CHAPTER ONE

Taysir would be fifteen today. Was it better to know if her brother had been murdered when he was five, or for him to have just been kidnapped?

After unpacking supplies of beauty masks, cleansers, toners, and moisturisers in the Pacific Queen Royale spa, Rukan Khanaum arranged them neatly on the shelves. She then spread the pink sheets on the massage bed in her designated beauty cubicle.

She would enjoy pampering and massaging the bodies and egos of decadent Australian women, spending a fortune on beauty treatments and travel, while women and children were living in poverty or being murdered in war-torn countries. Revenge would be sweet.

Sometimes she wondered what it would have been like to grow up in a secure, happy family like most Australian women, free to pursue independent careers, not beholden to men, free to wear what they chose and to speak their minds.

Now, on Saturday July 13^th, 2013, she was about to embark from Sydney on a Pacific cruise, working on the luxury liner Pacific Queen Royale returning to Sydney September 11^th, 2013.

***

“Biddy, darling, how does a three-month Pacific cruise appeal to you?”

Biddy swivelled to stare at Justin, the morning sun streaming in through the bay window framing his white hair against the leather of his favorite wing chair, glasses perched on the end of his nose, his cup of morning tea in hand.

“Three months? How many stops?” she asked.

“Twenty-odd ports, Sydney to Sydney, on the luxury liner Pacific Queen Royale.”

Justin handed Biddy a brochure.

“I reckoned we deserve a real holiday before we’re too old to enjoy it, so I tentatively reserved a stateroom with balcony and a queen-size bed. I tried for a suite but they only have six, which were unfortunately all booked out. What do you think? Want to go?” He raised his silver eyebrows.

Biddy thoughtfully nibbled her thumb.

“Sounds wonderful, but who will take care of PO and Puffer for such a long time?”

“I knew you’d say that. There’s a lot to organise, but we’ve got months before the ship leaves. We’d find someone to take care of them.”

Justin glanced up at the huge Abyssinian cat asleep on top of the kitchen dresser in his comfortable duplex in Tusmore Park, South Australia. The cat, aptly named, PissOff (PO for short), gazed down at Justin through two contemptuous yellow slits, as if he fully understood they were about to abandon him to a house sitter. As though on cue, Puffer, Justin’s black and white Japanese Chin scratched at the patio screen door.

“No, we won’t abandon you either and no, you can’t come in,” Justin said, shaking his head at the small silky-haired dog. “Don’t scratch the door!”

Biddy Jennings looked doubtfully at her de facto husband, Justin Fuller, who was so anxious to marry her. She had endured some dramatic experiences with him, which had left her shaken and a little apprehensive about his aptitude for attracting murder and mayhem. Being an amateur detective was not her idea of retirement, although she had to admit, she had been the one to uncover the identity of the vicious murderess, and even though it was harrowing it had also been quite exciting.

Putting her cup down on his breakfast table, she smiled.

“Justin, darling, I know we’ve been discussing a cruise ever since the murders. And I admit that luxury accommodations sound like heaven, especially as we wouldn’t have to pack and unpack all the time, given we’d be gone for three months. But—” Biddy took another sip of her tea. “Thank you, I’d love to go. But—”

“No buts. We might be able to catch up with Anne, and Andy might even be in Singapore when we are there.”

Biddy smiled wistfully; she had grown up in Adelaide, was educated at Woodlands Girls Grammar School and had commenced training as a nurse before switching to design school. Subsequently, she won a coveted design competition, thus gaining a position with an overseas firm that encouraged talented young designers. Employed by a top fashion house, Biddy developed an eye for detail, basing even her casual designs on the classic. She produced elegant ranges, comfortable yet sophisticated which were snapped up by both smart Australian and European women of taste. At thirty she took the plunge and established her own fashion line Auspertize. Having been married twice, she had two adult children from the second marriage who both worked overseas—Andy, an engineer who moved around a good deal in his job, and Anne, who worked in IT in San Francisco.

Both her previous husbands had been rather chauvinistic and almost resentful of her success in the fashion world, hence her reluctance to enter another binding liaison. However, she was sorely tempted to marry Justin and to move in with him full time to lead what she had expected to be a comfortable, quiet life.

“We can have breakfast in bed every morning.”

“You forget we’re in our sixties. How fit do you think we are?”

“Some mornings we can just sleep.”

