It's Murder, On a Galapagos Cruise: An Amateur Female Sleuth Historical Cozy Mystery (Miss Riddell C by P.C. James (the best ebook reader for android TXT) 📗

“Isn’t theft a matter for justice?” Freda asked, puzzled.

“Of course,” Pauline said, “when it’s real people suffering. In this case, it was two groups who were fighting for control of something and hurting only each other. The police could have arrested either or both of them with equal justice being served.”

“And somewhere in the mess was something you saw that was really wrong?” Freda asked.

Pauline nodded, as she pressed the gas pedal and rolled the car forward another short distance.

“A man died. Just an ordinary man who seemed to die in an accident. I couldn’t let that pass. The law has to apply to everyone, including the rich, the powerful, and politicians, though so many of them are hard to catch.”

“You’re beginning to sound like your old colleague Chief Inspector Ramsay,” Freda said, laughing.

“He said to me after one case that as I grew older I’d grow to see what he saw and have the same disdain for our masters that he had,” Pauline said, “but I wasn’t to forget that justice must apply to all and that means even the poor, no matter how much we may sympathize with their plight.”

“What a strange thing for him to say.”

“I thought so at the time because he was always so sarcastic when I suggested our leaders were generally doing their best. ‘Our masters, you mean,’ he’d say. But over the years I did notice he tried always to be even-handed, not favoring either side. I hope I shall always act that way as well.”

“You’re luckier than him, though, Polly,” Freda said, reverting to her sister’s childhood nickname. “You don’t have to take cases where your conscience might be troubled.”

Pauline nodded. “We’re here,” she said, turning her car into a side road and then down into the entrance to an underground garage. She leaned out and activated the door.

“I bet this is useful when the winter arrives,” Freda said.

“It is. I leave my apartment in the morning, go down the elevator to the garage, get into my car and drive to work where I park in another underground garage before taking the elevator up to my office. I never have to feel cold or shuffle through snow or any of those things less fortunate people have to put up with.”

“I’d miss the seasons and the way they make you feel,” Freda said.

“Come back in January or August,” Pauline said, smiling. “Not everywhere has seasons that are as kind as those in England.”

Later that evening, as they sat quietly together in Pauline’s apartment, Freda said, “If I lived here, I could become a coffee drinker. This is so mild. Not like the European coffee we got in Spain.”

“The oodles of cream help a lot,” Pauline said.

“Very luxurious,” Freda agreed.

“It is, isn’t it. So many things here are more affordable than at home,” Pauline said. “I see why Mum and Dad always said things were better before the war.”

“But you don’t have a television,” Freda said.

Pauline laughed. “Not because it’s expensive,” she said. “In fact, it’s free here. No license fee to pay.”

“I’ve just remembered; you didn’t have a TV in England either.”

“I didn’t like it much then and over here it actually seems to be worse,” Pauline said. “I’m happier with the radio and a book.”

“I’d go mad without the telly,” Freda said, “especially now.”

“Which is why we’re on our way to the Galapagos Islands.”

“Exactly. There was this amazing documentary about them and Darwin only a few months ago. Then, when Keith died, and you suggested it, I decided I would visit them. After all, none of us know how long we have left, do we? We have to live for the day.”

Pauline smiled. “I hope we both have lots of years left,” she said, “and maybe lots more adventures together.”

“It would be easier if you came home, Polly. You said it was only going to be for a few years. ‘To see the world’ was how you described it.”

“I did indeed,” Pauline said. “I’d always been a bit jealous of our dear brother, Matt, sailing around seeing the world while I sat at home going nowhere.”

“Well, you’ve seen something of the world now so why not come home?”

“I did try,” she said. “When I visited in 1985, I called and met with my old colleagues, but it was right after the 1984 recession and no one was hiring. You wouldn’t know this Freddie,” Pauline said, lapsing into her sister’s childhood nickname, “because you work in the National Health Service, but Britain’s industries have been wiped out. Joining the Common Market put an end to many of them and the oil crisis did the rest. The companies I worked for are gone.”

“But the country is growing again now,” Freda said. “It’s on the news and everything.”

“They’re new businesses and not ones I have any experience in,” Pauline said. “I’m afraid I just have to sit it out until retirement. Ugh! What an awful thing to say. Anyhow, only then can I consider where my future lies.”

“You’ll have forgotten us all by then,” Freda said, sadly.

“Nonsense, Freddie. You’re growing maudlin.”

“I’m getting tired,” Freda said, with a smile. “I don’t know why sitting about in airports and planes for hours on end should be so exhausting but there it is. I shall turn in and be up hours too early in the morning.”

“It will help you sleep on the flight tomorrow evening,” Pauline said, “which isn’t a bad strategy. I shall join you in early rising. Wake me when you get up.”

Pauline sat quietly, waiting for Freda to finish in the bathroom. Having Freda here, and talking about Inspector Ramsay and family back home, brought back many buried feelings just as Freda losing Keith had brought back the pain she’d felt when Stephen had been killed in that pointless Korean War. And her pain was without being married for thirty-five years as Freda and Keith had been. Knowing something of how Freda felt should