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

James was right and she did feel happier now that she’d put some ideas down on paper, even if she felt rather disloyal placing the stolen jewels in the same grid as Genie’s murder. While she was contemplating this, and debating whether she should indulge in another pot of the ship’s rather good coffee, Dodman came trotting into the café.

‘Miss Churche,’ he said as he got near enough to speak in a hushed voice, and for her to hear it. ‘Miss Miller-Wright told me I could find you here.’

‘Yes?’ Fen slipped the passenger list with her grids back into her bag.

‘It’s the captain, miss. Captain Lagrande, that is. He says you’re to go to Miss Higginbottom’s cabin now if you would like, to see what you can see, but be careful not to disturb anything please, miss, as the New York police department will of course be checking it all over when we dock. If you ask me, miss, he’s more afraid of Mrs Archer than the police commissioner, and I can’t say I blame him.’ Dodman winked at Fen and she returned the gesture with a smile.

‘Thank you, Dodman, and I’m inclined to agree with you on that last point.’

With that, Dodman escorted Fen from the airy and light terrace room, along the corridors, back to the cabins that led off the grand central staircase. As they walked, Fen’s mind couldn’t help but think about the grid she’d just updated. Maybe it was seeing her thoughts about Albert written down that had started her off, but now she was with Dodman, she felt it the perfect time to ask him more about the man in cabin thirteen.

After skirting around the subject, she plunged in. ‘Dodman, did you know he was German? I mean, before he boarded?’

‘No, miss, not at all. I have the list, you see, on my clipboard, but cabin thirteen is often left empty as it’s not everyone’s preferred choice of number, as you can imagine, miss.’

‘No, I see. Especially not now.’

‘Quite, miss. But as we’re full to the gunnels, miss, we had no choice but to place him there.’

‘So did you have his name? On your clipboard?’

‘No, miss, he was a blank, but the captain had briefed us, miss, me and Pierre – that’s Steward Blanchard, miss – that we had a last-minute addition to the ship on our deck. Ah, here we go, Miss Higginbottom’s cabin, God rest her soul.’

Dodman waved to the other steward, who was standing on guard at the end of the short corridor that led to Genie and Spencer’s cabin, although you could say that Blanchard was doing that in the loosest possible sense. He looked relaxed and at ease, as if he was there to answer questions about on-board facilities or organise deck game tournaments, not protect a crime scene, and Fen guessed it was on the captain’s orders; the other passengers’ comfort was their number one priority. Part of that, no doubt, was keeping from them that there was a murderer on the loose. Dodman confirmed it when Fen asked him.

‘Yes, miss. All very hush-hush for now, if you don’t mind. The captain doesn’t want hysteria on the ship, especially among the fairer sex, what with the newest victim being a lovely young lady like yourself.’ He shook his head. ‘Albatross, didn’t I tell you?’

‘You did, Dodman, and don’t worry. Although I have more faith in my sex being able to handle themselves, I won’t breathe a word unless absolutely necessary.’ She tapped the side of her nose. ‘Now, shall we?’

‘Just you, miss, no need for me to come too.’ He nodded her past the other steward and Fen found herself walking down that same dark narrow passageway towards Genie and Spencer’s cabin.

She knew the body of the strangled girl was gone, but all the same it was with some trepidation that she gently pushed the door open, just as she had a few hours earlier.

The room hadn’t been touched, save for the obvious disturbance of the bed sheets where the ship’s medics or stewards had moved the body. And in all other ways the cabin was much like Fen’s own. Chintzy and cosy, but larger of course, what with it being a two-berther.

Unlike hers, though, there were clothes strewn all over the floor, and one of Genie’s colourful boas was draped over the cupboard door, which gave Fen the feeling that her friend was about to peek-a-boo out from behind it. An involuntary shiver, like someone walking over her grave, came over Fen.

‘Right, concentrate, old girl, what are we looking for here? Your five down… what would it be…’ Fen was mumbling as she walked around the room, as much to dispel any murderous lingering atmosphere as anything else. But it did also keep her on track as she analysed objects around the cabin. Occasionally, a shadow would pass over the window as someone walked past on the outer promenade deck. Each time, it made Fen look up, alert, her heart racing until she reassured herself that she was alone, and hopefully still guarded at the end of the passageway by Dodman or his colleague.

After ten minutes, Fen felt she’d carried out a thorough search of the cupboards and had scanned the floor for anything of interest. The cupboards, though not bare exactly, didn’t offer up any clues, and within them were some more of Genie’s sequinned dresses, boas and a few linen suits that must have been Spencer’s. She riffled through the pockets of the suits but didn’t find a bean, and as for the floor around the basin and that side of the room, not a sausage.

Fen knelt down and felt under the bed.

‘Aha,’ she pulled out a piece of cloth, firm and embroidered with heavy gold braid. Fen turned it over in her hand, feeling the solidity and weight of it. It seemed to be from part of