by C. A. Larmer
Murder on the Orient (SS)
The Agatha Christie Book Club 2
By
C.A. Larmer
Copyright © 2016 Larmer Media
www.christinalarmer.com
Discover more by C.A. Larmer:
calarmerspits.blogspot.com.au
The Agatha Christie Book Club
Killer Twist
A Plot to Die For
Last Writes
Dying Words
Words Can Kill
A Note Before Dying
An Island Lost
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License Notes
This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only and may not be resold or given away to other people. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this e-book, or portions thereof, in any form without written permission except for the use of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Published by Larmer Media, Jarretts Road, Goonengerry,
NSW 2482, Australia
E-book ISBN: 978-0-9942608-3-3
Cover design by Larmer Media
Edited by The Editing Pen
& Elaine Rivers (with heartfelt thanks)
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Table of Contents
A Note From The Author
Prologue
Part 1—The Facts
Part 2—The Evidence
Part 3—The Book Club Sits Back and Thinks
Bibliography
Connect Online
About The Author
Read More By The Author
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A Note From the Author
When I started conjuring up the second adventure for the Agatha Christie Book Club I wanted to take them on an exotic journey à la the infamous Orient Express, one of my favourite Poirot settings, and began looking around for ideas.
Boy, did I get lucky!
In the early 1900s, there really was a classic steamship called the SS Orient that sailed between London and Sydney, via the Suez Canal and The Cape. According to my research, it was a gleaming ship, full of glamorous characters and several rather dubious deaths, and proved a perfect fit for my book club friends. While I have changed some details, including the original itinerary, for the sake of this contemporary plot, much of the information about the ship is authentic and can be found in the bibliography.
Sadly, however, the SS Orient has not been recommissioned nor is there a real-life replica floating about as I have imagined here, but an author can dream can’t she?
And a book club can jump aboard for the ride…
Bon voyage!
Prologue
As the woman bobbed about in the dark, cruel sea, the wake from the ship no longer slapping her this way and that, her voice now limited to occasional spluttering sobs because she had given up screaming long ago, her thoughts did not turn to great white sharks or hypothermia or bleeding out. Instead, she thought how extraordinary it was that this should be her destiny.
Her of all people.
She had always known that infamy would find her. She just hadn’t expected it to happen quite like this. Was she really to disappear in this vast expanse of ocean? Was this how she was to be remembered, a silly little girl who simply dropped off the side of a boat?
She squeezed her eyes tight against a splash of spray and was rewarded with a mouthful of bitterly salty water, spluttering and clawing as another wave hauled her up and over, slamming her back down like a limp ragdoll.
Who knew there were waves this far out? Who knew there were so many extraordinary seabirds, an enormous wandering albatross now dipping down to inspect the floating bounty before circling overhead? She could see the fine black lines on its white underbelly, its bloody yellow bill and cold, flat eyes. Like tiny black buttons watching, waiting. Biding its time.
There was no mercy out here, no pleading for forgiveness. Nature was her judge and jury, her inevitable executioner.
The woman’s final thought as she surrendered to her destiny was of the captain and her lover, and how nothing had worked out at all as she had planned.
Part 1—The Facts
Chapter 1
It was three o’clock on a summer’s afternoon in Sydney. Alongside the port at Darling Harbour stood the replica steamship nostalgically titled the SS Orient after the grand dame that once sailed between London and the colonies. It consisted of four passenger decks, two shiny black funnels and four towering masts (now just for show).
“It’s just as I imagined it!” gushed Claire Hargreaves, clapping her white-gloved hands with delight.
“It’s just like the original,” added Missy Corner, glancing down at the crumpled printouts in her own hands, which were bare and sporting chipped purple nail polish.
“It’s a few decks short of the Queen Mary,” was all Perry Gordon had to offer.
Five members of the Agatha Christie Book Club were all standing, gaping up at the ship before them, while a steady stream of passengers, crew members, onlookers and the press scurried about, some checking in at the makeshift customs’ desk, others kissing loved ones good-bye, envy flattening out the latter’s smiles, while others stopped for photos or memorabilia before rejoining the voyage for its final leg to Auckland. An ambulance wailed ominously nearby, but no one seemed to notice. There was too much frisson in the air.
Alicia Finlay was also bubbling with excitement. Despite being the founding member of the book club, it wasn’t really her travel companions who lifted her spirits today but the thought of four romantic days—and even more romantic nights—on the high seas with Dr Anders Bright, also a member of the book club, also her dashing boyfriend, currently missing in action.
Alicia arched her neck. Now where oh where could he be?
Scanning the crowd, all she could see were hundreds of mostly nautically dressed passengers, most of them women, most over the age of sixty. Alicia’s sister, Lynette, just twenty-seven and freshly single, had clocked that too and was frowning through her chunky blond fringe.
“It’s just as well there’s no casino or nightclub on board,” she quipped. “Wouldn’t want to set off all the pacemakers.”
