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) 📗

“That may account for the superficial cut under his chin,” Ferguson added. “If he’d initially tried to kill himself with a knife and then found he couldn’t do it.”

Pauline shook her head. “The cut was under his chin, not on his throat. Even the most reluctant of suicides would know the difference. And if it was suicide, there is a vast ocean just one step off the rail. No, this wasn’t suicide.”

“I don’t think we should dismiss the possibility too quickly,” Somerville said. “Who knows what goes through the mind of a person at these low moments.”

“And none of the others among the crew were found to have any connection to the village where the massacre Jose mentioned took place, or a connection to Jose himself?” Pauline asked Hidalgo, ignoring the suicide discussion that was continuing between her two companions.

“We weren’t looking for such a connection when we screened the interviewees,” Hidalgo replied. “I have asked the police here to do that now. It may take a day or so for them to complete their research.”

“We look forward to hearing the results of those investigations, Mr. Hidalgo,” Somerville said. “I have nothing more to ask tonight but would ask that you be available to answer questions about details in the faxes you’re sending. I hope that can be possible?”

“Certainly,” Hidalgo said. “If Captain Ferguson can make the radio link available, I’ll be happy to respond to anything you have to say.”

Ferguson replied, “Miss Riddell, Detective Somerville, and I meet each evening to discuss their progress. I’ll have the radio operator make it possible for you join us.”

To fill in the time, as the ship sailed along the coast of Isabela Island to its next stop, the regular superb lunch was replaced by an even more sumptuous barbecue.

Pauline and Freda each took small plates of lobster, steak and salad up to the next deck to escape the crowd. Their stratagem, designed to protect their tightening waistbands, backfired. When Maria saw them escaping, she made it her job to supply them with everything on the menu, far more than they could ever manage. By the time the meal was over, they could barely move.

“Thank you, Maria, but we have another hike in an hour,” Freda said, despairingly, when the server had offered yet more dessert or an after-dinner port. “We couldn’t possible manage another mouthful.”

“Señora,” Maria replied, tut-tutting sadly, “you will walk it off and be hungry.”

Freda shook her head but, smiling, she said, “Our guides Pedro and Raul will have to carry us back, more like.”

“Working together they couldn’t lift me now,” Pauline added.

“We’re doomed,” Freda said, when Maria left them, clearly disappointed in their capacity to consume. “We’ll sink the zephyr when we step aboard.”

“Us and everyone else,” Pauline said. “Taking one passenger per zephyr will be the only safe way.”

11

Isabella Island, Punta Moreno

Although the zephyr was pulled up tightly to the rocky ledge of the dock, and they could step ashore without wading in the sea, the landing was again far from a ‘dry’ one. The stiff breeze that had plagued them in the morning was also bringing waves splashing over the landing stage and making the boat rise and fall rapidly. Even with a strong man onshore to grasp the passengers and haul them from the boat and onto the wet, smooth, volcanic rocks, the disembarkation got them soaked.

They’d picked their excursions when booking the cruise and Pauline and Freda had chosen the longest hikes at each stop because Freda intended to see everything she could in the time available. Many who had been on the morning hike had decided to take it easy in the afternoon, so it was with a smaller band of only the hardier souls that they set out into the hinterland. The breeze that had made landing so hazardous, and they’d hoped would cool them as they hiked, was lost the moment they left the open area of lava rock and entered low bushes that covered the slopes of the volcano’s side. The bushes soon gave way to a landscape of dark pools of brackish water fringed by vibrant jungle-green plants that stood out in stark contrast with everything they’d seen up until this time.

The guide stopped frequently for water breaks and to point out the occasional wildlife, usually a small dark-colored bird flitting among the bushes. In Pauline’s eyes, they were all indistinguishable from half the birds she saw at home. A hawk soared above them at one point, a Galapagos Hawk, the guide said. It too looked just like any other hawk to Pauline.

The rest of the group, however, seemed happy enough, if the clicking of camera shutters was anything to judge by. For herself, Pauline felt she would never go on another nature vacation as long as she lived. Not even an African safari with guaranteed lions could tempt her at this moment. The march seemed to stretch out before her, an undulating, sharply pointed, rocky wasteland of time.

“You’re not as excited as the rest of us, Pauline.”

Pauline thought Freda sounded a little bit angry. “I’m taking everything in and storing it away for future memory,” Pauline said. “You can be sure of that.”

“Good, because this is one of the most significant places on Earth.”

“I know, Freddie. I’m not completely clueless,” Pauline said. She was though. Absolutely clueless – when it came to Jose’s death.

Later, back on board and resting in Freda’s cabin, Pauline said, “I had a few minutes quiet time to speak some more with Pedro. He says he saw a man arguing with Jose later that afternoon, just before dinner was served. It’s possible he only says this now, when he must know we’re suspicious of him, to deflect our attention from him to someone else, but we must follow it up. He thinks it was Rod Chalmers, and from the description he gave, I think it was too.”

“Maybe this is what Somerville