“Hang on,” Biddy demanded. “What about all the pirate attacks and terrorism on the high seas we keep reading about?”

“Bid, the pirates mainly operate in the Indian Ocean and security on the Pacific Queen Royale is second to none. I doubt that even terrorists would be able to board at any port, and as the big tourist ships sit so very high, it would be very difficult to board on the open sea. In addition, the ships are protected now by water cannon. Actually, the Pacific Queen Royale only just passes under the Sydney Harbor Bridge, which she is scheduled to do on her return.” He opened the information sheet. “Here we are, top speed 23.5 knots, total height—”

Biddy patted his shoulder. “I believe you, but three months is a long time to be away.”

She paused to inspect the brochure. “What if, instead of leaving from Sydney, we fly to San Francisco, have a few days with Anne, then pick up the cruise on the home run?”

Pushing her tea cup aside and tucking her short silver blonde hair behind her ear, she spread the brochure on the small oak breakfast table and used her finger to trace the ship’s route.

“If we board in San Francisco, the next stop is Victoria, then Vancouver in Canada, on to Juneau, Kodiak, Ketchikan, across to Petropavlovsk in Russia, down to Osaka in Japan, on to Shanghai, Hong Kong, then Sihanoukville in Cambodia, on to Singapore, home to Australia via Darwin, before Sydney. By joining the cruise mid-way we still have a day in each of twelve ports. I guess you’ve already taken into account the fact that I still have Auspertize outlets in both Hong Kong and Singapore, so it’ll be a chance to visit and a tax deduction. I think the shorter trip would be great.” Biddy’s fair skin was flushed, her blue eyes shining.

Justin got up and almost ran to the dresser, excited because he felt that this holiday together may finally convince Biddy to marry him. He picked up the phone that sat on top, right next to a bowl of fruit and several exotic brass candlesticks.

“I’ll change the booking to join the ship in San Francisco.”

As she listened to him confirm the booking, Biddy glanced at her slim wrists: the faint scars were still visible from where the wire had cut her when the murderess had tied her wrists to the arms of a wheel chair and hidden her in a closet. She wriggled her shoulders, trying to shake the tension that threatened to build with her memories of their last adventure together, when they had been embroiled in four murders. Those included the death of an old friend from nursing school and her own dog Schnitzel, a German schnauzer that had tried to defend her. She told herself that it would be really relaxing on a Pacific cruise with security everywhere, and it would be wonderful to spend a few days with her daughter.

“All done, too late to change your mind. We leave from San Francisco,” Justin announced excitedly as he put the phone back in its cradle.

“Great. I feel quite dizzy, thinking about it. There’s so much to do before we leave,” Biddy said, still slightly apprehensive. “Justin, you look just like the cat that ate the cream.”

“Well, I’ll help you get ready, darling, I know you enjoy travelling. We’ll have fun, Biddy. I guarantee it.”

“Fine. One thing, though—you’re strictly prohibited from finding any bodies.”

“Come on, Ms. Marple, as much as I would like to have been the hero, you were the one who solved the crime and found the murderess,” Justin grumbled.

“Well, actually, she found me,” Biddy said ruefully.

Thoughtfully rubbing the scarred and deformed little finger on her left hand, she remembered the harrowing time of what the press had dubbed the “Tusmore Park Murders”.

Two years prior, living opposite Tusmore Park, Justin would walk their two dogs there every day and twice had the misfortune to find two of the four elderly bodies—murdered. He became a suspect and was harassed by the Adelaide Police. Biddy had become embroiled, solved the murders, and while doing so had nearly died at the hands of the psychopathic murderess herself. She did not at all enjoy thinking back on this ordeal, and tried to brush away the memories. She was glad when Justin changed the subject.

“Perhaps Janine might house-sit here to mind the animals, and we could sell or let your house?” Justin said.

During the murders they had built up a firm friendship with Detective Senior Sergeant Janine West, newly engaged to Architect Steve Cilento, who had also been involved in the dramatic events.

Not far from Justin’s, Biddy’s home also overlooked Tusmore Park. Although they now spent most of their time together, they did not live together full time; even though Justin had been urging Biddy to marry him for some years, she stubbornly kept her house and her independence.

Being a fairly staid retired accountant, Justin adored Biddy, finding her exotic and exciting. He was never quite sure what she would do next, and was frustrated that she refused to tie the knot.