“Oh don’t be so grumpy, possum!” Missy said, eyes sparkling behind zebra-print spectacles. “This is going to be fun! Come on, let’s check in.”
The young librarian then pushed past them towards one of the customs’ desks, her ticket held aloft like it was the key to a magical kingdom.
And magic was just what the good doctor had promised.
It was Anders who had first suggested the cruise while sipping a glass of Pimm’s and lemonade at one of the book club’s fortnightly get-togethers. They had just finished dissecting Death in the Clouds, and all agreed it paled in comparison to Christie’s more iconic travel mysteries Death on the Nile and Murder on the Orient Express.
“I’d kill to go on a luxurious train journey like that,” sighed Claire, whose attire that day would not have been out of place on such a trip—her mid-length dress with its fluttery butterfly sleeves and her small angled hat harking back to the 1930s.
“Why don’t you then?” suggested Perry.
“What, kill? Or go on the Orient Express?” They swapped smirks. “I wish, Mr Gordon. I’d have to sell a shipload of vintage frocks at my little shop to afford the ticket. No, I’m afraid Central Station to Town H
all is as glamorous as it gets for me this year.”
“Yes, feels too out of reach for me too,” said Alicia, whose traditional magazine work was shrinking under the weight of the digital media world.
That’s when Anders reached into his jacket pocket and produced the glossy brochure. “I wasn’t sure whether to mention this, but now that you’re all going on about it, it sounds as though it might be just what you need.” He flung the brochure onto the coffee table as their eyes swept upon it. “It’s not quite the Orient Express, I’m afraid, and it floats rather than flies across the tracks, but it’s slightly more affordable and it’s docking in Sydney soon.”
“What are you on about, Doc?” asked Lynette while Claire snatched up the brochure and began flicking through.
It was advertising a luxury cruise on a “true-blue replica steamship” and promised to take passengers “on a journey back in time to the halcyon days of the early 1900s when the SS Orient sailed the high seas between London and Sydney via The Cape”.
Anders turned to Alicia, an apologetic smile on his lips. “I’ve been meaning to tell you, I got a call last night. Have been asked to step in as a replacement doctor on that ship, just for twelve days until the original doctor… returns. All very last minute. I have to fly out tomorrow to Fremantle where I’ll join the ship en route to Sydney.” He glanced around the group. “It docks in Sydney in eight days. Maybe you could all join the ship then, just for the four-day cruise across the Tasman to New Zealand, then get a flight back with me.”
“What would we do with Max?” Lynette asked, reaching down to stroke the silky smooth head of their beloved black Labrador whose eyes squeezed tight at her touch.
“I’m sure you’ll find someone to mind your mutt,” he said and was rewarded for that comment with a cushion to his head.
Perry, who had been reading over Claire’s shoulder, whistled at the price of the fares. “I thought you said it was ‘affordable’. Maybe it is on a doctor’s salary. That’s practically my annual income at the museum.”
Perry was a palaeontologist and a badly paid one at that.
“No, no, ignore those rates,” said Anders, storing the cushion safely behind his back. “I’m told there’s some really good deals going on the Sydney-to-Auckland leg. Apparently a few passengers are jumping ship here, and some berths have opened up. They’re flogging them cheap—a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. The ship’s come all the way from London, would you believe, on some marathon fifty-day voyage? It’s following the SS Orient’s original itinerary with a small detour to New Zealand. Auckland’s the last stop, and once they get there, they turn around and head all the way back to London.”
“London?” Alicia gulped.
“Well, obviously I’m not saying you should go all the way to London, and I’m not expecting to either. They’re hoping to replace me once they get to New Zealand, at least I think they are.” His eyes clouded over briefly before he blinked it away. “But if you guys did just one leg, just for those four days, well, it could be fun.”
It could be romantic, Alicia thought, her brain ticking over while Lynette narrowed her eyes suspiciously. Fun wasn’t usually something she associated with the good doctor even if her big sister did seem to be besotted by the guy.
“I don’t know. I’m not really the cruise ship type.”
Murmurs of consensus broke out around the group as terms like “floating shopping mall” and “germ factory” were bandied about. And normally Anders would agree. Cruising was not his style either, not one little bit, but a frantic phone call from an old colleague begging him to “help out” not only came with attractive remuneration, it promised to be an enormous challenge, one he secretly craved. He was feeling increasingly unsettled of late, and he suspected it had less to do with his surgery work and more to do with his broken marriage to childhood sweetheart Vanessa. His eyes flitted back to Alicia. He hadn’t told her the real story, and he wasn’t sure he would.
How much did she really need to know?
Missy didn’t need to study the brochure to be reeled in. The very name had her hooked. “The SS Orient, kiddoes! It’s a sign from Dame Christie herself!”
Perry rolled his eyes and crossed his legs, but Anders smiled.
