Carolyn Keene - Greek Odyssey

“Who says it has to?” Mick pulled her closer, and Nancy smiled, forgetting about Bess’s stolen passport. All she could think about was Mick and the delicious feeling of dancing in his arms.

“I know it was my idea to come into town before the flight to Athens,” Bess told Nancy the next morning, “but after all that dancing last night, I should have stayed in bed.”

Nancy’s only response was a yawn. It was almost nine o’clock, but the engagement party had ended very late, and she was a little, tired. She and Bess had already rushed through a breakfast of milk and cheese pies in a bakeshop, called a zacharoplasteion . Now bleary-eyed, they were walking along the main street of Chora, dodging tourists and donkeys laden with baskets.

George had met Kevin for a morning jog on the beach, and Mick was probably still asleep. Lucky guy, Nancy thought. Since Bess and George were taking a noon flight to Athens, Bess had persuaded Nancy to join her for an early trip into town.

“After all this, I hope my mother likes the statue,” Bess said. “Oh—there’s the store.”

She breathed a sigh of relief when she saw that the stationery store was open. It didn’t take her long to pay for the windmill, which Spiros, the owner, had set aside for her after Zoe called him. The silver-haired man chewed on his unlit pipe as he wrapped the windmill in tissue and placed it in a box. He had just offered to gift wrap the box when the phone rang in the back room.

“Please,” he said. “Excuse, one moment.”

While he was gone, Nancy browsed around the shop. She looked up as the shop door opened and Dimitri stepped in. “It’s your friend, the paparazzo,” Nancy said under her breath to Bess.

Dimitri lowered a camera case to the floor, then walked behind the counter. “Ah, it is my favorite American girl,” he said, winking at Bess. “I will have those photos for you this afternoon. Where is my friend, Spiros?”

“He’s in the back,” Bess said. “He was just about to wrap that for me”—she leaned over the counter to point to a box—“when the phone rang.”

“Ah, then let me take care of it. Spiros and I help each other all the time. We are very good friends.” After placing the box on the counter, Dimitri began to search the shelves. “Wrapping paper,” he mumbled, pulling out boxes of sealed stationery, cardboard, and notepads—everything but wrapping paper.

Nancy was beginning to think Bess would miss her flight to Athens when Dimitri held up a sheet of pale blue paper. “Ah, here we go,” he said. “Beautiful paper. But then, my friend Spiros truly appreciates fine craftsmanship.”

With a few quick folds Dimitri wrapped the box.

“Thanks— evcharistó ,” Bess said, dropping the package into her tote bag.

“You’re welcome,” Dimitri said. Just then Spiros returned, and the two men spoke briskly in Greek. Nancy sensed that Dimitri was a little nervous around the older man, though she couldn’t imagine why. As Spiros sat down on a stool, Dimitri quickly darted out from behind the counter and picked up his camera case.

“How about a photo of Nancy Drew, the American detective?” he suggested.

Nancy’s mouth dropped open in surprise. How did Dimitri know she was a detective? “No, thanks,” she told him. “Besides, I’m on vacation.”

“But you are famous,” Dimitri insisted. “My friend Officer Rossolatos sings your praises.”

So that’s how he knows, Nancy thought. Did that also mean Dimitri knew about the passport thefts?

“I don’t know about that. . . .” she hedged, looking him in the eye. Was he testing her? She wasn’t sure if his naive enthusiasm was real or just a cover-up for a cunning master of forgery. As she and Bess said goodbye and left the store, Nancy resolved to find out.

The two girls were nearly a block away when Bess said, “Dimitri seems to be ‘good friends’ with everyone on Mykonos.”

“It is a small island,” Nancy said. “Still, I wish he hadn’t heard that I’m a detective. It’s going to make it harder to pin him down if he’s the passport forger.”

When Nancy and Bess arrived at the hotel, they found George, Kevin, and Mick lounging in the garden terrace overlooking the sea. George’s short brown curls were still damp from her shower, and she was wearing a denim skirt and red, short-sleeved top.

“Ready for our trip?” George asked Bess.

Bess nodded, pulling the wrapped windmill from her tote bag. “Yup. I just want to put this up in our room.”

“Have a seat, Nancy,” Mick said. He patted an empty chair. “We’ll get you some lemonade.”

“No, thanks,” Nancy told him. “I’m going up to the room with Bess to change. And I’m going to need some sunscreen and a hat if we’re going to spend the afternoon on Dragonisi. We’ll meet you back here in fifteen minutes, okay?”

When Nancy reached the top of the white staircase leading to their room, she found that the door was ajar—again! “That’s strange,” she said, turning back to Bess. Cautiously she pushed on the door and peered inside.

The sight before her made Nancy do a double-take. From the back the young girl in their room resembled Bess. She had on Bess’s red straw hat and a matching red bolero jacket. But looking closely, Nancy recognized the skirt and apron of the hotel’s housekeeping staff.

It was Niki Christofouros—dressed in Bess’s clothes!

Chapter Seven

“Niki,” Nancy said, stepping into the room. “What are you doing?”

The dark-haired maid spun around and gasped. “I—” she stuttered, fingering the hem of the red jacket. “Um, Zoe told me you wanted to see me.”

“Hey, that’s my outfit,” Bess observed, more confused than angry.

“I was just—putting it away,” Niki said, quickly peeling off the jacket.

This time Bess didn’t let Niki off the hook. “Wait a minute,” she said, standing with her hands on her hips. “I know you went through my stuff before, and that same day my passport was stolen.”

Looking squarely at the maid, Nancy added, “Did you take those passports from the safe?”

“No!” Niki insisted, her brown eyes wide. She shook her head vehemently. “I swear it. I admit I have been looking at your things. But I never stole anything.”

“I saw you on the beach yesterday morning—with Dimitri,” Nancy said.

Confusion darkened Niki’s eyes. “Dimitri?”

Nancy nodded. “I saw you hand him an envelope. Did you give him the passports?”

“No!” Niki insisted. “I gave him back the photographs that he took of me because they were awful! I wanted some photographs of myself to send to—” She paused, searching for the right words. “Agencies in the United States, for being a model. My sister tells me I could be famous. But Dimitri made me look . . . plain, like an ordinary person.”

“You wanted pictures for a portfolio?” Bess asked, catching on.

Niki nodded. “I need a port—a portfolio to be a model in America. That is why I was studying those.” She pointed to the dresser, where some of Bess’s fashion magazines were open. “But I did not take anything.”

Nancy looked down at the glossy photos of smiling models. “I don’t understand,” she said. “Fashion magazines are available here. I’ve seen them in shops.”

“But they are European magazines,” Niki explained. “I am interested in what is going on in America . My sister lives there, and I am going to join her as soon as I have saved enough money.”

Bess and Nancy exchanged a look. Nancy could tell that Bess believed Niki’s story. She had to admit, the young girl was convincing.

“If it’ll help your career, why don’t you take these,” Bess said, gathering the magazines and handing them to Niki. “I’m sure you’ll find some new styles that will look great on you.”