Biddy placed her left hand on her hip and pointed her right forefinger at him.

“Justin Fuller, I know your ulterior motive is to coax me to move in full time.”

He raised his hands.

“You’ll be able to wear all your glad rags in the evenings. I’ve booked for the late dinner sitting.”

Biddy laughed; he knew which buttons to press. Now that she had retired from the glamorous fashion scene, there were few opportunities to dress up. While she certainly did not miss the glitz and glamour, with her background, he knew she’d find a cruise hard to resist.

For the last few years their lives appeared to revolve around the park. They had even met while walking their dogs, and Biddy had complimented Justin’s dog Puffer on having the best dog smile in the park.

Justin really wanted to get Biddy away for a while to forget the murders in which they had become embroiled. By some incredible coincidence, the first body which he had unfortunately come across in the park, was actually that of the man who had been accused of the hit-and-run of Justin’s own ten-year-old son many years before. It had never been proved that the fellow was guilty; although Justin was not even aware that the suspect lived nearby, the Police immediately jumped to the conclusion that Justin was the murderer seeking revenge. However, there were subsequently other murders to follow, and Biddy, knowing that Justin was innocent, took it upon herself to ferret out the murderess.

This sea change would do them both good; he doubted they would come across any murder and mayhem on the luxurious Pacific Queen Royale.

CHAPTER TWO

Having reluctantly waved goodbye to Anne at the restricted gate to the Pacific Queen Royale, Biddy was wending her way across the San Francisco wharf, looking anxiously for Justin who had proceeded ahead.

“Yoo-hoo.” Biddy stopped, gratefully dumping her carry-on bag on the busy wharf, looking up to see a slight woman approaching, loaded with shopping bags.

The younger woman waved, and they exchanged smiles.

“Youse embarking on the Pacific Queen Royale?”

The woman extended her manicured hand, and Biddy took it.

“I’m Jenny. My husband Eric is about somewhere.”

She glanced about the noisy wharf.

“Yes, I’m Biddy, and hopefully the San Francisco authorities don’t hold us up too much longer.” Biddy noticed how Jennifer’s fine skin emphasised the vivid green of her eyes.

Joining the two women, Justin raised his sun hat to Jenny, and said, “Half an hour, I hear. I’m Justin. You’ve just met Biddy?” Waving a hand at Jennifer’s collection of bags, he continued, “Talk about shop til you drop! May I give you a hand with those?” He read out the names on the bags. “Image, Dis and Dat, Jewelry by the Bay, Grand Illusions. I see you have been doing Sausalito. You must be ready for a coffee. Let’s go and find some comfortable chairs.”

Jennifer’s husband, older, stocky, and ginger-haired, garbed in casual tourist gear, waved his camera as he joined them. He spoke with an Aussie drawl.

“Golden Gate Bridge. Got some good shots.” He extended his freckly hand to Justin, nodded to Biddy, and then seated himself in the spare chair. Over coffee they discussed the forthcoming trip and their adventures in San Francisco.

In conversation, it turned out that the couple came from country Victoria, Australia. Having inherited quite a sum recently and with no next of kin, they had decided to splurge on this cruise. Much younger than her husband, and astonishingly frank, Jenny was bubbling with excitement at her first venture overseas.

As they chatted, the wind blew Biddy’s skirt aside to reveal a protuberance on her left knee.

After a pause, Jennifer said tentatively, “I, er, hope you don’t mind me asking, Biddy, but—” Pulling back her shirt cuff, Jenny revealed a lump on her left wrist. “Is yours a ganglion? Look, I’ve got one too, and it’s growing so quickly. It was barely there when we left home.”

Rubbing her left knee and readjusting her skirt, Biddy replied, “Yours is tiny compared to mine. I just keep putting off having it removed. I’ve never met anyone else with one, although I think they are quite common, caused by leaking synovial fluid, both on our left. Perhaps it’s our weaker side.”

A smartly uniformed female staff member of the Pacific Queen Royale approached to welcome and usher the four new passengers on board. She was anxious that they were all aware of the ship’s strict security, warning them against bringing any parcels on board for strangers, and advising them that they were required to produce their Cruise Card at the gangway upon arrival or when leaving the ship. It was also necessary to have a government-issued picture ID to show at security checkpoints.

“We didn’t have none of this security business in Geelong,” Jenny said.