“I knew you’d be up for it, Missy.” He turned to Alicia. “How about you? I think it’d be quite magical.”
Alicia tried to emulate Missy’s enthusiasm, but she was suddenly feeling put out. Why hadn’t Anders asked her alone? Why drag the rest of the book club in? It’s not that she didn’t enjoy their company—she loved this eclectic gang of crime buffs—but it wasn’t them she wanted to sip piña coladas with while watching the sunset from the Lido Lounge.
“Let’s do it!” said Claire in a rare display of spontaneity that eventually proved infectious. The vintage clothing-tragic had been studying the brochure carefully and fallen in love with the opulent English Renaissance interior design with its elaborate wood carving and shiny brass furnishings. She was already conjuring up her cruise wardrobe before the plan had been agreed with a gasp of excitement and a clink of highball glasses.
Chapter 2
The Indonesian cabin steward plonked Alicia’s luggage down on the stand, bowed his head meekly, and promptly left the cabin, not sensing the flutter of relief that followed his departure. Alicia hadn’t been sure whether she was expected to tip the staff each and every time they did so much as look in her direction, but the steward’s swift exit, sans a handful of cash, put her at ease.
She smiled. There was nothing she loathed more than tipping (well, maybe world hunger, but you get the drift). Alicia was pitiful at maths, and the whole process just left her feeling deeply uncomfortable. Still, she knew she had to tip eventually and made a mental reminder to leave him a lovely large bonus at the end.
The steward, Valeno, had already introduced himself and promised to be at her beck and call for the duration of the journey. Now that idea she liked. It felt indulgent and luxurious, just like this cabin, she realised, sweeping her eyes around the room. She yelped with delight. While tiny, the cabin was pure luxury and an exemplar of vintage Renaissance finery. It was as though she had been transported back to 1901.
Claire would be swooning.
Twin single beds featuring gold copper frames and fuchsia velvet bedspreads sat side by side with overhanging Victorian lampshades above and a marble-topped bedside cabinet in the middle. In front of that sat a miniature mahogany armchair atop a plush Persian carpet, and at the window matching fuchsia drapes had been drawn back with gold tassels. The room was partly panelled in warm walnut and partly covered in the most exquisite chintz wallpaper featuring willows beside a shimmering lake. Even the tiny en suite bathroom took you back in time with its black-and-white subway tiles and gold gilt mirror.
She glanced at her watch and made another sound, more a murmur of panic this time. Alicia had exactly ten minutes to unpack her gear and get her butt up to someplace called The Grand Salon for the requisite safety drill, and she really didn’t want to miss that. As was her habit, she had already envisaged every potential emergency scenario, from a giant tsunami crashing over the bow to a team of terrorists rising like slugs from the ocean below, and she was determined to be prepared.
The safety information panel on the back of her cabin door had already been memorised and the small stadium window inspected should she need to break free from a fire or an intoxicated lout (because weren’t drunks the primary menace on cruise ships today?).
Shuddering at the thought, she tried to refocus and glanced across at the other single bed. Where had Lynette got to? Despite her sister’s protestations, they were supposed to be sharing a cabin, and while her bags had been safely delivered, the younger Finlay was curiously absent.
She was probably still perched at the mosaic pool bar up on the main deck where they’d all gathered soon after they cast off to toast the journey, Alicia decided. They’d been handed miniature bottles of French champagne with a striped st
raw wedged inside and had spent a lovely first hour marvelling at the wonders of Sydney Harbour, the magnificent Harbour Bridge towering above them as the ship sailed under and away, out through Sydney Heads.
Not that Alicia had focused on any of that.
“Oh, you’re not going to be this boring on the whole cruise are you?” Lynette had groaned as they cleared the Heads.
“What?” she replied, batting her eyelashes.
Lynette held her Moet piccolo aloft. “Out there is one of the world’s most stunning views, a view people pay squillions to see, and all you can do is see what’s missing, aka Dr Anders.”
“Well?” She pouted. “Where is he?”
“Probably working, where he should be. Most likely administering seasickness pills or heart medication judging from this lot.”
“You know, for a woman who only ever dates older men, you’re extremely ageist.”
Lynette just shrugged and turned back to drink in the view between sips of her favourite tipple.
Alicia shook the thought away and returned to her suitcase. She had better get a move on if she was going to make the safety drill.
Soon after, with her gear taking more than its fair share of the wardrobe space and bathroom cabinet, Alicia pulled her battered copy of Murder on the Orient Express from her handbag, hugged it tight for just a moment, then placed it on her pillow, indicating to Lynette which bed she’d chosen, and to herself what she had to look forward to later that night. Her book club had already dissected the book some months ago, but it seemed a fitting companion on a ship called the Orient.
Then she glanced in the bathroom mirror, ran a hand through her shaggy blond bob, slapped on a little lipstick, grabbed the door key and dashed out.
