Murder Aboard the Flying Scotsman

by Lee Strauss

  It wasn’t a policeman who entered the shed. An older lady was dressed in a common day frock that hung from her bosom to her ankles, rubber boots on her feet, and a shovel in her hand.

  “Mrs. Griffiths?” Ginger said, unable to conceal her surprise. And yet, somehow Ginger wasn’t surprised at all. The pieces started falling together.

  “Hello, Mrs. Reed,” the woman said. The oil lighting threw ominous shadows onto the walls, and Mrs. Griffiths’ face took on the appearance of a ghoul. A smell of nervous sweat emanated from her.

  Ginger caught sight of a red sticky substance on the edge of the shovel. Mud and blood. Her heart sank. “Did you kill the police officer?” That would explain why no one from the police station had shown up.

  “That witless fellow who professes to keep the law around here? No, I don’t think he’s dead. He’ll have a heck of a headache when he comes to, I’d wager.”

  “What are you doing here?” Ginger asked again. Her eyes darted to Basil, her gaze landing briefly on his chest until she saw it rise, and then back to the woman before her. She took a small step back, careful to be out of the shovel’s reach.

  Mrs. Griffiths didn’t seem at all upset or shocked by the gruesome scene set before them.

  “I live next door. I heard your dog bark. My son doesn’t have a dog.”

  Ginger’s gun had remained trained on Agar. “Of course. Your son. You’re the elder Edward Agar’s daughter.”

  “Yes, I am. I think it’s time we were properly introduced. I’m Kay Agar. Like my mother before me, I’ve lived a life of ill repute. This is my illegitimate son.”

  “You got your son to kill Oscar Wright?” Ginger shook her head. “Or rather, Simon Fowler.”

  KayAgar chuckled. “See Edward? Why couldn’t you be as clever as this one?”

  Edward Agar slumped, and Ginger was relieved to see the axe hanging loosely in his hand, the head dragging on the wooden slats of the floor. Ginger let her pistol relax in kind.

  “Why?” Ginger pressed. “Revenge?”

  “Justice!” Kay spat. “My father was sent to Australia—albeit on another charge—and I never saw him again. But he would’ve come back, you know, if they hadn’t cast all the blame on him. He wasn’t here to defend himself. Do you know what it’s like to grow up without a father, Mrs. Reed?”

  Ginger had been blessed with a marvellous father, but she’d missed out on a mother.

  “I know what it’s like to grow up without a parent,” she said. Ginger had to keep an eye on both the mother and son, each at opposite ends of the room, whilst ensuring that Basil’s chest kept rising. Her mind raced. How would she disarm the Agars so she could get Basil to the hospital? Meanwhile, Ginger knew she had to keep the lady talking as she devised a plan.

  “You were angry about that.”

  “Of course, I was. But I worked hard.” She pointed at her greying head with a gnarly finger. “I have brains. I pulled myself out of poverty. But I never forgot what should’ve been mine. My father’s share of the gold.”

  “So, you killed Mr. Fowler?”

  “Well, technically, my son killed him.” Kay Agar’s gaze landed on her son. “I simply provided the bump on Edward’s head.” She wiggled the shovel, her apparent weapon of choice. “To make him look innocent, you see, so they wouldn’t suspect him of delivering the head aboard the Flying Scotsman.” Edward’s hand moved to the back of his head, as if the mention of his mother’s attack evoked pain.

  Ginger was astounded. Some women weren’t meant to be mothers.

  “Fowler was the only one still alive.” Kay chortled. “You should’ve seen his face when he realised who I was.”

  “And the others? The offspring? Why set up the jewel theft?”

  “It was a test of character. I offered them a chance to commit another train robbery, smaller in scope, I’ll admit, but I am an old lady. If they declined, I’d leave them in peace. If they accepted, it was proof they were no better than their fathers before them, and would suffer in their stead.”

  “That was why you got your son to plant Mr. Fowler’s head on the train. So, Mr. Pierce and Mr. Burgess would get caught, first for robbery, then for murder.”

  “Like I said, I knew you were clever.”

  “How did Miss Dansby get caught up in it?”

  “Her stupid fiancé brought her in. Not my fault. Silly girl. Anyway, they were all to hang for Fowler’s murder—poetic justice you see. And it would’ve gone to plan if you and your nosy husband hadn’t got involved.”

