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

by Luke Christodoulou

  ‘What village?’ Gianni replied. ‘The ten flies that live on this God-forsaken rock of an island? There’s no priest, right Ioli? Ioli?’

  ‘I don’t think she is listening to us,’ Anna leaned forward and said to her husband.

  Ioli was listening; she was not paying attention, though. Her eyes and mind were scanning the room, examining every guest. Their posture, the way they talked, who they talked to, what they said. She was convinced the old lady had help.

  Cassandra’s four bridesmaids stood together, holding hands, comforting each other by the enormous oval window and in silence stared at the falling rain, streaking down the glass. Too young and too much in shock to speak, they drifted through the foreign environment together, wishing for the storm to cease. They had decided to stay to bury their friend and then catch the first flight out to America.

  ‘We stood by her in life and we will stand by her in death,’ Amanda had put it.

  ‘There she goes again with her corny day time TV lines,’ Alexandra whispered to Jenny.

  Katerina, the maid, passed by with Kallisto’s cosmopolitan in hand. She looked distraught, probably because Kallisto had returned the previous beverage with the complaint of it not being strong enough.

  ‘Too virgin for my liking, dear,’ she had said and it had taken Katerina a few seconds before realizing what the star had meant.

  ‘No drink for you?’ Kallisto asked frail Melissa, who sat in a dark corner behind the mahogany bar. Melissa did not reply, much to Kallisto’s annoyance. She did not intend on acting nice and struggled to fight her repulsion upon looking at Melissa’s disfigured face. ‘I asked if…’ she raised her voice.

  ‘I heard you the first time. No need to act nice. I do not intend on acting social either. Don’t stress your pretty little face over me. I’m fine, thank you very much, I have ordered coffee.’

  Kallisto never backed out of a fight. She thrived for drama and had a stinger of a tongue.

  ‘If I was George, I would poison your coffee, you miserable witch.’

  ‘If I was Leonida, I’d drink it!’ Melissa replied and discreetly got up, leaving the room with Churchill on her mind.

  Their boyfriends, George and Leonida, stood by the dining table, unaware of their other half’s petty quarrel.

  ‘I can’t believe it. Poor Homer. Imagine losing your person like that,’ Leonida said.

  ‘Shit happens,’ George replied and placed his hands upon Leonida’s arms.

  ‘That’s very philosophical of you,’ Leonida replied in obvious non-joking state. ‘And we look like fools. We should have brought black.’

  ‘How were we supposed to know we would need black clothes? By the way, I think you look great in your blue suit.’

  ‘Just get me another drink,’ Leonida said, handing him his empty wine glass, for the third time.

  At that moment, Jason and Mark entered the room. Both looking smart with their formal evening wear on. Jason had shaved and a goatee hung from his strong jaw. A goatee that served as an ice-breaker, when Amanda and Andrea approached him. The other two girls had left the room. Ioli never understood the logic in group visits to the bathroom.

  As Tracy and I arrived for dinner, Mark had finally picked up the courage to approach Ioli in front of her parents. A mindless comment about the weather was all he managed to utter.

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen, if you please, take your seats. Dinner is ready,’ the chubby chef announced in a deep voice.

  ‘But are we going to eat without our hosts?’ Anna wondered, just as Ioli was introducing Mark, explaining who he was. That thought was on most minds as guests in and out of the room gathered to be seated. Minutes later, the first freshly cut salads decorated with homemade feta and olive oil arrived. Greek bread followed with olives and dozens of little, white porcelain plates filled with various dips.

  Just then a chilling scream reverberated through the house, journeying from the floor above and entering the dining room, chilling us to the bone. A second scream by the same female voice followed, bringing us to our feet. Ioli and I led the group that rushed up the red carpet stairs and towards the directions of the scream. By the time we reached the top, Mr Zampetaki’s voice boomed loud and clear.

  ‘No, no. God, no. Please, no. Baby. Baby, talk to me!’

  Outside the bathroom door, sat Christina, the maid that had fainted upon delivering the news of Cassandra’s death. Katerina rushed to her and knelt down before her, her long arms embracing the shaking young girl.

