She said: Nurse – He said: Missing Thanos Kalamidas She Said: NurSe he Said: MiSSiNg Thanos Kalamidas An Ovi eBooks Publication 2025 Ovi eBookPublications - All material is copyright of the Ovi eBooks Publications & the writer C Ovi ebooks are available in Ovi/Ovi eBookshelves pages and they are for free. If somebody tries to sell you an Ovi book please contact us immediately. For details, contact: ovimagazine@yahoo.com No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without the prior permission of the writer or the above publisher of this book She said: Nurse – He said: Missing She said: Nurse he said: Missing Thanos Kalamidas Thanos Kalamidas An Ovi eBooks Publication 2025 Ovi eBookPublications - All material is copyright of the Ovi eBooks Publications & the writer C She said: Nurse – He said: Missing I t was one of those mornings when the rain hit the window like an unpaid bill. The city outside was gray and sulking, the kind of weather that made bad decisions look romantic. Inside a cramped second-floor office above a pawn shop, the smell of stale coffee mixed with something that might once have been optimism. A flickering neon sign buzzed in the window: “T. & L. Investiga- tions Truth, Lies, and Lunch Breaks.” He said, “If this rain keeps up, I’m gonna need a boat to get to the sandwich shop.” She said, “You could also not go.” He said, “And risk starvation? I’m a professional, not a martyr.” Thanos Kalamidas He was Thomas “Tommy” Lang, private investi- gator, serial snacker, and walking mystery to anyone who’d ever seen him eat an entire pie while conduct- ing surveillance. Across the desk sat Lydia Trent, sharp as a switchblade and twice as dangerous, with a voice smooth enough to convince a confession out of a locked safe. She said, “You know, Tommy, if you put half the energy into cases that you put into breakfast, we’d be rich.” He said, “If wishes were sandwiches, we’d both be full.” A gust of wind rattled the window. The rain thick- ened, falling in heavy sheets like the city was trying to wash itself clean. The office heater groaned in protest. Lydia was flipping through an unpaid in- voice when the phone rang, an old rotary thing that sounded like it had seen more tragedy than a soap opera. He said, “T. & L. Investigations. We find what’s missing, unless it’s my lunch.” She said, “Speak for yourself. Who’s calling?” The voice on the other end was young, shaky, and soaked in worry. She said: Nurse – He said: Missing “My name’s Arthur Grayson,” he said. “My grandfa- ther... he passed away three days ago. His nurse dis- appeared right before that. I just need to know what happened to her. She was, kind. Maybe she knows something about his last hours.” She said, “We’re sorry for your loss, Mr. Grayson. What’s the nurse’s name?” He said, “And do you happen to know if she cooks? For background purposes.” She said, “Ignore him.” Arthur hesitated. “Her name’s Elena. Nurse Elena. She’s been with my grandfather for six months. No one’s seen her since the night he died. No forward- ing address, no note. Just gone.” She said, “Sounds like she left in a hurry.” He said, “Or she found a better patient, with better snacks.” She said, “You’re unbelievable.” He said, “And yet, here I am, believing myself just fine.” Lydia leaned forward, her tone softening. “Did your grandfather leave a will? Any disputes, valua- bles, safes?” Thanos Kalamidas Arthur paused. “He had a safe, yes. But no one could open it. Only he knew the combination. We think he might have told the nurse before he... be- fore the heart attack.” He said, “A safe, huh? I like safes. They usually mean secrets, and secrets usually mean overtime pay.” She said, “And maybe something darker. All right, Mr. Grayson, we’ll take the case.” Arthur’s relief came through the line like a sigh through fog. “Thank you. I’ll send you a photograph of her. It’s all I’ve got.” He said, “Great. Pictures don’t talk, but they don’t lie either.” She said, “We’ll be in touch soon, Mr. Grayson.” The receiver clicked back into place. Lydia leaned back in her chair, studying her partner. She said, “You think it’s as simple as a missing nurse?” He said, “Nothing with rain, money, and dead peo- ple ever is.” A drop from the ceiling hit his donut. He frowned. She said: Nurse – He said: Missing He said, “Even the office wants a bite now.” She said, “Finish up. We’ve got a mystery to solve.” He said, “And hopefully, somewhere along the way, a decent meal.” She said, “You’re incorrigible.” He said, “I’m efficient. Solve crime, eat food and stay alive. It’s a system.” She said, “Then grab your coat, detective. We’ve got a nurse to find.” He said, “And maybe a bakery on the way?” She said, “You’re hopeless.” He said, “Hopeless ...but employed.” And as they stepped out