It's Murder, On a Galapagos Cruise: An Amateur Female Sleuth Historical Cozy Mystery (Miss Riddell C by P.C. James (easy novels to read txt) 📕

you know. I don’t hold with cruelty to animals but when Keith and I went to Spain on our holidays, those bullfighters did catch my eye. In the world today, we don’t see such courage displayed with so much elegance. I have to admit I was smitten.” Her expression grew troubled. “I feel guilty about that now that Keith is gone, to be honest.”

“You couldn’t know Keith was going to die so soon and it was only a thought, not a deed. You have no reason to feel any such thing.”

“I know but strange memories come back. Usually, they’re good memories but occasionally there are some I don’t like to recall. It seems we often harbor unkind thoughts and they haunt us when we least expect it.”

“I wonder when it will be safe for me to interview Rod,” Pauline said, thoughtfully, hardly noticing Freda’s wistfulness.

“What does the company know about Jose?” Pauline asked Captain Ferguson when they met to discuss progress.

“I was sure you would ask this question,” Ferguson said, with a smile. “I asked them to translate and send the interview and background checks that were done.” He handed a sheaf of papers to Pauline and Somerville.

They read them quickly.

Pauline said, “Well, it says little more than what we’ve been told. Jose was a refugee from Peru living in Ecuador.”

Ferguson nodded. “I spoke to our personnel manager, the one who approved the hiring of most of the technical crew. He said Jose’s story was a horrific one and he filled in some additional details for me. Jose was captured by the Shining Path guerillas on his way to school on the morning of the massacre. They forced him to take part in the massacre, not by actually killing people but in telling them information about the villagers. He was so scared that, when the killing began and he saw the guerillas weren’t watching him anymore, he escaped into the forest. He followed trails that eventually led him over the border. He didn’t even know he’d made it to Ecuador at first. He was so in fear of his life, he’d avoided everyone as he traveled. It was only when he’d become ill that he went into a town and begged for help, which is when he discovered he was in another country and was safe.”

“It sounds like we have to consider the real possibility that the guerrillas caught up with him on this ship,” Somerville said.

“Then the murderer,” Pauline paused as she saw Somerville frown, and then continued, “if there is a murderer, is one of the crew and not a passenger. However, how did the guerillas know he was here? His story, if true, sounds to me like the guerillas aren’t our suspects.”

“I think it most likely to be a member of the crew anyway, don’t you?” Ferguson said. “The passengers only arrived here hours before the voyage began. They hardly had time to discover Jose existed, let alone work up enough anger to kill him. And, as you say, how would the guerillas know and why would they care if some kid spoke about them? They live out in the wild and care nothing for the law.”

“One or two of the American passengers are Latin American,” Somerville said, thinking out loud. “They could have had family who knew about Jose and they might blame Jose for helping the guerillas.”

“We should consider that,” Pauline said, “but it’s more likely to be a crew member, as Captain Ferguson suggests.”

“We need the same information we have on Jose, Captain,” Somerville said, waving the papers to indicate what he wanted, “on all the crew. Certainly, the male crew members.”

“It takes time for the fax machine to print out that much information,” Ferguson said, “but I’ll have them start right away. You think only a man could have sent Jose over the railing?”

“I’m sure of it,” Somerville said. ‘He wasn’t a small or weak man.”

“Miss Riddell?” Ferguson asked.

“I agree, Captain. It’s unlikely to be a woman,” Pauline said. “Not impossible, though, so we shouldn’t completely rule out the female crew members.”

“Anything else?” Ferguson asked.

“Yes. I’d like to speak to the head of personnel,” Pauline said. “Could you arrange for us to interview him by radio?”

“I’m sure that could be arranged,” Ferguson said. “I’ll contact our head office right after we finish here and set it up for tomorrow night. That way you can enjoy your island excursions and Mr. Hidalgo, our local Ecuadorean recruiter, can gather the information you want to discuss.”

10

Isabela Island, Urbina Bay

They’d been warned by the guides that this site was a ‘wet landing’ and they’d taken that to mean they’d get wet feet. It was way more than that. By the time everyone was ashore, using the demonstrated ‘park your butt on the side and swing your legs over’ method, everyone’s clothes were soaked. The unsteadiness of the elderly passengers, the boat with its nose on the sand, its tail bobbing about in the inrushing waves, all contributed to most people getting a dousing. Many simply slipped off the wet sides, lost their footing in the sea and were swallowed up by the surf. Some fell backward into the boat, were caught by the guide, and maneuvered over the side, where they were invariably unready for the waves that splashed up and soaked them. If she hadn’t been so embarrassed at her own lack of agility, Pauline would have paid money to buy a movie of this first interesting event.

“Still, the water is refreshing,” Freda said, wringing out her sunhat, which had blown into the sea as she’d slithered over the slippery, rubbery sides of the boat.

Pauline laughed. “And it makes the trip more memorable. I actually feel like a real explorer now.”

The walk soon dried them off, which led to a new source of irritation as the salt water dried on their skin and in their clothes. In the heat, salty itching made them feel like they were being bitten by the clouds of flying