  ‘Madame has killed herself,’ she managed to say as I approached the bathroom door.

  ‘Stay here,’ Ioli ordered the rest of the guests and followed me. No one entered the bedroom.

  The floor was slippery with water from the bathtub. Cosma Zampetaki was leaning in the tub, holding his wife tight; shaking her and begging her to wake up. Bottles of prescription medicine floated in the tub beside Irene’s naked, pale body. I stepped carefully towards them, my fingers searching for a pulse both on her neck and wrist. She was dead. I shook my head towards Ioli, who had found a nylon bag in which to place the emptied bottles.

  Cosma’s eyes eagerly waited for me to speak. The silence was deafening. I swallowed hard, clearing my throat as if it would make my next words come out and sound better.

  ‘I’m sorry, Cosma, she is…’

  ‘No, no. Say it isn’t so.’ He turned towards his wife’s hollow eyes. ‘Why, baby, why?’

  To lose your daughter and wife in the same day. The two women in his life, gone, vanished, slipped away.

  ‘I should just end my life right now and turn this house into a mausoleum,’ Cosma said, jumping into the tub with his wife, forcing his head under water.

  ‘Ioli, help me,’ I cried out, trying to pull the heavy man out of the water. Mark entered the room at that moment, having patiently waited outside, just in case Irene was still alive and in need of medical attention. The three of us pulled the man out of the tub.

  ‘Come with me,’ Ioli said to the grieving man and led him by the hand outside to the hallway, for him to be with his relatives. His sister, Anneta, struggled to rush to and embrace her brother. Within each other’s arms, they knelt on the floor, their tears falling free from their red, sore eyes.

  Inside the bathroom, Mark swayed slightly as he approached the floating body.

  ‘You okay?’ I queried.

  Mark lifted his hand. ‘I’m fine. Just shook up from all… this. You know, I practiced as a surgeon, but I ended up in pediatrics. Could not take all the seriously injured turning into bodies,’ he said, coming closer. ‘I’m opening my own practice soon,’ he added, his eyes searching for a reaction from Ioli.

  He checked for vital signs and then, examined the body.

  ‘Though the water is cold, she is still quite warm. For a body, that is. She probably dozed off and drowned in the last twenty minutes or so.’

  I fiddled around in my deep trouser pockets in search for my new phone. I had never been a fan of modern technology or had ever wished to be up to date with all the scientific leaps that were being taken in the field of cell phones; however, this was one of those rare occasions where I was glad my previous grandpa phone had broken. It fell to its final resting ground, one warm winter day, when against every logic Tracy took me rock-climbing. Now, not only did I own a shiny, touch screen, multi-functional, smarter-than-your-average-Joe phone (according to the overexcited sales boy), I had finally learnt how to use the basics. And taking photographs was one of my newly obtained skills.

  I switched on the red angle poise floor lamp and directed its light towards Irene’s face. I carefully pushed back her wet hair and held her face towards my phone. The clicking of the phone breaking the deadly silence of the room as Mark stood to the side and observed me.

  ‘Notice anything, boss?’ Ioli inquired, reentering the room. I did not answer immediately, yet she did not mind. She seemed preoccupied with sniffing the air and falling into deep thought.

  ‘What a
re you doing?’ I could not resist asking.

  ‘Lemons,’ she enigmatically answered. ‘You?’

  ‘Look around her mouth.’

  Ioli squatted down, her feline eyes focusing, sending messages to her analytical brain.

  ‘My, my. The plot thickens.’

  ‘What’s going on?’ Mark finally asked.

  ‘Mark, I am going to have to ask you to leave the room. This is off limits, too. Just like the pool house. Let everyone know, that no one is allowed in here,’ I firmly said. Without any sort of remark, Mark walked out the room, his worried eyes focused on Ioli.

  Chapter 8

  City Of Athens, years ago

  Agatha sighed in relief as the plane’s front wheel – or was it the back ones that made contact first? - touched the sizzling runway of Ellinikon Athens Airport. Her very first journey on a plane had come to an end. She carefully watched and followed the other passengers through all the necessary procedures out of fear of getting lost. It was her second visit to Athens, the first being with her parents and younger sister, having travelled from Chania by ship. It had been July and a cruise ship was family voted as the top choice for a summer vacation. They sailed to the paradises of Mykonos and Santorini before heading to the port of the big city, when in autumn she would start her new life as an architecture student.

