the servants took away our dessert plates, the party escalated. Even I could not resist joining in on the ongoing hasapiko on the dance floor. However, I did not risk going for a solo zempekiko, as I did not trust my back. Flowers were thrown around, bottles were smashed, people were shouting, smoking and singing; just another Greek party. I did not dare imagine the scope of wedding festivities the following night.
Slowly-slowly, one by one the guests thanked Cosma and Irene Zampetaki for their hospitality, wished them a long life and many grandchildren, and wobbled off to their rooms. The euphoria from all the fine wine and the tasty Cretan Raki having drawn wide smiles across their faces. By midnight, pretty early for a Greek feast, everyone had sailed off to dreamland. Tomorrow was the wedding. No one wished for a hangover or sleepiness.
Cassandra had kissed Homer good night and managed to resist joining him in his room.
‘There will be plenty of time for that, lover boy.’
They kissed for some minutes, enjoying each other’s lips, lost in a heavenly embrace. Heavy breathing departed their hot lips and hands travelled across their bodies. Cassandra pulled back, caught her breath, blew Homer a kiss and ran off to her room.
Homer stripped down to nothing. The central heating was set to satisfy the cold-bottomed grandparents. He jumped onto the soft bed, thanked God for Cassandra and in a matter of seconds his snoring filled the warm room.
Cassandra had no such luck. It was not a case of cold feet. It was pure excitement. She gazed out of her window; looking through the raindrops that splattered against it. She had hid her dress in the pool house. She had taken no chances of Homer seeing it.
‘Screw it,’ she said out loud after an inner pep talk. She quietly sneaked out of the room, slowly closing the heavy, screeching door.
Minutes later, the blade sliced through her throat. Her blood shot out high and her lifeless body fell to the ground.
The following morning, breakfast was served in the same grand style as last night’s feast. But Aunt Myrrine and the bride to be were nowhere to be seen.
Irene Zampetaki was trying discreetly to tell-off the two maids for not having washed all the silverware yet.
‘The guests are coming down to breakfast and you are telling me we haven’t got enough knives and forks?’
‘Madame, we used almost all of them last night. The dish washer could fit only so many…’
‘Well, you should have stayed up last night and washed them by hand.’
‘On it, right away, ma’am,’ the skinny, young brunette said with eyes lowered to the floor. The second maid stayed.
‘Yes?’ Irene asked with apathy.
‘We have an extra set in the pool house,’ said the forty-something year old woman.
‘Then, what are you waiting for?’
And just like that, the tall lady ran down to the kitchen, picked up a large, black umbrella and dashed out into the storm. The icy tiles by the empty pool made it difficult to walk. Fo
r a second, the rain stopped. Just before Katerina could thank the Lord for the reprieve, lighting tore the dark, ominous sky and thunder roared from behind tumultuous clouds. Katerina let out a weak scream as hail dived out of the ragged clouds and hit upon her umbrella forcibly. That inner force we humans possess at moments when we are in trouble came alive and Katerina moved with speed towards the hail-battered pool house. She leapt into the room, glad to be out of the storm. She was not glad to suddenly slip in a puddle of blood. She landed face first upon Cassandra’s stabbed body; her arms helping her to stop inches away from the dead bride’s face. Katerina shrieked in terror. As she tried to stand up without touching the body, her screams grew louder than the howling winds outside. She took a few unstable steps back and curled up in the room’s corner. With trembling hands, she searched for her cell phone. Her apron hung from off her thin waist and dipped into the pool of blood. With eyes fixed resolutely on the ceiling, she pulled her phone out of the top left pocket of her white shirt. She could never stand the sight of blood. Her head leaned forward heavily. She felt like fainting. Shaky hands travelled across the phone’s surface and managed to dial the house’s number.
‘Hello? Zampetaki residence,’ Christina’s formal voice came through the receiver.
‘Christina, its Katerina.’ Pause. She opened her mouth for air. ‘I’m in the pool house…’
‘Yes, I know. Madame is waiting for…’
‘The bride is dead!’ Katerina screamed.
