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) 📗

it wasn’t kosher. He had no discernible interest in evolution, Darwin, Ecuador or the islands. A strange way to spend the small fortune this cruise costs, I should think.”

“I wish he hadn’t come, or the other two,” Freda said bluntly.

“And our Canadian detective?”

“I think he was just nervous. Did you see his fingers? They never stopped drumming on the table. I think he may have a had a drink or two before dinner,” Freda said.

“It was probably the trip down here that upset them all,” Pauline said. “I know I felt like death when we arrived. Maybe they’ll perk up after a good night’s sleep.”

“They were setting out to fortify themselves with even more alcohol when we left so I expect they will sleep well,” Freda replied. “I think I’m going to have a nap myself before we listen to the naturalist’s talk. It has been a long day.”

When they reached the exterior door that was nearest their cabins, Freda pulled it open and stepped inside. Pauline, however, stopped. Farther down the deck, in a place shadowed by lifeboats and the ship’s superstructure, she saw a dark bundle that looked vaguely human-shaped.

“Pauline,” Freda said, “are you coming?” She strained to hold open the heavy door.

“In a moment, Freddie,” Pauline said. “There’s something strange on the deck. I’ll just go and investigate.”

“What is it?” Freda asked, peering around the door and following Pauline’s gaze.

“Probably one of the maintenance crew’s bag or jacket but it may be a passenger who has fainted – or worse.”

Pauline strode down the deck until she stood beside the man. She crouched and shook his shoulder. He didn’t move so she took his wrist in her fingers. As she’d already suspected, though hoped she was wrong, he was dead. Not dead long for he was still ‘alive’ warm. She looked up. The decks above were lit but no one was in sight.

“What is it?” Freda called, repeating her question.

“It’s a man. He’s dead. Go and phone reception. Tell them there’s been an accident on the starboard side, deck three, at the lifeboat station. I’ll stay with the body until someone in authority comes.”

Pauline saw the door close and hoped Freda would be quick. Why the man was dead, she couldn’t yet say, but she knew not to touch the body until the police arrived. But there were no police, she thought, shaking her head. She checked his pulse again, this time at his neck, and felt the sickening looseness there. There was no question; it was broken. She rather hoped Freda would get back before the ‘person in authority’ because Freda was a principal nursing officer – what used to be called a matron before they’d foolishly allowed men into the profession. However, she was confident her own knowledge from the bodies she’d witnessed down the years of detecting, and her fingertips, were not deceiving her. He was dead. Then she saw blood on her fingers and peered carefully at his throat. His beard hid the wound but somewhere under his chin looked to be the reason for his death.

A light back along the deck told her Freda or crew members were arriving. She wished she’d had her camera with her. Pictures were useful things to have as memory aids later. She stood and surveyed the scene, hoping to fix it in her mind.

“They say someone will be here soon,” Freda said, as she arrived at her sister’s side. “I thought I should come and join you, in case…”

“In case it’s murder and the murderer is still about,” Pauline finished the sentence for her. “I think it is murder and I’d like your professional opinion before anyone gets here.”

Freda crouched down and felt for a pulse. Not finding one, she felt the skin temperature.

“Look under his chin,” Pauline said.

Freda tipped the head back and gingerly touched the bloodied hair of his beard. She knelt and looked more closely.

“He’s been stabbed,” she said.

“Yes. Then thrown, or maybe just fell, over one of the railings up there.”

“He has a name tag,” Freda said. “He’s not one of the servers,” she added.

Pauline nodded. “Jose, Peru,” she said. As she spoke, a door opened and two men stepped out to greet them. One wore an officer’s uniform, the other had a medicine bag. Pauline was unimpressed. He was the kind of doctor that failed to present himself as an example to the public. There had been some in her time, but they generally didn’t stay long at any one place. She now knew where they went.

“Is he dead?” the officer asked Freda.

“Oh, yes. Quite dead,” Freda replied.

“As the ship’s doctor,” the man with the bag said, “I’ll be the one to confirm death.”

Pauline couldn’t decide if he was being ironic or was genuinely put out by Freda’s assertion.

“You’re certainly the one who must sign the certificate, Doctor,” she said.

The doctor did all that was expected and pronounced Jose dead. He looked up. “Must have fallen from up there and broken his neck,” he said.

“There’s blood under his chin,” Pauline said.

“Could have caught on a brace or stanchion,” the doctor said, nodding. “We’ll check for that when it’s light.”

“Can you tell us your names?” the officer asked. “They didn’t tell us who found the body.”

“I’m Pauline Riddell,” Pauline replied, “and this is my sister, Mrs. Freda Holman. We’re traveling together. Freda has the cabin next door to mine.”

“I’m Jerome Sanchez, security officer, and this is Ray Parkinson, ship’s doctor. Can you tell us how you came to find the body?”

“We didn’t exactly find the body,” Pauline said. “We were returning from dinner and I saw him lying in the shadows. I didn’t really know it was a body at that stage.”

“Is this how you found him?” Sanchez asked.

“Yes,” Pauline responded. “Just as I found him.”

“You didn’t move the body?”

“I checked his pulse at wrist and throat,” Pauline replied. “I discovered some small amount of blood in his beard and lifted his chin. He appears to have a narrow wound there. It’s