Murder at Brighton Beach

by Lee Strauss

  “Quite,” Attwood said. “One of those chaps must have had a hand in it.”

  “Quentin, Davenport-Witt, or Findley?”

  “Exactly,” Attwood said.

  Basil put his empty mug on Attwood’s desk and stood. “You’ve been terribly helpful, Detective Inspector. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. Any time, sir.”

  16

  How serendipitous that Ginger and Felicia’s taxicab would pull up to the front of the hotel at the very same moment Basil had returned. When he saw them, he opened Ginger’s door and held up a black umbrella.

  “Thank you, love,” Ginger said. “Ghastly turn in the weather.”

  Holding her umbrella over her head, Felicia exited the taxicab and hurried into the hotel without so much as a “how do you do”.

  Heading to the hotel entrance, Ginger held Boss under one arm and grasped Basil’s arm with the other. “Speaking of a ghastly turn in the weather, Felicia’s got her bonnet in a blizzard.”

  “Did something happen at the train station?”

  The porter held the door open before Ginger could answer. “Good afternoon, Chief Inspector, Mrs. Reed.”

  “Thank you,” Ginger said.

  Basil collapsed the umbrella and gave it to Mr. Cooper, who placed it into the brass umbrella holder.

  The lobby was unusually quiet, and a glance into the lounge as they walked by showed an empty room.

  “Where is everyone?” Ginger asked.

  “The storm has frightened most of the guests away,” Basil said. “Our suspects, of course, must remain, but it may just be us on the second floor tonight.”

  “How eerie.”

  “It’s just a storm. So why is Felicia up in arms?”

  They stepped into the lift, and the attendant, already knowing their floor number, pushed the knob engraved with the number two.

  “We had a rather unpleasant encounter with Miss K—” Ginger cast a glance at the attendant who astutely looked straight ahead with a blank expression on his face, “—with a certain lady at a dress shop. The lady and our miss appear to be interested in the same gentleman.”

  “Oh,” Basil said.

  Ginger would give him more details once they were in their room. She smiled at the attendant. “Mr. Weaver, how long have you worked as a lift operator at this hotel?”

  “Seven years, madam, since it opened..”

  “You were then witness to the affairs that occurred around Mr. Austin Bainbridge’s disappearance?”

  “I was, indeed, madam.”

  Ginger looked at Basil, who nodded, willing her to go ahead with her questioning.

  “Did you notice anything untoward leading up to the sad event?” she continued. “Anything unusual or out of the ordinary?”

  The bell rang, indicating the lift cage had arrived at their floor.

  “I make it a point not to notice things, madam.”

  The grate of the outer door opened, and Basil stretched out a hand as if he were keeping it so. Mr. Weaver shifted, his white-gloved hand poised over the down button.

  Ginger smiled. “I’m sure you do, Mr. Weaver, and it’s a very commendable quality for one in your position. However, you are only human.”

  Basil added, “If you can help us with a murder investigation, you must do so.”

  Mr. Weaver’s jaw tightened. “I can’t really say. It would be wrong for me to shed an ill light on one of my own.”

  Ginger blinked. One of his own? “Do you mean to say a member of staff acted out of order?”

  “I saw Cooper with the trunk you were asking about—the one belonging to the actress. He came out of the stairwell on the ground floor with it hoisted over one shoulder. It was so large and awkward that it covered his face, and he didn’t see me coming out of the staff loo.”

  “Where did he go with it?”

  “I don’t know. Out the back, I would think. At the time, I presumed he was on an errand for Miss Kerslake. Our guests often ask personal favours from the staff.”

  Things are looking dire for Miss Kerslake, Ginger thought. “Thank you, Mr. Weaver.” Ginger removed a sixpence from her purse and slipped it into the attendant’s hand. “You’ve been most helpful.”

  Once they entered their suite, a sense of fatigue overwhelmed Ginger. “I miss the days when my energy seemed endless.” She flopped into an armchair and pushed off her shoes, one at a time. Boss had the same idea and curled up on her lap.

  “I’ll ring for tea,” Basil said. “It’s lunchtime, as well. The chicken is good.”

  “Sounds delightful.”