  “I’m certain Inspector Sullivan would’ve solved the case.”

  Mrs. Simms smiled maliciously. “I’m certain he wouldn’t have.”

  “You were going to kill him too?”

  “You’ve got killing on the mind, Mrs. Reed. One doesn’t have to kill a person to get them out of the way. Unless it’s troublemakers like you and the chief inspector.”

  Mrs. Simms nodded at her son. Agar lifted his axe.

  Ginger immediately fell into posture—legs apart, arms out straight, finger on the trigger. “Drop it, or I’ll shoot!”

  Agar lifted a thick shoulder, looking defeated. “You’ll have to shoot me then.”

  The obedient son raised the axe. Kay lunged at Ginger. Boss jumped on Kay, pushing her back. Ginger pulled the trigger. The axe fell.

  Finally, sirens blared in the distance.

  Chapter 33

  “Basil!”

  Kay Agar had fallen against her own shovel and lay on the floor of the garden shed, bleeding. Her moans confirmed she was alive and Boss stood guard with his tiny white teeth bared, ensuring she didn’t get back to her feet.

  Edward Agar was also on the ground bleeding, but he didn’t emit any sounds to indicate whether he was alive or not.

  Ginger registered these facts but her focus was entirely on Basil. There was blood, a lot of it. Edward hadn’t hit Basil in the throat with his axe, but he hadn’t entirely missed his mark either.

  “Basil?” Ginger placed two fingers around Basil’s wrist, and held her breath as she waited for a pulse. There, it was there. Her relief was short-lived as she determined the source of the blood—a nasty gash along the forearm where the axe had hit a vein. Though she didn’t have Haley’s nursing skills, she had acquired some knowledge of first aid whilst assisting the nurses in triage during the war. Forced to improvise, she used Boss’ leash to fashion a tourniquet, slowing the bleeding. There was nothing sanitised in the shed and the best Ginger could do was to reach under her skirt and remove her slip which she used as a make-shift bandage.

  She stroked Basil’s face. “You’re going to be fine, love. I’m here.”

  His eyes fluttered open as if it took all the energy he had in the world to do it. His lips separated, but Ginger placed her finger against them. “Don’t talk now. Save your strength.”

  “Mrs. Reed?”

  Ginger turned to the sound of Inspector Sullivan’s voice.

  “Inspector, we need an ambulance!”

  “I got Chapman running to make the call.” His gaze landed on Basil. “How is he?”

  “I’m not a doctor, but I believe he’ll be fine.” Ginger squeezed Basil’s hand as she said it. Please be fine.

  As the inspector’s eyes took in the room, Ginger could see him make a quick assessment: a lady who looked like their suspect Mrs. Griffiths, and the Doncaster postman, both disarmed and disabled. He narrowed his gaze at Ginger. “Do you mind telling me what happened?”

  “With the Great Gold Robbery repeatedly coming up in our investigations, I felt I should do a bit of research on the topic. The surnames of all our suspects were in the reports: Pierce, Burgess, Fowler, and Agar. I put two and two together. Mr. Agar wasn’t the victim of the crime, but the villain. I assumed he was the mastermind and a very fine actor, but I was wrong there.” Ginger nodded towards the elderly lady on the ground. “That’s Kay Agar, Edward Agar’s mother.”

  “It’s not Mrs. Griffiths?”

  “No
, that was an alias. She’s the daughter of Edward Agar Senior, the man who took the blame for the Great Gold Robbery. She’s the one who planned the murder and the robbery.”

  Inspector Sullivan whistled. “Both? To what end?”

  “She was entrapping the descendants of her father’s enemies. She wanted to see them hang for Fowler’s murder. The robbery was the catalyst to stop the Flying Scotsman so that they would be implicated.

  “But when I looked for Basil to tell him what I’d discovered, he was nowhere to be found. He must’ve put two and two together as well.” Ginger imagined that Basil had indeed gone to the hotel to wait for her, but then decided to take a taxicab to Agar’s cottage to test out his theory for himself. Ginger felt it was quite possible that he’d left without her as a protective gesture, to keep her out of harm’s way. She’d lecture him about that another time.

