On Mars It Rains Blood: Gemini Case Files

By T. A. Jenkins

A DEADLY DINNER ABOVE THE RED PLANET!

A high class meal on a luxury spaceship high above Mars?
What could go wrong?

Jack Gemini, Private Investigator, had (reluctantly) agreed to hob with the nobs, a favour to a friend. He'd expected cutting remarks and snobbery, but he hadn't expected murder!

BLOOD! DEATH! MURDER!

With half the guests dead, Jack races against time to unravel the truth before anyone else dies a horrible bloody death.

• Language: English
• Publisher: T. A. Jenkins
• Release date: May 1, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224485291

Book preview

On Mars it Rains Blood

a Gemini Case File

T. A. Jenkins

Other books by T. A. Jenkins

Short Stories

He had a thing for Virgins and other Stories

Gemini Case Files

the final case of JACK GEMINI

the cold case of JACK GEMINI

On Mars it Rains Blood

Copyright © 2023 T. A. Jenkins

All rights reserved.

ISBN: 9798852900029

Cover art by https://www.timsartpage.com/

On Mars it Rains Blood

a Gemini Case File

T. A. Jenkins

On Mars it Rains Blood,

a Gemini Case File

​We’d only just started the main course when someone screamed.

​It was Samira Khan, our host.

​Trixie, her current squeeze, she was known to have a different girl on her arm every other week, had faceplanted into her plate of pan seared halibut with dauphinoise potatoes and steamed asparagus.

​She’d been the first to die.

​At first, the rest of the guests, myself included, had thought she’d just had too much to drink.  After all, her and Ms Khan had arrived at the table late, tipsy and dishevelled after whatever activities had kept them occupied in their cabin for so long.

​But no, it hadn’t been the drink.  Or whatever drugs they’d clearly been taking.

​Blood had crept along the expensive and ornate tablecloth, painting the embossed gold red, and another guest had cried out.  Devon Gibbs, the vacuous shopping channel host, had stuttered and mewled in horror, staring at the blood on his hands, his blood, blood running from his eyes and nose.  He’d tried to stand.  His chair had scraped the floor.  He’d stumbled.  Fell.

​Half the guests, and our celebrity chef, were dead within minutes.

​I took a long drag of my cigarette and exhaled a cloud of smoke across the glass of the dining room window.  It obscured Mars.

​We’d lost our pilot too.  She’d been one of the least dramatic deaths; she’d just silently slumped back in her chair, although the blood had been just as torrential, and her body had gone limp.  She may have even been the last to die; her death had only become apparent once the living guests had stopped screaming and the reality of what’d happened began to sink in.  Her husband had become almost catatonic and had needed to be taken to the medical bay by