  Ginger relaxed one hand on the armrest, allowing her fingers to dangle over the side. With the other, she patted Boss on the head. He nudged his wet nose under her hand and let out a soft whine.

  “I know, Bossy,” Ginger said, scrubbing her pet’s ears. “I miss Scout too. We shan’t be here long, I hope.”

  As they waited for room service to arrive, Basil brought Ginger a glass of water then settled into a matching chair.

  “What do we know, or think we know, so far?” Ginger asked.

  “Our first clue is the trunk the body was found in, belonging to Poppy Kerslake.”

  Ginger agreed. “Lord Davenport-Witt recognised it.”

  Basil crossed his legs and inclined his head. “Because he put Austin inside and helped Miss Kerslake carry it?”

  “She needed someone’s help,” Ginger said. “But why would Lord Davenport-Witt immediately admit to his knowledge of it? It would be more natural for a guilty person to remain silent.”

  “Unless he knew an investigation would be initiated and possibly come around to him?”

  “A defensive manoeuvre?”

  “Davenport-Witt is a chess man. He knows how to think several moves ahead.”

  Ginger recalled the chess game the earl had apparently been playing in the lounge when they’d first questioned him.

  “I admit there’s something about the earl that unsettles me,” Ginger said. “And it’s not because Felicia is smitten. I’d be happy for her to find a proper husband, and normally, an earl with enough intelligence to win at chess would be a fine candidate.”

  “What is it that bothers you?”

  “I can’t really say, and that troubles me more. I get the feeling we’ve met, yet, I can’t recall where, and you heard him deny it.”

  “Perhaps he has a doppelgänger.”

  Ginger conceded that must be the case, and quite likely, she’d met that doppelgänger in France.

  A knock on the door presented a maid with a trolley containing their lunch and tea. Basil tipped the woman, then pushed the trolley towards Ginger. “Don’t get up, love,” he said.

  With adoration flooding her heart, Ginger watched Basil prepare her tea the way she liked it then fill a plate with a portion of chicken and spring salad.

  “You’re too good to me!” she gushed as she accepted her cup.

  “Nothing is too good for my wife and the mother of my child. I worry, Ginger, that you do too much.”

  “What am I doing? Going to the beach or the shops with Felicia?”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “This case? Asking questions is hardly taxing, darling.”

  They ate in silence for a bit, and though Ginger had moved Boss to the floor, she sneaked him a piece of chicken, and he licked her fingers in appreciation.

  Basil raised a brow but wisely kept his comments to himself. Instead, he said, “Speaking of Felicia; please expand on your adventure with Miss Kerslake.”

  Ginger snorted then covered her mouth with her fingers. “Erm, it began with them both wanting the same frock and ended with them wanting the same man.”

  “Davenport-Witt.”

  “Yes, and Miss Kerslake took a singular delight in robbing Felicia of any hope of either item.”

  “Poppy Kerslake has motive,” Basil said. “According to Attwood, the acting profession doesn’t make her the kind of money she needs to live the li
festyle she likes to portray. If Austin Bainbridge was tiring of her, perhaps she changed her sights to Davenport-Witt. Certainly, the porter’s observations suggest such a thing.”

  “But surely, she didn’t need to kill him to do that.”

  “I agree—it’s where the theory breaks down. Unless he scorned her in some fashion, and she lashed out in a moment of passion.”

  “Do we know cause of death?” Ginger asked.

  Basil shook his head. “Not yet.”

  “By the state of the body,” Ginger said, “the autopsy is probably a challenge.”

  “Indeed,” Basil replied. “However, let’s not get over-focused on Poppy Kerslake. There are other suspects with greater motives and means. Austin’s propensity to make poor financial decisions drained the family finances, and according to Attwood, Mrs. Merrick witnessed a serious row between the brothers.”

  “But why would Quentin suggest that he saw his brother leave for an apparent swim, but not dressed for swimming? It unravels the presumption of accidental death.”

  “Except that we now know it wasn’t accidental.”

  “True, but it’s still the offering up of unnecessary details if one were guilty.” Ginger refilled the teacups with tea. “Poppy Kerslake reported that she saw Austin and Mr. Findley arguing.”