An awkward silence was followed by disbelief. Reality kicked its way through the fog.
Christina left the house phone hanging, ran down the long hallway and zombie walked into the crowded breakfast room. She stood in the doorway and tried to speak louder than the jovial guests. The third time she spoke, all froze.
‘What did you say?’ Cosmas asked standing up.
‘Miss Cassandra is dead in the pool house,’ she said, and then she turned white and –under other circumstances-quite comically fell to the floor. The poor girl had fainted.
Chairs fell back as people leapt out of them. As one we all ran towards the door. Outside, Cosma, Irene, Homer, Ioli and I did not stop at the sight of the hail. The rest of the guests stayed beneath the safety of the wooden, bougainvillea-covered pergola. Eyes, wide open, followed us to the pool house. Hands covered mouths in shock upon hearing the manic screams of despair from the bride’s parents. Homer fell to his knees and was going to take his beloved fiancée into his arms, only to be stopped by Ioli.
‘Don’t. Evidence,’ she whispered two words, as she took Homer into her arms. His father Aristo entered the room to fall behind his son and hug him, too. Homer’s mother Cleopatra saw the blood from the entrance and did not dare enter.
I knelt to the ground, too. A piece of paper floated in the puddle of blood.
‘I am not your aunt Myrrine. My name is Maria Marousaki. Wife of Ioanni Marousaki. I have done my duty. I can now die in peace,’ I read the note.
Irene had fallen to the floor and was screaming hysterically, while her husband paced up and down the room cursing and calling upon saints to save his little girl. Both were in a clear state of shock. At the sound of the surname Marousaki both froze. Tears fell silently. They gazed at each other for what seemed to be centuries. Ioli could not take the silence.
‘Who is she?’
No reply. Irene slapped her husband hard across his face, and ran outside. The clouds had run out of hail and had gone back to leaking skinny drops of water. Irene walked steadily towards the cliff. She stood on the edge and stared down to the newly born river that cut through the ground, 120 feet below. She closed her eyes, whispered the little pray her mother had taught her as a child and stepped forward.
Hands came out of nowhere and grabbed her by the waist, stopping her downward trajection and forcing her to the muddy ground. Irene opened her eyes and tried to focus. A breathless Kallisto lay upon her.
Jason and Leonida arrived next. They had run from the house, having seen Irene approach the edge.
‘God, you’re fast,’ Jason said, in admiration.
‘And in high heels, too, kid,’ Kallisto replied, standing up.
Leonida helped Irene to her feet.
‘My daughter’s dead. Dead. Let me fall, let me fall,’ Irene cried until her husband picked her up and with the help of Leonida and George, carried her back to the house.
Ioli and I stood by the pool house. Rain bounced in muddy puddles and lighting flashed around us.
‘Look,’ Mark said, having run out of the house and straight towards Ioli.
Aunt Myrrine’s wheelchair lay, knocked over in the mud, a foot from the edge.
‘I can now rest in peace,’ Ioli recalled the old lady’s note. ‘Do you think she jumped?’
‘Looks like it. Or this is what this scene is supposed to look like,’ I replied, lost in thought.
Everyone stood around, uncertain how to proceed next. Hail returned, forcing them back into the mansion.
‘Mark,’ I called over. ‘You’re a doctor, right?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Come in,’ I said, rushing back into the pool house. Inside, Ioli was preoccupied with Myrrine’s note.
Mark paused for a second at the sight of the girl’s body before acting professionally and kneeling down beside her.
‘I guess you want my opinion on time of death?’
‘Clever lad,’ I said and forced a flat line smile. There was something wrong with the sight of a dead young woman in her wedding dress. Sort of unnatural. Wedding days are a celebration of life, of union, of hopes of offspring, of continuing life.
‘Can I touch her?’ Mark asked, interrupting my 1000-word-a-minute producing mind.