into the rain, trench coats flapping, neon fading behind them, the city seemed to hold its breath. Somewhere out there was a woman in white with too many secrets and two private eyes about to trip right into them. That’s how it started, the case of the missing nurse. Thanos Kalamidas The nurse who wasn’t there The rain hadn’t stopped. It followed them from the office to the Grayson mansion like an unpaid fa- vour, hammering the windshield of their old Buick in fat, miserable drops. He said, “You’d think the weather would cut us a break once in a while.” She said, “You’d think you’d buy windshield wipers that actually wipe.” He said, “They’re vintage. Adds character.” She said, “Adds blindness.” The car coughed into the gravel driveway of a house big enough to have its own echo. The Grayson estate loomed over the street, white pillars, dark windows, and the kind of silence that made even the thunder whisper. She said: Nurse – He said: Missing He said, “You ever notice rich people’s houses al- ways look like they’re waiting for a haunting?” She said, “Sometimes they don’t wait long.” Arthur Grayson met them at the door, a thin man in his late twenties, wearing a suit that looked bor- rowed and a face that looked exhausted. He said, “Mr. and Mrs. Grayson?” Arthur said, “No, no... just me. The others are gone.” She said, “We’re investigators, Mr. Grayson. We’re not here to mourn, we’re here to find your nurse.” He said, “Though if mourning comes with sand- wiches, I’m flexible.” Arthur led them through the hall. Dust hung in the air like suspicion. Portraits of stern ancestors watched from the walls, silently judging the living. She said, “Your grandfather lived here alone?” Arthur said, “With Nurse Elena. Six months. She kept him company, managed his medication. Then, three nights ago, she disappeared. That same night, his heart gave out.” He said, “Convenient timing.” She said, “Or cruel coincidence.” They reached the study—a wide room with a dy- ing fire, books stacked like barricades, and a single Thanos Kalamidas photograph on the desk. A woman smiled up from it, early thirties, dark hair pinned back neatly, white uniform. Arthur said, “That’s her. That’s Elena.” He said, “Looks wholesome. The kind of person who’d remind you to drink your tea.” She said, “Or stir something in it.” Lydia studied the picture closely. The background wasn’t the house, it was a hospital corridor, and the photo looked old, sun-faded at the edges. She said, “Where was this taken?” Arthur said, “She said it was from her old job. Somewhere in Madrid.” He said, “Spain? That’s quite the commute for a nurse.” She said, “Did she ever talk about her past?” Arthur said, “Not much. She was quiet, polite, al- ways smiling.” He said, “Quiet, polite, and vanished. The perfect résumé for trouble.” They examined the rest of the room. Lydia’s eyes were sharp; Tommy’s were wandering toward the minibar. She said: Nurse – He said: Missing She said, “Don’t even think about it.” He said, “I’m just checking for fingerprints. Alco- holic fingerprints.” Lydia found the safe behind an old oil painting, large, expensive, and locked. She said, “This must be the one.” Arthur nodded. “He never told anyone the combi- nation.” He said, “You tried opening it?” Arthur said, “Once. Nearly broke my wrist.” He said, “That’s why I use forks. Easier on the joints.” They left the mansion and drove through the soaked streets, the Buick complaining with every puddle. She said, “So what’s your read?” He said, “Guy dies, nurse disappears. Smells like guilt with a side of inheritance.” She said, “I think she’s hiding something deeper than greed.” He said, “Maybe a body?” She said, “Maybe a past.” Their next stop was the city clinic. Lydia flashed Thanos Kalamidas a forged credential badge that had gotten them into more restricted places than either cared to admit. The clerk, chewing gum like it owed her money, flipped through the records. “Elena Marquez? Reg- istered nurse?” She blew a bubble and popped it. “That name’s dead.” He said, “Dead as in fired, or dead as in dead ?” The clerk shrugged. “She died in a hospital fire. Ten years ago.” Silence. She said, “That’s impossible. She was working for Mr. Grayson six months ago.” He said, “Unless she got really good at being dead.” They stepped out into the drizzle. Lydia lit a ciga- rette. Tommy unwrapped a sandwich from his coat pocket. She said, “You can’t eat during revelations.” He said, “I can and I am. It’s my coping mechanism.” She said, “So our mystery nurse isn’t who she said she was.” He said, “She borrowed a dead woman’s name. Clas- sic move.” She said: Nurse – He said: Missing She said, “Meaning she’s hiding something.” He said, “And maybe someone helped her do it.” They started canvassing. Coffee