Excerpt: Murder in Greece

While the electric kettle got to work on the liter and a half of bottled water, she put two large scoops ofground coffee in the bottom of the round French press, then raised her eyes and let them stare out the window in front of her.

The Greek sea lay as still as glass. When it was like this, so smooth, so reflective, the Greeks say that it is "like oil." And it was. The only movement on the surface as a very slight heaving, like the sea was breathing and the occasional ripple probably caused by a curious fish.

She called it the Greek see because that's the way she thought of it. Not the Mederterrian, or the Gulf of Korinthos, or even the Bay of Itea, which it in fact was. To her it was the Greek Sea which surfrounded her on three sides. Her little house at the end of a dirt road on the tip of a rocky peninsula, had the view to die for and it was very much appreciated by most of the occupants of the little house.

It wasn't a little house by local standards, having two bedroom and measuring over 80 square meters, but as a native Californian used to the ranch houses and split level of the San Fernando Valley, this was cramped living. Terry and Alan, along with their American born cat, Abby, filled the space nicely, but when their 26 year old son came to stay for a few days, they soon found themselves missing the second bathroom that they had had in California. And when travelers from Servas came to stay at the same time, there was just not enough room!

But it was all they could afford on their limited budget and the view was to die for. The house had been a lookout station used to warn near by town, Galaxidi, of maurading piratges or even worse Ottoman taxmen on ____. In the 80's it had been remodeled into a boxy residence and rented out by the absent owner.

Terry had jumped on the oopportunity to rent this lonely house, all by itself on the hill top overlooking the sea. It didn't have indoor heating, or sewer connection, the water supply to be trucked up to the house, and the winds were ferocious in on the hill top in the winter.

But here they were and here they wanted to stay, at least until Greek drove them totally batty and they had to move to another country for sanity's sake.

The electric kettle squealed at her and brought her vision back to the marble counter top and the promise of coffee. She poured the hot water over the coffee grounds, filling the 12 cup pot almost to the brim, and went back to the view while the grounds expanded, releasing their essential oils, in the hot water.

The best part of the view was that she could see the small town from her point of view. It was picture perfect from this distance with it's large two towered church at the top of the mound of pastel colored houses. The entire city was a heritage site for it's mix of ancient and 18th century architure. A town rich in the usual Greek history, it was justifiably arroggant of it's past glories.

"Yeah, but what had they done lately?" she muttered to herself, returning her mind to the issue of the morning caffine. She put the plunger in the pot of grounds and hot water and resting her hand on the top of the protruding metal plunger, she gently pressed down until the filter had pressed all of the ground to the bottom of the pot and the ball of the plunger in her hand rested on the top of the lid.

Finally, coffee was ready. And just in time, as if plungered out of bed by the smell, Alan walked into the kitchen, scratching and yawning. She became aware now of the toilet tank noisily filling up.

He stopped to give her her morning kiss on his way to find "his" coffee cups. They grunted at each other in what passed for "Good morning," and took turns filling their cups. The twelve cup coffee press would quickly be empty and Alan would have to make the second pot.

What were they thinking, she wondered, calling it a 12 cup coffee maker. They usually got two good cups each from a full pot. But just to be on the sensible side, she always mixed two packages of coffee together before putting the ground in the counter top container: one of straight coffee and of decaf. Moderation, that was her motto, although Alan would laugh to hear anyone apply that description to his wife. Twenty-five years of marriage, and he would give anything to see a little moderation from her. Just a tad, now and then, would be encouraging.

Alan picked up his coffee and went back to the bedroom to pick up his laptop which sat in it's usual nighttime position, on the end table next to their queen sized bed. A big bed for a big man, Alan was still 6 foot 4, in a small room, up to now most Greeks had been short and bedrooms were build to accommodate double beds. And even then, there was little room left between the bed and the wall.

Retieing her bathrobe around her waist, she too went to sit in front to her computer which took up a corner of the large kitchen table. Alan sat 90 degrees to her, and they both had a partial view of the sea out the living room window. They also managed to have a partial view of the town when dining at the other end of the table. This has been accomplished by much tweaking of the placement of the kitchen table.