  “I came out here expecting to find him,” she said softly, “but not like this.”

  Ginger turned as the first tear escaped. She didn’t want Inspector Sullivan to witness her emotions. Had Edward’s axe found its mark . . . It was too horrible to think about.

  Inspector Sullivan squatted beside Edward Agar’s body and checked for a pulse. “The bloke’s alive.”

  “Good.”

  “Shot.”

  Ginger nodded.

  “By you?”

  “My pistol is registered.” Basil had insisted she finally got it done.

  Inspector Sullivan grunted. “All the same, I’ll be bagging it for evidence.”

  Kay Agar began to stir. “It was all my idea,” she muttered. “Edward was just a pawn.”

  “Did he kill Mr. Fowler?” the inspector asked. “Alias Mr. Wright?”

  “My Edward lifted the axe and let it drop, but it was I who first plunged the knife in his back. At best he’s an accessory. He won’t hang for that.”

  “But you will,” Ginger said.

  Kay chortled. “Not if I die first.”

  Chapter 34

  Ginger knew how to shoot to kill. She also knew how not to, which was why Mr. Edward Agar was still alive. As soon as he was well enough to leave the hospital, he’d join his mother in prison awaiting trial for attempted robbery, murder, and attempted murder.

  Basil had recovered from the nasty bump on his head but still complained about an occasional headache. However, the gash on his arm would leave a nasty scar.

  When Basil had come to the cottage, Mr. Agar sneaked up behind him and hit him on the head with a shovel. Stronger than he looked, Mr. Agar had dragged Basil to the garden shed and tied him to the bench.

  A week after his ordeal, Basil was now well enough to join Ginger for breakfast in the morning room in Hartigan House. She smiled brightly at him when he entered.

  “Good morning, love,” she said. He took the seat beside her then leaned in for a kiss.

  “Have I missed everyone else?”

  “Ambrosia has come and gone, and Felicia has yet to arrive. She’d sleep past noon if I’d allow it.”

  “How do you prevent it?” Basil said after taking his first sip of breakfast coffee, a new habit since moving in. With that bump on his head, he probably needed something stronger to rouse him in the mornings. He continued, “She’s an adult, after all.”

  “Yet, still being supported by me,” Ginger returned. “I’m going to convince her to work at Feathers & Flair. It would be good for her to take on some responsibility. I might even join forces with Ambrosia and begin a search for a husband for Felicia in earnest!”

  Basil chuckled. “Jolly good. It might actually keep you out of trouble.”

  Ginger tilted her head. “And what’s going to keep you out of trouble, my dear?”

  “Touché, love, touché.”

  Mrs. Beasley joined Lizzie as they rolled in the breakfast offerings: bacon and eggs, fried kippers, and hot rolls.

  “Smells heavenly,” Ginger said.

  “Thank you, madam.” Mrs. Beasley, a fleshy lady—almost as wide as she was tall—looked to Basil. Ginger noticed how her staff continued to act stiffly and awkwardly around her new husband, and she wished there was something she could do to put them at ease.

  Basil smiled at the cook. “I’ve never eaten so well.”

  Mrs. Beasley let out an excited breath. “It’s my pleasure to serve you, sir.”

  She bustled back to the kitchen leaving Lizzie, the younger, slimmer maid, to finish serving.

  “Would you like more tea, sir? Madam?”

  “We’re drinking coffee at the moment,” Ginger replied.

  Lizzie bobbed. “I’m sorry, I should’ve noticed.”

  “It’s quite all right, Lizzie,” Ginger said kindly. “Miss Gold is sure to want tea and should be down soon.”

  Pippins shuffled into the morning room. “Madam, your morning papers have arrived.”

  Ginger subscribed to several newspapers, including the Boston Globe and New York Times. They were always a week late, being shipped over the Atlantic, but Ginger didn’t mind. She liked to keep up with the latest in politics and the social scene. Occasionally, she came across names she recognised, including her socially reckless half-sister Louisa, whose young, pretty face often showed up in the society pages. If anything drastic happened in America, the London papers and BBC radio would report it.

