Deep Waters by Deborah Shlian & Linda Reid

Author:Deborah Shlian & Linda Reid [Shlian, Deborah & Reid, Linda]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781732230125
Publisher: AKESO PRESS
Published: 2019-05-20T22:00:00+00:00

After breakfast the group headed for the shop of Alex’s friend. The narrow road was barely wide enough for Pappajohn, Tasos, and Sammy to walk three abreast. Alex took the lead, stepping confidently on the curved stones that paved the alleyway, dodging camera-laden visitors carrying packages and snacks from the adjacent shops and stands.

Sammy marveled at the bazaar’s diversity. Goods from Africa and China were being hawked next to souvenirs of ancient Greek memorabilia. Loukas was right, she could spend days and many dollars shopping in the quaint and cute shops. The one suitcase she’d brought was definitely a good preventive measure. The last thing she needed was to wipe out her transition budget before settling in New York.

Picking up her pace, she sped ahead of her friends, almost colliding with a bearded monk in a hooded black robe who turned into an alley to her left and disappeared into a graffiti covered wooden doorway behind one of the antique shops. Sammy paused for a moment, wondering if he could be the monk she saw in the cemetery.

“Better keep up or we’ll catch up with you,” Pappajohn teased as he plodded by her, trailing Alex and Tasos. “Miles to go before we sleep.”

“Kilometers, Gus, kilometers,” she replied, slowing down to walk beside him.

The diversity of visitors thronging the narrow streets was a veritable United Nations. Couples, families, teens and young adults, “mature” travelers on a day pass from cruise ships docked at a nearby port walked among groups of robed monks. The chatter was a jumble of languages - Chinese, Spanish, Russian, German, Greek. Recognizable words here and there in English, but was the accent Irish, South African, or Australian?

Reveling in the spectacle, Sammy missed the baseball-capped man with a salt and pepper beard who watched them from the doorstep of a store a few yards ahead. Alex had stopped a few feet away at a shop displaying worry beads, curly haired plaster busts, and colorful dishes with hand-painted angles of the Acropolis and its Parthenon.

“Sammy, Kosta. In here!” Alex directed over the din.

Sammy was helping Pappajohn make his way down the slippery worn marble steps into the store’s basement, so she didn’t see the second man, trim and muscular, who had also been following them. As Sammy’s group entered the shop, the man continued past the basement entrance down the street, blending in with a tour group as he passed.

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