Steping over the tangle of cables and cords that littered the dining room floor, she managed to sit down without disconnecting anything. The printer and the modem, the backup battery and the shared speakers all sported their respective green light. Alan had already turned on the master extension cord as he sat down with his coffee laptop, and she had heard all the electronic gadgets come to life, whirring and clattering, booting and resetting.

"It's Friday, isn't it?" Terry asked as she gingerly sat down at the table. She put her coffee cup next to her own laptop, pushed the on button, and listened to the Macintosh's low chime as it came to life. Taking a sip from her cup, she looked at her still handsome husband. Sixty odd years had not taken the strength out of his chin not the twinkle out of his eye. Now his mouth was stretched wide by determination. He must been reading something on the net, or maybe writing to someone as his fingers flew over the keys.

"Friday, right?" she offered again. Her computer was ready now, and the pull to check her email was just too strong to ignore, she pulled up her mail program. But equally strong was her cat's insistance to be fed, and fed now. Abby jumped up onto the table and almost sat on Terry's keyboard, threatening to delete five or six unreasd emails.

"Okay, okay. Sorry Abby, what can I be thinking? Immediately your Highness," Terry picked up the lovely long haired grey cat and carried her back to the kitchen area, dropping Abby on the floor in front of her food dish by the back door. Terry opened an old blue painted cupboard and took out the bag of Friskies, please to see that the resident mouse had not nibbled into this still new bag of cat food.

Bending over, Terry filled Abby's ceramic bowl half full, covering the words painted on the bottom of the bowl: Feed me now, or else. . . Abby stopped rubbing against Terry's ankles and tried to act elegant as She goobled up the dry pellets as if they were chunks of fresh tuna.

Walking back to table, Terry again tip toed over the black and white confusion of wires. They would refigure the tangle at least once a month, replugging, tieing up and tucking under the various lines, making neat organized bundles, labeling and taping, but within days the cords and cables all escaped their restraints and met to party on the floor next to her chair. Life everything else in Greece, there was no respect for the rule of law. Life was a free for all, free of rules or laws. Oh, they were on the books alright, thousands of them written by thousands of lawyers and parlimentarians, covering every facet of life. But, and this was a big but, they were ignored with glee. Flaunted with ferver. Scoffed at with scorn. Enforced by whim. And reinturpted to mean "applies to everybody else, but not me." It is a matter of Greek pride to be free, free to do anything, at any time, for any reason. Most of this check thumping freedon fell to the men of course, women were still bound by age of custom with the ever present threat of gossip hanging over their heads.

Terry thanked her lucky stars that she was a shameless "xenie", a stranger and as such was looked upon as crazy from the getgo. She lived outside the rules for women and could ignore any rules with the passion of a male. Although she rarely did, since her American upbringing would not allow her to take up three, if possible, parking spaces, or yell loudly at every friend who passed by, not matter how far away they were, or throw trash willy nilly on to the ground no matter where they were, inside outside, public private, out the window it went whether from a car or even a house.

"Friday?" she nudged again, sitting down and browsing quickly through her emails.

"Oh, yes, yes," Alan finally came up for air. "Sorry, some jerk wrote the dumbest thing on this forum. Why can't people check their facts before they run off at the mouth," he hit the enter key and turned to give Terry hisl full attention. "Friday," he repeated.

"Coffee and the papers?" she hinted.

"Well when do you want to go," he said acting as if he had been waiting for her to get ready all along.

"Breakfast first?" she asked.

"Sure," he looked hungry all of a sudden.

Every Friday (and Monday and Tuesday) they made sure they went into town for coffee at one of the little cafes on the harbor. The quay where large sail and motor boats and smaller fishing and personal boats could tie up stretched for a quarter of a mile and directly across the street from them was an overwhelming array of restaurant, cafes, giftshops, boat supply stores, pizzarias, and the every present kiosk. The 10 foot square Kiosk's sold everything in the world that was under 10 inches long: cigarette, whistles, ice cream, candy, maps, paperback books, flavored toothpicks, cookies, lighters, tiny toys, umbrellas, swim shoes, hats, bandans, key chains, cold drinks, etc, etc. All were unappetizingly displayed in front of the tiny window through which one would pass payment to the man or woman who was condemned to sit inside of the small hut surrounded by stacks of cigarettes, French, Italian, German, American, and of course, Greek.