  Now, the calendar read September the 4th and she exited the glass doors of the busy airport alone. The Greek sun, a fireball in the sky, was aggressive on her light-colored skin. The wind, thick and stuffy, made it hard to breathe. Nothing compared to the sea breeze and fresh island air she was used to.

  Eighteen year old Agatha wrapped her silky, blond hair in a high bun, stroked her flowery, knee length dress that had more wrinkles than her grandmother and wheeled her pink suitcase to the taxi cabs that seemed to be melting under the sun opposite the road. Her blue eyes sparkled with joy as she thought how lucky she was to be able to afford a taxi. The site of the overcrowded, blue city bus sent shivers down her spine.

  Feeling the male eyes of the drivers upon her, Agatha’s pale skin turned rosy around her high cheekbones. She headed for the first taxi in the lane and wished the overweight driver with the military boots a good day.

  The bald driver turned around and flashed a row of yellowy teeth.

  ‘Well, good day to you too, little Miss. Welcome to Athens,’ he said and rushed to load her luggage into the back of the car. He slammed down the green taxi’s trunk, scratched his chest hair that was overflowing out of his open to the belly button, checked shirt and at his top speed –which is not saying much-opened the back door for her. Agatha smiled politely and entered the vehicle, careful the twirling wind did not lift up her dress. The whole car shook as Mr Petride A.K.A. typical Greek cab driver jumped into the front seat.

  ‘Where to, little lady?’

  ‘Apostolou Pavlou 8, Thiseio, please,’ Agatha replied with her cultured, gentle voice.

  ‘Fancy neighborhood for a student,’ Mr Petride commented, as the car’s engine roared to life.

  ‘My mother insisted on a view of the Acropolis and near the tourist area. They plan to come often for holidays.’ Mr Petride just nodded his head and lit his thick-smoke-producing cheap cigar.

  ‘It will be cheaper than a hotel,’ Agatha rushed to add, remembering her father’s advice to not show too rich and his long list of what to-do and what not-to-do in the big city. Fathers will be fathers, especially when it involves their little girl.

  ‘Sure, sure,’ the driver grunted and turned on the radio.

  ‘I love Sfakianaki’s new record, don’t you?’

  ‘Of course,’ she lied.

  Her newly-built, brand new two bedroom apartment awaited her on the fourth floor. Agatha eagerly unlocked the front door and rushed into apartment 401. A whiff of strawberries welcomed her in. She looked around, admiring all the perfectly set furniture. The glass coffee table with the strawberry-scented leaves placed in a Swarovski bowl, the expensive TV set, the orange couch that unfolded into a bed, the abstract art on the magnolia painted walls and the green bean bags placed a wide smile under her tiny-for-a-Greek nose. Mother’s designer had set everything in place just the week before.

  The ecstatic youth yelled a prolonged oh, yeah, and proceeded to dance a jig across the zebra-patterned carpet. Agatha, then, kicked off her pink high heels that had cut their way into her flesh and ran into the bedroom, hopping on the king size bed.

  ‘My very own place!’ she said out loud as if to validate the situation, to prove this was really happening. She got up and pulled back the heavy curtains. Her hand lifted up the balcony door lock and out she went into the hot, heavy, smoky air of Athens. She leaned on the metal rail, her sight travelling from the traffic jam below, along the multiple coffee shops of the prestigious area of Thiseio, to the most beautiful walk path in the world, named Plaka, all the way up to the grand temple of the Parthenon -Athena’s worship ground, placed in the center of the Acropolis.

  ‘So, this is what on top of the world feels like,’ she whispered.

  ‘So, this is my new shitty dump,’ Achilles said, walking into his below ground, dark, studio apartment in a run-down area of Athens. He, too, had just entered his new apartment.

  ‘What did you expect, my king? Buckingham palace for your ass as you study?’ his father mocked him. ‘We are very lucky your cousins found this place for you at such a good price.’