shops, phar- macies, corner stores. Everyone remembered the woman in white, always polite, always quiet, always paying in cash. He said, “Cash, no paper trail. She’s either smart or allergic to taxes.” She said, “Or running from something bigger.” A cab driver finally gave them something real. “Yeah,” he said, “picked her up near the Grayson place about midnight that night. Dropped her by the docks. She was crying.” He said, “Crying, huh? That’s either guilt or onion soup.” She said, “Let’s assume guilt until soup proves oth- erwise.” By the time they reached the docks, night had thickened again. The rain had turned to mist, curl- ing around the streetlamps like cigarette smoke. He said, “Creepy enough for you?” She said, “I’ve been in creepier.” He said, “Oh? When?” Thanos Kalamidas She said, “Our wedding.” He said, “Fair.” They found a man at a fishing bar, half-asleep on his stool. He remembered the nurse too. “She came here sometimes,” he muttered. “Met a man, young, leather jacket, bad attitude. They’d ar- gue. Once, he threw a glass.” He said, “Ah. Boyfriend with temper issues. Every mystery needs one.” She said, “And if they were arguing about money or a safe...” He said, “Then maybe they weren’t planning a vaca- tion.” The bartender slid them a napkin with an address, Blue Falcon Motel, Route 9 “She used to stay there,” he said. “Always paid for a week, never stayed more than a night.” He said, “Blue Falcon. Sounds classy.” She said, “Classy like a snake in a suit.” As they left the bar, the fog rolled in thicker. Somewhere behind them, a ship’s horn groaned like it had seen too much. She said: Nurse – He said: Missing He said, “You realize this could be nothing. A dead end.” She said, “Or the start of something worse.” They drove in silence for a while, the hum of the tires the only sound between them. Then, softly... He said, “You ever wonder why we do this?” She said, “Because someone has to.” He said, “And because it beats a desk job.” She said, “You’d eat the stapler by noon.” The Blue Falcon Motel appeared like a bad dream, neon half-dead, curtains drawn, parking lot emp- ty except for an ice machine that made unsettling noises. He said, “Here we are. Cosy.” She said, “If by cosy you mean possibly haunted.” They stepped out into the cold night air. The rain had finally stopped, leaving behind a city that looked freshly painted in secrets. She said, “Tomorrow, we talk to the manager. See if our missing nurse checked in.” He said, “And maybe order breakfast.” She said, “One track mind.” He said, “Hey, the stomach never lies.” Thanos Kalamidas She said, “Let’s hope the nurse didn’t either.” They stood there for a moment, the neon sign flickering over their faces, two shadows in a city that never slept and never forgave. Somewhere, behind one of those motel curtains, someone was hiding. Someone who knew the truth about Nurse Elena. And as Lydia lit another cigarette and Tommy searched his coat for another sandwich, the first faint light of dawn began to bleed into the horizon. She said, “You ready for this?” He said, “I was born ready.” She said, “No, you were born hungry.” He said, “Same thing.” The hunt was on. She said: Nurse – He said: Missing The woman without a name Morning came late to the Blue Falcon Motel. The sky was the colour of cold coffee, and the air smelled faintly of old secrets and disinfectant. He said, “You ever notice motels all smell like someone tried to clean guilt with lemon?” She said, “Focus, Tommy. We’re not here for aroma- therapy.” The motel manager was a man shaped like a ques- tion mark, thin, bent, and suspicious of everything, especially people asking questions before noon. He said, “Morning. We’re looking for a woman, dark hair, maybe calls herself Elena. Checked in a few nights ago.” Manager said, “We don’t give out guest info.” She said, “We’re not the police.” Manager said, “That’s worse.” Thanos Kalamidas Lydia slid a folded bill across the counter. The manager unfolded it like it was a love letter. She said, “Now?” Manager sighed. “Room twelve. Checked in four days ago with a man. Said they were travelling nurs- es.” He said, “Travelling nurses. That’s new. Does that come with a getaway plan?” Manager said, “If it does, they didn’t use it. Haven’t left the room much.” Lydia’s eyes narrowed. “Still here?” Manager shrugged. “As far as I know.” They exchanged a look. The kind that said this might end badly, but we’re going anyway He said, “You want to knock, or should I?” She said, “You’ll eat the door if it’s locked.” He said, “You say that like it’s a bad thing.” Room twelve sat at the end of the hall, curtain drawn tight. A faint murmur came from inside, a man’s voice, low, tense. She said, “Sounds like an argument.” He said, “Or foreplay. Hard to tell these days.”