‘Wait a sec.’ I looked around. I walked into the next room, turning on the lights. Outside, the black sky seemed to attack the earth with considerable force. I approached the lower kitchen cupboards and searched around, among insect repellent, washing up liquid and a bag of last summer’s onions. I picked up the box of latex cleaning gloves, pulled out two pairs and returned to the one sofa, two armchairs, and one dead body room.
‘Here.’ I extended my hand, offering Mark a pair.
With care, we rolled over the body. Mark’s eyes ping-pong from the girl’s missing finger to my face.
‘She stole her ring,’ he said, his voice slightly screeching as it got louder.
Ioli looked over for a second, stared at the bride’s hand, then her punctured throat and looked back down at the note.
I stood up, leaving Mark to examine the body.
‘OK, I am curious. What’s so fascinating about the note?’
Ioli passed me the note and asked, ‘does this look like old lady’s writing to you?’
‘I remember my grandma’s writing and how I hardly understood what she had written. I mean, what eighty-year old lady writes in Modern Greek? The monotonic orthography was introduced when I started school. Even my mother uses the polytonic system when it’s for her own use. And not only that, look at the letters -all nice and tidy. You would expect an old lady’s hand to shake a little, especially when she was planning on killing a girl and then committing suicide,’ Ioli continued.
‘You never seize to amaze me, Cara.’
‘She always was one of a kind,’ Mark said standing up. ‘So, what do you think happened?’ he asked.
She shrugged her shoulders and uncrossed her arms. ‘At the moment, fuck knows. We are going to have to investigate this, but Mark, no one needs to know more details right now than they should. It’s just a hunch, a suspicion. The worst thing at the moment would be to cause panic.’
Mark nodded in agreement as thunder shook the windows.
‘Anything from the body?’ I asked.
‘Well, judging on the cold temperature and the puncture wounds, I would say she bled to death in a matter of minutes; sometime after midnight.’
‘She left the party around that time. I remember her saying her good nights as we exi
ted the room,’ Ioli said. ‘The old lady must have stood up to stab her in the neck,’ she continued, murmuring to herself as she approached us.
We stood puzzled above the body.
‘OK, here’s the plan,’ I spoke, breaking the silence. ‘We go to the house, say that this is a crime scene and no one is to come near the pool house. You should call Chania Police Headquarters to send a coroner and forensic officers. I will interview her friends and Homer. Someone should know why she was down here, alone at night and if anyone had threatened to hurt her. The hard part will be interviewing her parents. They knew who the old lady really was. There’s a back story there, for sure.’
Ioli and Mark ran through the downpour towards the house; dozens of worried eyes following them from behind the huge windows. I locked the pool house door and tucked the key away in my jacket’s right pocket. My hands were cold and numb. The temperature had taken a dive since yesterday and today’s storm made all others I had witnessed look insignificant.
Running through the hard falling rain, stepping on hail stones the size of a hazelnut and having fierce, freezing winds embrace you, was definitely not something my back or knees were up for. I accepted my defeat and stopped running. I walked the distance left towards the mansion’s side door, entered the house exhausted and wet, and exhaled deeply, happy to be back into a roofed environment. I stood in the center of the carpet room, soaked through and through with water streaking down my face in rivulets, and raised my voice for all to hear.
‘I am Captain Papacosta with the Hellenic Police. No one is to go near the pool house. No one is to leave this mansion without permission and without being interviewed. If anyone has any information about last night’s events, this is the time to come forward.’ I paused. I was circled by all the guests and house servants. Only the bride’s parents were missing; there were upstairs in their bedroom. People stood by their loved ones and some even held hands. Anna had her head leaning against her strong husband. Watery eyes focused on me. A few silent tears travelled down cold cheeks. ‘We will get to the bottom of all this. Please remain calm and cooperate with the police.’
Greek Island Mysteries Boxed Set (Books 1-2-3): Gripping, psychological mystery/thrillers destined to shock you! Page 46