Eric shook his head and scowled at her.

Dismayed, Jenny flushed, then snapped, “Ever since Eric inherited money, he has been really odd about letting people know that we come from Geelong. Nobody cares where we come from Eric.” Turning her back on her grumpy husband, she said to Justin, “Thank you for ‘elping me with my parcels, but Eric will ‘ave to manage them now. I didn’t know nothink about that rule about carrying things on board for strangers.”

Ready to move, Justin handed Jenny’s shopping bags to Eric. “No doubt we’ll catch up on board,” he said, and following the three women up the gangway, he overheard Biddy say, “As soon as we’ve settled in our stateroom, I must ring the spa to check on the reserve booking I made for a facial this afternoon.” She pulled out her tiny diary. “Yes, here it is, 4 p.m. today.”

***

“Welcome, Mrs. Jennings, we are honored to have you join our cruise; it’s not every day that we welcome an award-winning Australian fashion designer.”

“I’m delighted to be on board,” Biddy replied.

Wearing an immaculate pink uniform, Rukan ushered Biddy into her narrow treatment room, just large enough to accommodate a massage table, vanity basin and spotless glass shelving stocked with an assortment of exotic jars and bottles.

Offering Biddy a glass of water, she handed her a hanger for her upper garments, indicating she don a towelling shift. Rukan left the room to give Biddy time to change, returning a few moments later with a clipboard in her hand.

“You booked a deep hydrating facial and mask, plus a lash tint, Madam?” Rukan spoke with an unexpected transatlantic accent, her dusky skin and long shiny black hair in complete contrast to Biddy’s fair complexion. She could have been from Pakistan or Iraq.

“Yes, I certainly need them.”

Biddy levered herself onto the high massage table and lay back to relax and enjoy the treatment.

“We just joined the cruise today, so I need to look my best to first meet our fellow diners tonight.”

Rukan spread a pink sheet over her new client, deftly tucking in her feet. She then carefully tied up Biddy’s streaky blonde hair to protect it from the greasy cleanser, and folded the sheet down to the top of Biddy’s breasts, as treatment of the décoletage, throat and necks were regarded as essential as the actual facial skin. Dimming the overhead lights, she adjusted a large magnifying light lens to examine Biddy’s face.

“You have very fine skin and have obviously taken care of it.”

“Thank you. Being fair skinned in a hot dry climate, I always use sun block and moisturiser.”

“Are you quite comfortable, Madam?”

“Mmm …very, thank you. May I call you Rukan?”

Nodding, Rukan was gratified that Biddy had bothered to remember her name. Many clients were not so polite. She had inspected the client enquiry list which Biddy had filled in before treatment, so she confidently proceeded cleansing her client’s face and neck with creams suitable to her skin type.

“I understand you are from Australia, but have worldwide fashion outlets, Madam?”

By nature a modest person, Biddy was always inclined to play down her success in the fashion world, both overseas and in Australia.

“Yes, but I now live in a nice quiet suburb in South Australia, as I’m winding down my business and retiring, and I prefer to travel incognito where possible.” Looking at the young woman expectantly, Biddy asked, “And you, where do you come from, Rukan?”

“East Timor, a small island in Southeast Asia, just a few hundred miles north of Darwin, Australia—a desolate place. Do you have many green trees in your area?”

“We certainly do, and we live opposite a small park full of trees. We’ve a balcony off our bedroom, and the kookaburras wake us quite early seeking mincemeat. We fed the magpies as well, although we recently stopped that. We call them terrorists.”

Rukan’s eyes widened. “Terrorists? Why?”

“Attitude. The magpies won’t share the food and they keep attacking the kookas in a group of five or six, trying to drive them away. The magpies have black feathers, and they strut about as though they are wearing black burqas with white hijabs.”

Rukan was silent for a moment, and Biddy was concerned that her blunt statement may be regarded as insulting to those who wore Burqas. She was relieved when Rukan smiled and asked, “Do the kookaburras fight back?”

“No. Even though they have big strong beaks and catch fish and small lizards, they seem to have a more gentle nature than the magpies and a softer coloring of creamy beige with a bright blue cap. They are also smaller and don’t seem to stand up to the maggies.”

“Aren’t they the ones that laugh in the bush?”

“The kookaburras laugh and the magpies warble.”

Biddy closed her eyes to let Rukan concentrate on the facial.