  “Attwood confirmed that Austin wanted to invest in a diamond mine in South Africa, possibly with the funds he’d promised to Findley.”

  “Did Quentin know about that?” Ginger asked.

  “Apparently.”

  “Motive, again.”

  “Indeed.”

  Ginger placed her empty plate on the side table then patted her thigh, calling Boss to jump up once again. “And now we have Mr. Weaver reporting that Mr. Cooper made off with Miss Kerslake’s trunk.” Boss curled on her lap and closed his eyes. “How on earth is the porter involved?”

  “I’m afraid we have a lot of investigating yet to do, Lady Gold.” Basil’s hazel eyes twinkled at the use of Ginger’s professional name.

  Ginger started back from under her eyelashes. “The game’s afoot.”

  17

  The storm was a deterrent to dining out so when Ginger, Basil, and Felicia entered the hotel restaurant, they found that all their suspects had made the same decision. Letting out a bout of laughter, Lord Davenport-Witt seemingly enjoyed the company of Miss Kerslake and Mr. Findley as the three sat together at a nearby table.

  Clearly not sharing the humour, Mr. Findley’s lips pulled into a tense half-grin, but Miss Kerslake was all smiles and giggles. Her elegant black evening dress had a wide band of sequins on the scooped neckline which sparkled in the candlelight. Felicia squirmed and whispered in Ginger’s ear. “See, she’s not even wearing the frock she bought to spite me.”

  The Bainbridge family, all three with dour expressions on their faces, occupied a table on the other side of the room, which was uncharacteristically empty for this time of year.

  Ginger made sure to smile politely and nod at patrons as Basil chose a table for them, strategically in the middle where one could watch and possibly listen in on one’s neighbours.

  The earl and his companion captivated Felicia’s focus, and Ginger had to nudge her gently. “Don’t stare, darling, it’s rude and unbecoming.”

  Felicia huffed, picked up the menu, and mumbled into its spine. “I don’t understand what he sees in her.”

  “Well,” Ginger stared with a note of teasing in her voice, “she is beautiful and charming with a certain amount of talent.”

  Felicia glared but wisely said nothing in response.

  A waiter approached, asking for their drinks order, which they gave. Ginger was inclined to drink soda water, her stomach rejecting all her usual choices of beverage. Brandy and wine made her feel particularly bilious. Her friend Matilda, the wife of her good friend Reverend Oliver Hill, was a former medical student who volunteered on occasion as a midwife. She had reassured Ginger that odd cravings and unusual dislikes in foods usually enjoyed were normal for ladies in Ginger’s condition.

  Their drinks arrived, and their dinner orders were taken.

  “Is it me,” Basil said, “or do Mr. and Mrs. Bainbridge appear particularly taken with the other table? And not happily, I’d say.”

  “I’ve noticed the same thing,” Ginger said. “There’s no love lost between Adeline Bainbridge and Poppy Kerslake. If you recall my mentioning after we arrived, Felicia and I spotted Adeline fleeing the hotel in tears when Poppy descended the stairs.”

  Felicia supported Ginger’s statement with a tight nod.

  The food arrived, and when they had finished eating, Ginger reached over and placed a gloved hand on Basil’s arm. “Perhaps we should say a proper hello.”

  “Divide and conquer?” He tugged on his waistcoat. “I’ll visit the Bainbridges’ table.”

  Ginger rose and smoothed out her lemon satin Schiaparelli gown.

  Felicia pushed away from the table. “I’m coming with you.” The amethyst gems of her headband sparkled in the light of the electric chandeliers. “Surely, you can’t expect me to remain seated here on my own?” Her thin eyebrows arched high, and her cherry-red lips bowed. A crimson circle of rouge tinted her otherwise pale cheeks, and Ginger thought Felicia looked stunning, and certainly, where the earl was concerned, could give Poppy Kerslake a run for her money.

  “You’re welcome to join me,” Ginger said.

  Where Poppy stared at Ginger and Felicia with a stabbing glare, Lord Davenport-Witt’s handsome face lit up with pleasure. Lionel Findley, on the other hand, looked bored and even checked his watch for the time.