  She unfolded the London Morning Press. Mrs. Griffiths, alias Mrs. Simms, alias Kay Agar, had been in the headlines for the last week, but today, her story had fallen below the fold. The mystery of how “Mrs. Simms” had “disappeared” from the Flying Scotsman had been explained. “Mrs. Griffiths” had had her disguise in her holdall. She’d simply changed out of her costume in the lavatory whilst Ginger, Basil, and Felicia were in the dining car. Being in the compartment at the back of the carriage had prevented the other passengers from noticing. The cane she had dispatched through window had come back with a partial print belonging to Kay Agar.

  Lady Pennington was performing in London once again at the weekend. Hopefully this time she’d leave her jewels at home and no one would be tempted to follow her around for nefarious reasons. Ginger wondered about the Fishers, if they’d ever made it to Edinburgh. Basil was able to confirm that the couple were, in fact, married and not siblings. Mr. Doring had taken sick leave, and Ginger hoped his nerves would recover. Poor man. The businessmen, Mr. Whitley and Mr. Murray, were mentioned in the business section. It was happy news on their business venture. All had not been lost by their delay after all.

  “Do you think Kay Agar will be hanged?” Ginger asked Basil as she patted butter on a roll. “At her age? In her condition?” They had learned that the old lady had been recently diagnosed with terminal cancer.

  “I doubt it,” Basil said as he dabbed his lips with a linen napkin. “Though perhaps she’d prefer a quick death.”

  Mr. Edward Agar had yet to go on trial, but his guilt was obvious, and with Basil’s personal testimony, a jury would agree.

  “I’m eternally thankful that you found me,” Basil said. It wasn’t the first time he’d expressed his gratitude, despite the fact he disliked Ginger carrying a pistol—something he’d made clear to her on more than one occasion. Ginger wasn’t sure if that was because she might at some time be in a situation where she’d need one—and obviously she had—or if it was because the Remington had been a gift to her from her late husband, Lord Daniel Gold.

  “I’m happy to have saved your life, darling,” she replied lightly. “In fact, I believe I’ve done it more than once.”

  “Can I not say the same?”

  “I suppose you can.”

  “We’re two peas in a pod, aren’t we?” Basil said with a glint in his hazel eyes.

  Ginger agreed. “Two peas who’ve yet to go on their honeymoon!”

  “We must rectify that immediately,” Basil said, “though, do you think we can leave Scotland for another time?”

  “Most definitely,” Ginger said. She had no desire to board another train. “We must fly somewh
ere. You can charter small planes now. We could go to France, Italy, even Greece.”

  “The thought of flying through the air in a tin can doesn’t frighten you?”

  Ginger shrugged. “It would be exciting. Think of the adventure!”

  The rhythmic tapping of The Dowager Lady Gold’s silver-handled walking stick could be heard down the passageway and was soon followed by the presence of the formidable lady. Upright in the manner that only a corset could achieve in one of advanced age, she wore a grey wool dress that draped over an ample bosom and ended at her ankles revealing short-top leather boots. Her grey hair was styled in a more fashionable shorter cut, incongruous with the rest of her attire.

  “I heard voices and thought I’d come to sit. I’ve already had breakfast as I arise at a reasonable hour.” Her eyes flashed at Ginger with a slight look of disapproval. “But I wouldn’t mind another cup of tea.”

  Felicia stumbled in with a yawn, just barely covering her opened mouth with her hand before the yawn took over her face.

  “Good heavens, child!” Ambrosia said. “I keep telling you that you get to sleep too late in the evening. Why must you gallivant about the town every night?”

  Felicia slid into a chair and poured a cup of coffee. “I don’t gallivant about every night, Grandmama. Life’s been so stressful these last few days, I had to have some fun to balance it out.”

  “Why is it stressful for you?” Ambrosia said. “You’re not the one getting arrested.” She narrowed her eyes at her charge. “Are you?”

  “Not this time, Grandmama.”

  Ginger didn’t often side with her former grandmother-in-law, but when it came to the somewhat reckless flapper-girl lifestyle Felicia had adopted, she couldn’t help but worry.

  “I do hope you’re being careful,” Ginger said.

  “Whatever do you mean?” Felicia said with a sly smile.

  “I think you know what I mean.”

  Through the French windows, Ginger spotted Scout and Boss playing on the lawn; Scout tossed a short stick and Boss eagerly ran to retrieve it.