Someone tapped on the door. The messenger spoke softly, but loud enough for Biddy to overhear that the Captain would like Rukan’s help with a Russian translation as soon as she was free.

Rukan returned to her ministrations. Biddy felt pads being placed over her eyes.

“This will be cold, Madam,” Rukan said.

Biddy felt her deftly spreading a thick very cold mixture on her face and neck, then a gauze mask was smoothed over the mixture.

“This mask needs to remain on your face for twenty-five minutes.” Rukan placed a buzzer in Biddy’s left hand. “Press, if you need anything. Sure you are warm enough?” she asked, adjusting the sheet.

“I feel great, thank you, Rukan. I’ll probably be asleep in two minutes.”

After dimming the lights, Rukan quietly departed. Interesting, Biddy thought; an aesthetician who helps the captain with translations; useful with an international guest list. She then relaxed, giving in to the comfort, and dozed off.

CHAPTER THREE

Eight places were set at their designated table in the Flamingo Room for the 8 p.m. seating. Not a special Captain’s Night, when dinner suits were de rigueur, but nevertheless, most people moving into the dining room were fashionably garbed. The whole effect was colourful, glamorous, and imbued with an exciting ambience.

Scott Walton, an Australian Test cricketer whom they had met prior to dinner at the welcoming cocktail party, was already seated at the head of their table beneath gleaming chandeliers, which reflected in the softly polished timber walling in the huge, luxuriously furnished dining room.

Weaving their way through the seemingly endless tables covered in sparkling white cloths, set with crystal glasses and silver cutlery, Jennifer and Eric Grainger arrived at their oval table simultaneously with Biddy and Justin, so they selected seats opposite each other. Smartly attired waiters in green and gold were immediately in attendance, handing out menus and taking drink orders. Soft orchestral music could just be heard under the buzz of animated conversation.

Gaping at the luxurious furnishings, Jenny Grainger said, “Very toffee, a bit further up the food chain than the G-downtown pub, eh, Eric?” Eric tightened his lips, his face reddened and he did not reply.

They were joined by the ship’s 2^nd Officer, Stuart Brown, in his white dress uniform, who explained that it was customary for the officers and staff to occasionally join the passenger tables and to escort some of the land tours. The two remaining table places had not yet been allocated, he explained, but could well be occupied by persons joining the ship later on the cruise. He grinned at Scott.

“I understand you pulled a shoulder muscle in your last Test match in England—pretty drastic for a fast bowler. I guess you chose this cruise to recuperate on your way home?”

“Got it in one,” Scott replied, “I expect to recuperate in the gym and will need some sports massage.”

“Excellent plan, and as you are travelling alone we’ll have to find some spare female members to make up the numbers. Won’t be hard—the ladies will be queuing up to meet a celebrity Test cricketer,” Officer Brown replied with a knowing wink.

Jenny Grainger was looking flushed and pretty in a pale green shift, emphasising her sun-tanned skin. Biddy was impressed by her jewelry, particularly the rings on her left hand; no bling, these were real.

“Stunning rings, Jenny.”

“Gee, glad you like them, Biddy.” Jenny glanced down at the set of four, extending her left hand across the table for Biddy’s closer attention. All the rings were set in gold. One was an arrangement of a large diamond, which must have been at least two carats, flanked by a pair of dark blue sapphires. Another was a set of three larger diamonds, and a third was comprised of rubies and diamonds, and finally there was a plain gold wedding band. The arrangement created a sparkling cross.

“I love the cross effect,” Biddy said admiringly.

“We had them made to my design from stones we bought separately. I always wear them in the same order to create the cross effect. A bit extravagant, but I insist that Eric also donates to charity, so I don’t feel guilty.”

Biddy noticed that Jennifer also wore a wide diamond bracelet on her left wrist which fitted tightly, almost concealing the ganglion.

The fellers had ordered the wine and it was time to concentrate on the delicious menu as the waiters were hovering to take their orders.

Scott looked curiously at Biddy and Justin. “Have we met before? I have this feeling that I recognise you both.” Although undoubtedly an Australian, Scott’s deep masculine voice seemed to have an English accent.

“No, Scott, we haven’t met, but we certainly feel as though we know you, having watched you play so often,” Biddy replied, and gesturing, continued, “Justin here is a cricket enthusiast, so we will have to make sure you sit well apart or we will have nothing discussed but fast bowling.”