  “Good evening, Mrs. Reed, Miss Gold,” Lord Davenport-Witt said. “So nice of you to join us.” He lit a cigarette and placed a shiny silver lighter on the tablecloth beside the ashtray.

  “We’ve only come to say hello,” Ginger said.

  Poppy tilted her head and huffed. “You mean you’ve come to interrogate us some more. Why are you wasting your time with us? We all loved Austin. The real killer isn’t in this room.”

  “You seem awfully sure of that,” Felicia said.

  Ginger gave Felicia a sideways glance, then added, “I’m sure you’re right, Miss Kerslake. The police are doing everything they can to find out who harmed Mr. Austin Bainbridge.”

  Poppy smirked. “Yeah, but are they any good?”

  “They’re investing all their best resources in the case,” Ginger said lightly. “Which reminds me, do any of you know about a diamond mine in South Africa that was of interest to Mr. Bainbridge? I’ve heard he meant to invest.”

  Lionel Findley choked on his drink. “How did you find out about that? An actual transaction never even took place.”

  Ginger smiled but let her gaze slip to Poppy. “The police have their ways.”

  The tension at the Bainbridges’ table notched up as Basil strolled towards them. “Good evening,” he said with a nod of his head. “How was the menu tonight?”

  “The food was acceptable,” Quentin said. “It wasn’t like we had a lot of choice with the nasty weather brewing outside. I imagine you like to keep tabs on our lot anyway.”

  Basil’s cheek tugged up on one side. The weather had been an inconvenience when he was merely a holidaymaker, but now, as a detective, it was working in his favour.

  “I’m sure we’d all like to get to the bottom of your brother’s case as soon as possible.”

  Adeline Bainbridge worked the cloth napkin between her fingers as her eyes remained cast downward. Little Reggie kicked his legs and was in the process of sliding under the table.

  “And how’s it coming along?” Quentin said, then to his son he snapped, “Reggie! Sit up and sit still!”

  Reggie whimpered and pulled himself back onto his chair. “Can we go now? I’m bored.”

  Basil held in a breath of impatience. “Mrs. Bainbridge, I would very much like to speak to you at your convenience. Perhaps I could call on you in your suite in an hour?”

&nb
sp; “That won’t do,” Quentin said. “My wife is in a delicate condition and needs to sleep.”

  Basil would ask what he wanted to know here and now if it weren’t for the boy. “Very well, tomorrow morning, then?”

  Adeline Bainbridge offered a sharp nod of assent then pushed away from the table. “I’m dreadfully fatigued, and my little boy is restless.” She turned to her husband. “You don’t mind if leave you to finish things here?”

  “Go on,” Quentin said. “I’ll be up shortly.”

  With Adeline and Reggie gone, Basil pulled up an empty chair. “Why don’t you want me to question your wife, Mr. Bainbridge?”

  “I told you, she’s in a delicate condition.”

  “Ah, but you see, my wife is as well—not so far along that one can notice—yet as you can see, she’s perfectly capable of everyday social interaction.” The men’s gazes moved across the room to where Ginger interacted with the other table. Her poise and grace were evident, and Basil felt a swelling sense of pride. He’d never stop thanking heaven that Ginger had agreed to be his wife.

  “I’m afraid my wife is more fragile than most,” Quentin said stiffly.

  “It can’t be avoided forever. I will speak to her, and I will get the truth from her, even if it has to be under oath in court.”

  It was a threat Basil hoped he wouldn’t have to go through with. He was pleased to see Quentin blanch at the suggestion.

  “What is your wife afraid of, Mr. Bainbridge?”

  Quentin lifted a glass with a finger width of amber liquid remaining in it and slugged it back. After a hot breath, he said, “I got involved with another woman.”

  Basil kept his expression blank. Quentin’s admission was hardly unique. His eyes darted to the earl’s table, and Basil understood the source of Adeline’s distress.

  “Miss Kerslake,” he stated.

  “Yes. I had a flirtation with another woman, but Adeline can’t see past it.”

  “When did this indiscretion happen?”

  “Friday, shortly after we arrived. Austin’s disappearance was yet to be taken seriously, and I thought her affections had turned from Austin to me.”