Nemesis of the Dead by Frances Lloyd

she said something in rapid Greek to Yanni. He lifted Maria tenderly in his arms and carried her inside and up to their room with Sky following close behind.
    The villagers gradually drifted back to their homes in shocked silence. Never had there been such a violent disturbance on the Feast of St Sophia. Their saint was affronted by something – or someone – and appeasement must surely follow.
     
    At Hotel Stasinopoulos, the bedraggled group sat around the big olive-wood table, not knowing what else to do and reluctant to go to bed knowing they would not sleep. Wet and confused, they listened to the rain hammering down on the vine leaves. Nobody spoke. Soon, Yanni reappeared looking strained but a little happier. He carried armfuls of towels and a huge jug of avgolémono – a kind of egg and lemon broth with rice.
    ‘Sky say she think Maria will be OK,’ he said with obvious relief. ‘When storm is over, maybe Charon come and I can get doctor.’ Yanni smiled weakly and hurried back to Maria’s side. He didn’t care if she never got pregnant as long as she was alive and well.
    ‘Well, it’s not all bad,’ observed Sidney, brightening. ‘At least we don’t have to eat the goat now.’
    He poured some hot broth into the bowls on the table and handed them round with chunks of crusty bread.
    ‘Bloomin’ funny thing to happen, though, wasn’t it? I mean … I thought my old mum was a bad cook but she never actually poisoned any of us.’ Sid looked accusingly at poor old Ariadne in the corner, who had wailed herself to sleep and was snoring loudly under her apron.
    ‘Oh, I say …’ ventured Tim, ‘you surely don’t think it was something in the food?’
    Sid shrugged. ‘What else could it be? They eat some very funny grub here, don’t they? It’s all snails’ legs and rubbery bits.’
    ‘And what about all the dead rats and the scavenging cats that you see around the kitchen?’ said Marjorie. ‘Mr Dobson says the island’s a health hazard.’
    Sid grimaced. ‘Don’t tell Old Misery Guts about it, Marjie, for gawd’s sake. We’ll never hear the last of it.’
    Jack looked at Corrie. ‘You know all about food hygiene,’ he said, too far down the table for a kick. ‘Is it likely Maria has got food poisoning?’
    ‘Very likely,’ said Corrie. ‘The standard of cleanliness in the kitchen’s a nightmare.’
    ‘But surely even small hotels have to comply with some sort of regulations?’
    Corrie nodded. ‘Well, the EC Food Hygiene Regulations are supposed to apply to everybody except people just cooking for their family. But I don’t suppose Ariadne has even heard of them, much less complied with them. This is Katastrophos, remember. The Brigadoon of the Greek islands. Few people know it even exists and I can’t see anyone traipsing out to the middle of the Ionian Sea to carry out an inspection. And we don’t actually see what Maria eats, do we?’
    ‘How do you know all that stuff about food regulations, Corrie?’ asked Sid curious. ‘I thought you said you worked in a shoe shop.’
    ‘Oh – er – I learn a lot of things from the Internet.’ A smarter woman, thought Corrie, would beat a hasty retreat now that both cooks – Maria and Ariadne – were out of action.
    ‘The food sure is bad this time,’ said Diana. ‘Worse than usual. I wonder we haven’t all been poisoned. What do you say, Cuthbert?’
    The professor had been deep in thought for a long time. The question was clearly exercising his scientific mind, since silence was a rare condition for him. He pronounced judgement.
    ‘From Maria’s symptoms, I think it was almost certainly a contaminated egg – probably salmonella at its most virulent. Those hens of Ariadne’s scratch around and pick up all kinds of filth. Bad luck for Maria of course, but no reason to panic.’
    Tim held Ellie closer. ‘All the same, I think I’d better taste the soup first, Ellikins,’ he said.
     
    On their way to bed, Jack and Corrie