“Thank you for the compliment—I think.” Scott smiled at Justin. “Always happy to discuss the game.” He nodded at the Graingers. “Jenny and Eric? Victorians, I believe?”

Eric nodded, “We are. Which part are you from, Scott?”

“Bordertown. S.A. My parents have a property there, run sheep and cattle, and we still have a stock agency and store founded by my grandfather in the actual town.”

Jenny started to say, “Eric was in the bank in …” but Eric cut in. “Jenny, we don’t want to bore everyone with our life story.” He patted her hand. “Maybe later.”

Jenny’s cheeks coloured.

Scott broke the conversational pause. “Biddy, you and Justin do both look very familiar.” Biddy started to shake her head.

“Oh, I know,” Scott continued, “Forgive me, how clumsy of me. I didn’t recognise you. Of course you are famous for your Auspertize fashions.”

Biddy laughed. “I’m pleased you didn’t recognise me, Scott. I always try to avoid this celebrity carry-on.”

Scott grimaced, “I fully understand. But hang on. Weren’t you involved in some murders? Your photos were in the paper a few years back—The Tusmore Park Murders.”

Biddy glanced at Justin. “Yes, we were embroiled in those homicides,” she replied.

Scott glanced at her wrists. “I read you were tied with fine wire which cut into your wrists and that you were tortured by a psychopath.”

Biddy held out her wrists. “Yes; the scars are fading but I’ll never get my broken finger straight.” She waggled the bent member of her left hand.

“How appalling it must have been for you both,” Scott said.

Eric Grainger seemed fascinated; he leaned toward Biddy, his hazel protuberant eyes reminding her of an interested frog. “Were you much involved with the police?” he asked.

Justin took up the story, polishing his spectacles as he spoke. “It all started off when I was taking our dogs for our usual morning walk in Tusmore Park, and I found the body of an elderly man who had been bludgeoned to death. The police were called and that was when we first met our friend, Detective Senior Sergeant Janine West. She interviewed me in my home, which is just across the road, overlooking the park.”

“It must have given you a real fright. And what about your dogs? I bet they put on a turn. What kind of dogs are they?” Jenny asked.

“The dogs certainly were very excited, to say the least. Puffer is a small Japanese Chin, but Biddy’s dog Snitchzel was larger, a standard Schnauzer. He was killed defending Biddy from the killer.” Justin said, glancing apologetically Biddy. He was well aware of her reluctance to think about the murders, particularly since the ordeal cost the life of not only her trusted four-legged friend, but a former work mate from nursing school.

The waiters arrived, carefully placing the napkins on each lap before serving hors d’ouevres.

“Perhaps we should enjoy our food now, Justin, and if anyone is interested you can pick up the story later with our coffee,” Biddy said, hoping that against all odds, nobody would pick up the story ever again.

“As long as we get the full story. It’s damned interesting,” Scott said.

“I agree. I can’t wait to hear the rest. Nothink exciting ever happens in G—in our home town.” Jenny quickly corrected herself after noticing her husband’s disapproving glare.

Dropping his polished spectacles on the chain around his neck, Justin said, “It’s a fairly long involved story, and I don’t want to bore you with it.”

Ignoring Biddy’s request to give the story a rest while they enjoyed their meal, Eric demanded, “Were there more murders? I guess you would have been very much involved with the police?”

Justin blotted his mouth with his napkin. “This inquisition is exasperating Eric, especially as it is upsetting for Biddy. However as so many versions have been in the newspapers we may as well tell the true full story and be done with it.”

“Now, Justin, the other police were courteous and considerate most of the time,” Biddy interrupted.

Glancing around the table, Justin continued, “At least the police finally rescued Biddy, but not until after the psycho had locked her up, drugged her, deliberately broken her little finger and killed her dog. Actually, Biddy finally managed to save herself.”

Biddy put her fork down, determined to put an end to the storytelling. “In the end we became great friends with Detective Senior Sergeant Janine West, the one who was the Late Calvary—arriving just in time to save me. And that’s it. No more to tell.”

Jenny’s green eyes were wide. “It’s hard to believe it happened in what I suppose is a toffee suburb. How come there were four murders? We country folk lead dull lives, but perhaps we will make up for it on this trip.”

