The Moonlit Murders: A historical mystery page-turner (A Fen Churche Mystery Book 3) by Fliss Chester (best ereader for pc .txt) 📗

an awful ruckus outside these cabins…’ He trailed off as he spoke to her, no doubt reacting to the shaking of her head and James’s ashen face. He finished with a simple, ‘What’s happened, miss?’

‘Genie, Jean Higginbottom… she’s been murdered.’ Fen stated it as simply as she could manage. ‘I came to call on her this morning and the door was ajar…’ Fen closed her eyes and then opened them again, realising that the image imprinted on her eyelids was far worse than even the look of horror on Dodman’s face. She carried on, hoping to cement the details in her mind for when she’d no doubt have to recount the scene to Dodman’s superiors or the New York police department. ‘I pushed it gently, calling her and Spencer’s names, and then I entered the cabin… and the body, Genie I mean, was lying there.’

By now, other passengers had started to eavesdrop and stand close to where Fen, James and Dodman were talking. James tried his best to shield Fen from them, and indeed them from what she was saying, but finally it was too much and Dodman realised that he would have to go and inform the captain.

‘Please, ladies and gentlemen,’ he waved his arms to get everyone’s attention. ‘There is nothing to see here, just an incident with one of our other passengers. Please go about your business this fine morning.’

Fen thought he sounded very professional, but she could see from the sweat on his brow that he was trying his very best to hold it all together.

‘Thank you, Dodman,’ she called after him as he left, having elicited a promise from James that he would stay with Miss Churche and protect the crime scene.

Alone once more and with the crowd slightly dispersed, James turned to Fen, lightly cupping her elbow with his hand. ‘Are you all right? I mean, do you feel able to talk about it?’

Fen nodded. She had been overcome with shock and sadness not more than a few minutes ago, but now something was firing up inside her, adrenaline perhaps, but also a determination to find out who would do this to poor Genie. Hysteria, Fen knew, would get her nowhere; a mindset like that of a crossword solver, however, might well help them find their killer.

James noticed this change in her and asked what she was thinking.

‘Where Spencer is…’ Fen replied, realising James would have no more idea than she would. ‘Genie’s dressed in what she wore last night. And the curtains are closed.’

‘Meaning no one’s been in since dawn?’ James volunteered.

‘Not even Spencer…’ More than ever, Fen wondered if the Hollywood gloss had hidden a much uglier, rougher side to the man Genie had loved.

‘So where is Spencer now?’ James mused, casting his eyes up and down the corridor, as if Spencer might appear, doffing his hat to the ladies as he went. ‘We have to find him. Guilty or innocent, he’ll know more of Genie’s movements after we all said goodnight.’

‘I’m not sure there would have been much movement,’ Fen wondered out loud. ‘Her dress, you see, she’s still in it. If she and Spencer were in the habit of falling out and then making up, well, you’d think she might have made it out of her clothes to, well, you know…’

James furrowed his brow, but nodded. ‘I take your point. So do you think Spencer went straight out again? After you saw them get back to the cabin?’

‘And Genie didn’t have time to undress for bed,’ Fen followed his thought process.

‘Well, that narrows down the time of death to the early hours,’ James concluded.

Fen sighed. ‘It’s not exactly the most scientific method of doing so, but I have to agree. At least it gives us some parameters, like a crossword grid. We know Genie’s death had to happen after I saw her enter her cabin, and before dawn, though most likely very soon after they closed the door behind them.’

‘Which leads us back to Spencer, and his whereabouts.’

Fen and James were about to formulate a plan when they saw Dodman returning, his steps quick and almost trot-like as he led the striding Captain Lagrande down the corridor.

‘James,’ Fen whispered hurriedly. ‘We have to make an excuse for me to be able to get back into Genie’s cabin, once she’s… you know, not there any more.’

‘Looking for something?’ James said through the corner of his mouth, while trying not to alert the approaching captain.

‘Can’t you guess?’ Fen replied, this time speaking more normally, knowing Dodman or the captain wouldn’t twig what she was on about now. ‘Just my five down…’

28

‘Is it true?’ Eloise sat herself down in the wicker Lloyd Loom-style bucket chair opposite Fen. They were in what was called the café terrace, a rather elegant morning room that looked over the sea through large windows, each one decorated around its edge with Greco-Roman designs. Wicker furniture gave the room a delicate, feminine feel, but plenty of passengers of both sexes chose to seat themselves in the comfortable cushioned chairs as they caught up on conversation and daily news bulletins.

Fen and James had retreated there for coffee after the captain had ushered them away from the crime scene. He’d asked to see them both later, and Fen hoped he’d have more news for her on Spencer’s whereabouts, or at least some information that might help them solve her murder.

James, realising that Eloise was in no rush to move on, took the opportunity to lose himself behind a newspaper. The ship had stocked up on all the latest papers and journals before it left Southampton and James had nabbed himself a copy of The Times.

‘Yes, it’s true,’ Fen sighed. ‘I’m rather overwhelmed about it all really. Poor Genie.’

‘Yes, poor Genie,’ Eloise echoed and then waved for a waiter to bring her some coffee. ‘It might sound odd, but I was terribly jealous of her.’ Fen raised an enquiring eyebrow and Eloise carried on. ‘She had everything she wanted, and more to come. And,