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Jimmy’s young assistant. ‘Beer.’
    Peter sighed and turned back to his friends. ‘I don’t know why she puts up with him.’
    Greta and Tom were next into the bar.
    â€˜Any news?’ asked Tom as they waited to be served.
    â€˜Not really,’ said Guy. ‘No one seems to know anything about the poor man. We’re waiting to hear from Sally Weston.’
    â€˜I said she’d know,’ said Greta. ‘You haven’t spoken to her yet?’
    â€˜No,’ said Libby. ‘We went to see Martha today and she’s spoken to Sally, but every time we ring she’s not there.’
    â€˜Busy lady,’ said Tom with a grin. ‘Doesn’t she teach a class somewhere in the evenings?’
    â€˜Oh, yes – jewellery or something?’
    â€˜English cookery,’ called Pink Hair from across the room.
    â€˜Oh, that’s right.’ Greta smiled at the elderly woman. ‘She teaches the hotel and restaurant chefs how to make roast beef and Yorkshire pud.’
    â€˜But we don’t come out here to eat English food!’ said Harry. ‘We want proper Turkish stuff.’
    â€˜You might,’ came the muttered grunt from the corner. They all turned to look at Bushy Moustache, but before anyone could reply, Jimmy hurried into the bar.
    â€˜Libby, Martha is on the phone for you.’
    â€˜Martha?’ Libby was surprised. ‘Oh, OK.’
    She followed Jimmy into his tiny office and picked up the receiver.
    â€˜Hello? This is Libby.’
    â€˜Oh, Libby!’ Martha sounded agitated. ‘You’ll never believe this. Sally’s been murdered.’

Chapter Six
    â€˜Apparently,’ Libby reported to the assembled guests in the bar, ‘the Jandarma went to question her about Alec Wilson and found her.’
    â€˜When?’ asked Ben.
    â€˜I don’t know – this evening, I suppose.’
    â€˜She was still alive when she spoke to Martha – when?’ Fran looked round at her friends.
    â€˜While we were on our way back here,’ said Guy.
    â€˜It’s got to be connected,’ said Libby.
    Greta shook her head. ‘Poor Sally. I liked her.’
    â€˜She could be a bit much,’ said Tom.
    â€˜In what way?’ asked Fran.
    â€˜She was what Tom would call a ball-breaker,’ said Greta, pulling a face. ‘That doesn’t go down too well in Turkey.’
    â€˜I’ve seen some formidable women out here,’ said Peter. ‘I’d say they rule the roost.’
    â€˜Within the family,’ said Tom.
    â€˜Ah, family.’ Jimmy came up behind the bar, shaking his head. ‘Sally, she had no family.’
    â€˜So she was a bit independent?’ asked Libby.
    â€˜Did it all on her own,’ said Greta. ‘Didn’t need a man.’
    â€˜Course she bloody did,’ came a growl from the corner. ‘Stupid woman.’
    Everyone in the bar turned to Bushy Moustache in surprise. Pink Hair sighed and rolled her eyes.
    â€˜He calls it “old world gallantry”,’ she said. ‘I call it flirting.’
    Bushy Moustache’s face had turned almost purple. ‘I will not sit here …’ he began, pushing his chair back.
    â€˜Fine,’ said Pink Hair. ‘I shall join –’ she looked across at Libby’s group, ‘my friends.’
    Bushy Moustache, stumbling a little, left the bar. Pink Hair stood up with a sigh and moved across to Libby’s table. ‘I’m sorry about that.’
    â€˜No, no, sit down,’ said Libby, accompanied by murmurs of agreement. ‘Libby Sarjeant.’ She held out her hand.
    â€˜Betty Roberts. That’s my husband, Walter.’ Betty shook Libby’s hand and then everyone else’s, including Greta’s and Tom’s. ‘I’m sorry about him. He’s been getting worse and worse as he gets older. He still thinks a woman’s place is in the kitchen and