Biddy felt a chill of apprehension. She didn’t wish that kind of excitement on anybody. Jenny seemed vulnerable. Dark bruises high up on the inside of her arm looked like a set of finger marks. Eric was looking sternly at her.

“Please, Biddy,” Jenny continued, “do tell us more about this. I can’t believe you came face to face with a real murderer. What an adventure!”

“Let’s hope your adventures are not too physical, Jenny,” Biddy murmured. She gazed around at the intent faces.

Scott was obviously intrigued, and Eric, Stuart, and Jenny were looking at her expectantly.

She knew there was no use. She had to tell the full story. “It turned out that another resident, who had a large renovation under way at the edge of the park, was a psycho who wished to be rid of her husband before he initiated divorce proceedings. Her plan was to establish a pattern of serial murders of the elderly. From the second storey of her house overlooking the park, she was able to observe the movements of the park habituates. She didn’t care whom she murdered, as long as they were elderly and an easy mark.”

“A big woman, the murderer?” Jenny queried.

“Actually no, she was quite small, but she regularly worked out in the gym and could lift quite astonishing weights. Her tiny stature was one of the reasons she got away with it for so long. Even after her husband was killed, the police were doubtful that she could have managed the homicides.”

Scott leaned sideways as a waiter served him Oysters Kilpatrick. “How did this petite woman manage to kill her victims, Biddy?”

“The first one, a really old man, was attacked from behind while sitting on a bench. He suffered massive trauma to the head.” Biddy shuddered at the memory. “The weapon was a short steel pipe. The second weapon was a heavy flat rock with which the murderer bashed an elderly blind woman, also from behind—very cowardly murders. Her husband she tricked into checking on intruders in the park at night. She had set up a trip wire, and as he fell, she pounded him with a builder’s mallet, then removed the…”

“How did … ?” Eric interrupted.

Biddy held up her hand. “Enough of murder and mayhem. I’ll be spoiling everyone’s appetite. Perhaps Justin can fill in the details for you later.”

“That’s all very well, Biddy, but don’t forget you’ve started your book, Murder in Tusmore Park. We can’t give away too many details,” Justin replied, aware that Biddy really didn’t enjoy reliving the experience over and over again.

At his insistence, Biddy had written down the story, in part hoping she’d be able to come to terms with the harrowing experience by looking at it as material for a suspenseful book.

“Fair enough, Justin.” Scott smiled at Biddy, “I wish you well with the book, Biddy.” Glancing down the table at Eric, he said, “These oysters are great. How is the soup, Eric?”

“Delicious. I really used to pig out on oysters, couldn’t get enough of them until recently when I had one that was off. Was I ill! Really taught me a lesson. I’ll never touch them again.” He grimaced.

Jenny, looking exasperated, glanced around the table, “I’m glad you waited until everyone had finished theirs, Eric,” she said, before turning to Biddy.

“Your skin is really glowing, Biddy. No problems with the facial booking then?”

“Thank you. The booking was fine and the facial was really relaxing. A good spa.”

Scott looked interested. “Biddy, to get to the gym, one enters through the spa reception, right? I’ve noticed this stunning girl who works there.”

Biddy raised her eyebrows in query.

“She’s quite tall, lovely golden-olive skin; black hair pulled back, great figure and unusual light bronze eyes, like a tiger.”

Biddy nodded, “I think I know the one you mean. Her name is Rukan. She’s a qualified aesthetician among other things—a pleasant girl, interested in Australia, rather shy. We’ll probably be at the gym each morning on sea days around eleven, so if we run into you one morning, I’ll introduce you. But Scott, don’t forget the non-fraternising rules.”

“No one has told me about the rules. I’m determined to meet her,” he replied.

Biddy felt strangely protective of Rukan. She gave Scott a closer inspection. She liked his attractive deep voice, genuine hearty laugh, and mature good manners. He certainly didn’t flaunt his celebrity status, and was quite good looking in a rugged kind of way. She wondered if a cricket ball had broken his nose.

“Okay, as long as you don’t get Rukan into trouble,” Biddy replied.

