Rub-A-Dub-Dub by Robert L Fish

Author:Robert L Fish [Fish, Robert L]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2019-04-10T04:00:00+00:00

Mrs. Penelope Watkins, age forty-three, had been a stewardess aboard the S.S. Sunderland as long as Captain Manley-Norville had been its master, and in the course of the many years she had learned to be shocked by few things. Naughtiness, she had long since found, seemed to be a concomitant of shipboard travel; she was sure that had marriage certificates been required of passengers in lieu of visas, cruise trips would completely disappear. However, the story told her by the steward that a tiny, wrinkled old man smelling to high heaven of scent and talking some nonsense about the woman inside putting on her clothes to avoid catching cold immediately sent Mrs. Watkins to investigate. As mentioned before, it wasn’t that she was particularly worried about the morals involved; it was simply that she knew the Carpenters were never in their cabin at that hour and that therefore anyone seen coming from Stateroom B-67 could only be a sneak thief, although how the wrinkled little old man had gained entrance was a complete mystery to her. She knew the lock had been changed by a mechanic-type just a few moments before, and she knew she had one of the two master keys in that section.

She rang the small bell set in the door lintel, waited a proper time and then used the key itself to knock against the metal panel of the door. Experience had long since proven this to be a far more carrying—not to mention, irritating—sound. When there was no response, she felt her fears had been justified; she opened the door and peered within. Everything seemed to be in its proper place; she came further into the room and pulled aside the drapes concealing the porthole, examining the room in the greater light that poured in, reflected from the bright sea. The steward must have been drunk and imagining things, she thought, because not a thing had been touched. A few coins on the dresser were still there; even Mrs. Carpenter’s wristwatch was in plain sight on the end table beside the bed, and while it wasn’t diamond studded, what sneak thief would have overlooked it merely because it lacked brilliants? The steward, clearly, had been dreaming.

She pulled the drapes back in place and, from force of habit, smoothed the already wrinkle-free bedspread. The next task, also done from habit, was to check the bathroom for towel requirements. The light switch was on the outside; she flicked it on and pushed the door open, glancing at the towel rack. The full complement of drying equipment was present. The last possible lack was, of course, washcloths, and to investigate the status of these, she drew the shower curtain. And then she screamed and screamed and screamed and screamed and screamed.

Mrs. Carpenter—or rather, her nude body—was lying in a twisted position on the cold tile floor of the shower stall. She seemed to be wearing a bandeau of red about her ample bosom, but on closer inspection, Mrs. Watkins saw that it was merely the flow of blood from the many stab wounds in her chest.

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