The Moonlit Murders: A historical mystery page-turner (A Fen Churche Mystery Book 3) by Fliss Chester (web based ebook reader TXT) 📕

drinks. Spencer had been in a sour mood and although one part of her brain was racing through the implications of the holes in their alibis, Fen was also concerned about her new friend.

‘That’s the first port of call then,’ Fen said to her reflection in the mirror, before another blast of the foghorn jolted her out of her skin.

Fen greeted a few fellow passengers as she walked along the galleried corridor that led to Genie and Spencer’s cabin, pleased that she could stay indoors the whole way. Like hers, their cabin had a door leading off a smaller interior corridor and then two windows that looked out to sea over the promenade deck. It meant you had to be rather cautious with your curtains, so as not to be seen getting dressed, but it was good to have natural light and a sea view – many of the cabins, however well appointed, had neither.

A steward gave her a salute as she passed him by the grand staircase, and she nodded in return. The ship was coming to life all right, with most passengers still on Greenwich Mean Time, meaning they were rising earlier than the sun most days. Fen couldn’t imagine how people adapted to a change in time zones when travelling by aeroplane – surely a flight that took only a mere matter of hours was no way near enough time to acclimatise to a completely different turn of the clock! Madness…

A few moments later and Fen turned down the narrow corridor that led to Genie’s cabin. Like the one leading to her own, this had four doors coming off it, two on each side. The first two would be the doors to the smaller internal cabins, reserved for those not paying for the privilege of private washing facilities and a sea view, but the final two both led into cabins much like her own.

The passageway was well lit by electric bulbs hidden behind pretty stained-glass fixtures, but nevertheless Fen had to narrow her eyes to make sure she wasn’t seeing things. No, she was sure of it, Genie and Spencer’s cabin door was slightly ajar and Fen could see daylight, however dulled by the fog outside, gently glowing around the open edge.

‘Genie…’ Fen called, placing the palm of her hand against the door. ‘Genie.’

She listened for an answer but none came.

Fen gently rapped her knuckles against the door and called out again, using Spencer’s name too. But there was no answer from within the cabin.

After an instinctive look over her shoulder, Fen took a deep breath and pushed the door open.

27

‘Genie… oh, Genie!’ Fen blurted out, before clamping her hand to her mouth in utter shock at what she saw in front of her. The pearlescent light coming from between the porthole’s curtains bathed the cabin in an almost unearthly glow and there, lying on the bed was the strangled corpse of the showgirl.

Fen staggered forward, then towards the basin, flailing her arm out until her hand caught the cold porcelain and she could steady herself as she stared at the body.

Genie was fully clothed, still in her evening dress which Fen recognised from dinner the night before, although her boa was draped across the bottom end of the bed. A pair of stockings had done the deed, it seemed, and Fen’s eyes followed their silky sheen as they trailed across her neck, through her hair and almost elegantly fell down the side of the bed. It was all too horrible to comprehend and Fen felt herself starting to shake, the shock of seeing the poor girl done to death like that.

She held the basin firm and gradually pulled herself round so that she was looking into the mirror above it, both hands now able to grab the basin to hold her steady. Then, almost without realising what she was doing, she began shouting, calling for help, hoping that the steward was working the galleried deck from which she’d just come.

Out into the dark narrow passage, she stumbled, bouncing off the three other doors that led from it until she was in the corridor. Suddenly, and to her relief, Fen felt a strong pair of arms encircle her waist and the now familiar voice of James Lancaster ask her if she was quite well.

‘James…’ Fen gasped. ‘It’s Genie. She’s…’ Fen could barely bring herself to utter the words.

‘What is it, Fen?’ James held her at arm’s length and Fen found the strength to stand steady. Genie’s death was hitting her much harder than Albert the German’s and she found she’d lost all the stiff-upper-lip-ness she’d managed to maintain after that grisly discovery.

There was nothing for it, however, she had to utter the words out loud now. She took some deep breaths and came out with it.

‘Genie’s been strangled, she’s dead.’

‘Are you sure?’ James pushed past her and headed down to the cabin.

Fen watched him go, the darkness of the passageway almost swallowing him up before he got to the light of the cabin at the end. She watched as he too recoiled from what he saw. There was no point either of them checking for a pulse, the colour of Genie’s lips and lolling tongue and the bloodshot staining her bulging eyes told them that.

James walked slowly back down the passage towards her. ‘Where’s Spencer?’

‘I don’t know,’ Fen replied, taking deep breaths as she fought off the bouts of nausea that threatened to hinder her usefulness.

‘But they went back together, last night, after drinks, I mean.’ James’s words tumbled out, the shock of seeing Genie like that starting to affect him, too.

‘Yes, I saw them enter the cabin together last night and…’ Fen knew she wasn’t firing on all cylinders and was relieved when she caught sight of Dodman hurrying towards her. Any suspicions she had about him and Albert the albatross were put aside in relief at seeing his genuinely concerned face.

‘Miss Churche,’ he waved. ‘Are you all right? The Nettletons said they’d heard you making