The meal over, Biddy sipped her coffee, gazing around the large room at probably four hundred diners, most of whom were Australian, although there were certainly many other nationalities represented on board. Some dinner guests were attired in national dress, chatting animatedly in interesting languages and accents, creating a cosmopolitan atmosphere, with waiters bustling about. A harassed-looking woman was pushing a grouchy-looking man, presumably her husband, in a wheelchair. She threw Biddy a tired, tentative smile as they passed on their way out of the dining room. Biddy felt a surge of happiness. How wonderful it was to enjoy all this luxury and good conversation. She smiled affectionately at Justin, admiring the way his shiny silver hair curled around behind his ears. She was looking forward to their first night at sea, in their comfortable balcony stateroom with breakfast served in bed. No likely homicides on this trip. They could really relax.

CHAPTER FOUR

On day two at sea they decided to have a Continental breakfast in their cabin, after which they would visit the gym. Biddy and Justin planned to do this on most sea days.

While watching the in-house TV, and eating breakfast in bed, Biddy felt quite exhausted just contemplating the participation in the many activities offered for both day and night. Apart from a variety of lectures, ping pong, needlepoint, carpet bowls, there was bridge for beginner and advanced, photography, ballroom, movies, choice of swimming pools, aerobics, chocolate making, acrylic painting, computer training, golf lessons on a simulator, the library, the gym, sauna, the casino and eight evening shows to choose from.

Their stateroom A405 on deck eleven was amidships, and the long walk to reach the gym was an excellent warm up. Biddy found the corridor seemed much longer on the return the first morning and had to hide a giggle when a plump matron passing them nodded and said, “Good Moron.”

Biddy glanced at Justin. “Insulting, complimentary, or Swedish?”

“She did say it with a smile.” Justin grinned.

Their steward, Tomasito, was most obliging, happy to fit in servicing the cabin with their gym routine. Their private balcony appeared to be a welcoming sunny spot for Biddy to enjoy a good read or indulge her passion for fashion sketching. One of the Australian fashion designers who had successfully established herself both in Australia and overseas utilising easy-living, hard-wearing Australian fabric, like Snowy Mountain Fleece, Biddy had won many awards and accolades. By nature rather retiring as far as celebrity was concerned, Biddy was happy to be semi-retired and avoided the spotlight. The quiet Tusmore community where she now lived respected her right to privacy. However, she still enjoyed creating classic casual leisure wear for her two remaining fashion outlets in Hong Kong and Singapore, and as Justin had decided to join the bridge club, which was active after lunch on sea days, she had plenty of free time.

The daily Pacific Queen Royale newspaper gave a weather forecast, and a repeat of the myriad activities available. In addition Suzette, the glamorous blonde Entertainment Director, conducted a television program each morning advertising the day’s special programs, the variety and time of live evening shows, and discussed the next port of call with available shore excursions. Suzette advised that if visiting a small port, tenders were used to transport passengers, as the ship was too large for the port facilities. The tenders were actually comfortable, flat-roofed life boats and the practice had the added advantage of passengers becoming confident in their use, accustomed to orderly loading in case of an emergency.

Suzette reminded passengers of the ship’s strict security rule that one must never carry anything on board for anyone else as it was an indictable offence. She also advised to book the offered excursions well in advance, and Biddy was glad she had booked ahead for the first port of call, Victoria, in Canada, on the third day of the cruise. She had chosen a four-hour excursion to the famed Butchart & Butterfly Gardens.

Overwhelmed with all the information, they lunched in the huge cafeteria on that second day. The buffet offered an extensive choice of finger food, hot and cold main courses, and rich desserts. After they had secured a free table, Justin came wandering back with an overloaded plate which he consumed with gusto and then, to Biddy’s concern, went off again arriving back with a rich assortment of desserts. Biddy repressed a sigh.

“Just as well there is a gym. You’ll be the size of a house if you eat lunch like that every day, Justin.”

After lunch they decided to explore the ship’s various levels, and Biddy was happy to find a laundromat on their deck not too far away from their cabin. She had been hearing ship’s gossip of dire laundry skirmishes due to the shortage of laundry facilities. A lover of fine fabric, and knowing how well the top brands stand up to washing, Biddy decided she preferred to do most of their own washing—knowing that care when drying made a lot of difference to the fit and presentation of garments—and just utilise the ship’s laundry for special items like Justin’s stiff dinner shirt.

She was relieved to find that as dinner suits were only required every couple of weeks for special Captain’s Dinners, she wouldn’t have to put up with too much complaint from Justin about having to wear a bow tie and stiff shirt.

The pool area was very popular during warm sea days, with guests utilising the sun-lounges, reading and sun-baking, the unobtrusive beat of the engines quite soporific.