  Achilles pushed back his hair dangling in front of his eyes, and looked at the feet of passersby on the bustling pavement above. ‘Lucky, indeed.’

  ‘Boy, save your irony for school. Don’t let any of those fancy professors put you down.’

  ‘Put me down? Isn’t everyone in the big city jealous of farm boys like me?’

  ‘There’s the spirit! Now, unpack your things while I have a shower. We are meeting up with your cousins tonight for a tour of Athens. I can’t wait to hit the night clubs.’

  ‘Now I know why mama said to keep an eye on you. Sometimes, I truly do wonder who the grown-up here is.’

  ‘Don’t worry, son. I’ll behave, and if any women hit on me, I’ll surely send them your way,’ his father said and with heavy laughter stripped down to his underwear and headed to the shower.

  ‘Sunday you’re leaving, right?’ Achilles asked, shaking his head. His father did love embarrassing him, but he was his best friend and the most remarkable man he had ever met. And with that thought, Achilles started to unpack his few humble belongings.

  Fate, here in Greece, is a real person; for many just as real as you and me. Moira the modern Greeks call her, while the ancients believed there were three of them, the Moires. Fate plays an important role in everyday life, though mostly as an excuse for bad situations. ‘It was his fate,’ someone would say at every funeral and upon hearing any sort of bad news.

  However, every now and then, she is called upon in situations of unparalleled love, and what stronger love than teenage love between two eighteen year olds. Fate is enamored with her classic stories, and two months after their arrival in Athens, on a cold, November morning, a rich girl from Chania and a farmer boy from Crete’s countryside boarded the same morning bus.

  Chapter 9

  Thunder shook the bathroom’s thin window glass, reminding us of the mayhem going on outside. We were stranded on a remote island with no police force and two dead bodies. Three, counting the old lady who wheeled herself off the cliff; unless she was somewhere in hiding. Though I had a hard time picturing the near centenarian lady wobbling off into the storm, in the middle of the night, down to the village.

  ‘Irene was murdered?’ Ioli asked, closing the beige wooden door behind Mark.

  ‘Sure looks like it. Look, here,’ I said, pointing to Irene’s cheeks. Two faint red marks graced her pale skin.

  ‘Someone held her mouth open,’ Ioli said, examining the body closer.

  ‘… Pushed down the pills and waited for her to sleep…’

  ‘And then just let
her slide into the water and drown,’ Ioli continued my sentence.

  We both stood up and took a second. Ioli stretched her arms up high and tiptoed around the tub, slowly breathing in and out. I just closed my eyes. Each to his own method of concentrating.

  Ioli spoke first. ‘OK, so obviously someone did not count on police being here and thought to make this look like a suicide. That someone was most likely the old lady’s assistant in murdering the bride. I believe the old lady’s suicide was to make everyone think there was no other murderer and have them write this off as a suicide,’ she said, pointing at Irene. ‘And all this to revenge Cosma? Why not kill him or his sister?’ she continued with her flow of thought.

  ‘Killing him gives no satisfaction to whoever is behind this. Watching him suffer is enticing, thrilling to the murderer.’ I looked straight at Ioli. ‘I was upstairs with Tracy at the time; half an hour ago. You were down stairs. Who was missing?’

  Ioli pulled up her silky black hair and rolled it up in a bun. She took a hair clip out of her navy blue purse with the pink outline and placed in it her curled up hair.

  ‘I was with my parents and my uncle Thomas with auntie Georgia were behind us the whole time. Leonida and George were there together when I arrived and never left the room. Kallisto arrived minutes later and also did not leave the room. These are really the only ones I can be sure of never leaving the room. Melissa was there from the beginning, but left at one point after bitchiness between her and Kallisto occurred. However, I’m pretty sure she did not go up the stairwell, she turned left and headed down the hall. Maybe, a trip to the toilet? She was back within ten minutes tops.’

  ‘We’ll have to ask.’

  ‘Katerina the maid kept coming and going. Though, she would have enough time, if she wished to.’

  ‘What’s that look in your eye?’

  ‘I smelled her perfume in here when I entered before. It was the same lemony fragrance she wore downstairs. Talking about the personnel, Christina was up here…’