by Lee Strauss
Indeed. Ginger wondered what had led such a pretty girl to this kind of life. For that matter, she wondered what had drawn Emelia Reed.
"Do you have a bird in there?" Ginger inquired, motioning to the cage.
Cindy paused, mid-brush stroke. One corner of her full lips pulled up into a wry smile. "My pet. It's sleeping right now," she added as if to warn Ginger off from taking a peek.
Two more girls arrived, one blonde and the other brunette, and each solemnly claimed a mirror. "Those Irish lasses are joined at the hip," Cindy said softly. "Say they're just flatmates, but I have my suspicions." She then raised her voice to make introductions.
"Sorcha and Nuala, this is Destiny's replacement, Antoinette."
"Bonsoir," Ginger said.
"Frenchie, eh?" Nuala said with a clear Irish roll of the ‘r’. "Mind your p's and q's, and we'll get along just fine."
"Sorcha and Nuala do a cops and robbers bit," Cindy explained. "Gets the fellas laughing. What do you do?"
"French maid," Ginger said, sweetly. She pulled a feather duster from Haley's holdall.
Ginger's new colleagues didn't look impressed.
"I heard about the misfortune of the dancer, Destiny, was it?" Ginger said. "How sad. Did you girls know her well?"
Nuala harrumphed. "Destiny kept herself to herself. Too posh for the likes of us."
"She wasn't one of us," Sorcha added. She sat in front of her mirror which was topped by a row of electric light bulbs and opened a jar of face cream. Ginger caught the label, Jeune et Belle. The scent of the cream reminded her of something.
Yes. Emelia's cheap French perfume. Had she been using this face cream? Did she get it from Sorcha?
"What kind of routine did Destiny do?" Ginger asked
Sorcha rubbed the face cream vigorously onto her cheeks, forehead, and around her mouth. "Some dull shepherdess routine."
"Did you get on with her?"
Cindy narrowed her dark gaze. "Why are you so interested in her?"
Ginger looked Cindy boldly in the eyes. "I confess I'm a little obsessed with the morbid." She turned to the newcomers. "Do you know how the poor thing died?"
The girls shook their heads.
"I bet that toff did her in," Nuala said.
"What toff?" Ginger asked.
"Jonathon Phillips," Sorcha answered. "Ain’t he an American?"
"A diplomat," Cindy said.
Nuala smirked. "Quite handsome for an older man. I adore his accent."
"Not as handsome as Billy," Sorcha said with a swoon.
"The barman?" Ginger asked.
"Sorcha is soft on him," Cindy explained.
"Cindy!" Sorcha protested.
Cindy turned her back to Sorcha and lowered her voice. "Now that Destiny's gone, she might actually have a chance."
"Billy and Destiny?" Ginger said, leaning forward. "He must be devastated by her death."
Cindy shrugged. "He's a man. There’re plenty of fish in the sea."
Peeking out into the audience from stage left, Ginger spotted Felicia and Haley in attendance. Felicia wore a cherry-red evening gown—a sheer embroidered crepe de chine over a silk slip of the same colour. An elegant bow sat on the dropped waist. A flamboyant scarlet feather burst from her headband.
Haley was a pure surprise. Ginger hadn’t thought she would be coming along. And she had dressed in something other than her trademark tweed suit: a feminine but straightforward frock trimmed in sequins. Ginger had never seen Haley wear so much makeup before. She hardly recognised her. The two were seated at a table near the front. With them was a well-dressed, eye-catching man with a pencil moustache. Maybe mid-thirties? Felicia had a cocktail in one hand and with the other, she rubbed the rim with a long fingernail painted the same red as her feather. She leaned in close to the gentleman and fluttered heavily made-up eyelashes. Even from her distance behind the curtain, Ginger could see the hooded glassy look of lust reflect in the gent’s eyes. Ginger found the exchange alarming. Without glancing Felicia's way, Haley pinched her from under the table, a move that had Felicia jumping away from the womanising gentleman, and Ginger grinned in approval.
Cindy sneaked up from behind. "Another full house."
Ginger grabbed at her heart, recovering from having been startled. Cindy continued. "Probably news of Destiny's death has got out. Looks like you're not the only morbid one in London."
"Histoire et règles de la tragédie.” At Cindy’s confused look, Ginger translated. “History and rules of tragedy."
Cindy frowned then said. "You're on after Nuala and Sorcha. I close the night."
The dance routines were just a warm up to the fraternising that happened afterwards. It was Billy's job to sell as much alcohol as possible. The dancers, well, it was up to them how they made extra money that night.
Chapter Fifteen
Ginger watched Nuala and Sorcha's routine from her spot in the wings. They made a show of Nuala's copper. Dressed in an overly long police jacket with a helmet over her dark cropped hair, Nuala chased Sorcha's robber. Sorcha's costume consisted of a man's brown waistcoat with her honey-blonde hair tucked into a flat, newsboy cap. The stage wasn't overly wide, and the girls added creative dance moves to spin across it. Nuala had a rubber truncheon which elicited laughter each time she whacked Sorcha over the head. With each round, they'd pause centre stage and feign heat, and one piece of clothing would come off starting with the helmet and hat until the two were in only a corset and bloomers. It ended with Nuala handcuffing a stumbling Sorcha and dragging her off stage.
The audience cheered and applauded. Ginger's stomach flittered with nerves. She'd been running the routine—one she'd performed in France during wartime—through her head all day. She hoped she remembered it.
She glanced at the piano player, a Jamaican man with silky brown skin and deep dark eyes that twinkled with his love of music, and he started the tune she'd asked him to play. The electric lights over the stage blinded her to the audience, but she could make out the tables at the front. She almost burst out laughing at the expression on Haley and Felicia's faces.
Dressed skimpily in her French maid costume, Ginger began by sweeping the floor with a broom, when the music changed to a waltz, the broom became her dance partner. She pretended to get it caught in her apron string, and the apron came off. Ginger feigned surprise, then picked up her next prop, a large, grey feather duster. She mimed dusting different items when the tempo sped up to jazz, and Ginger broke into the Charleston—a new addition to her routine since the war. She kicked her feet up, dropping the duster as she raised her hands. The blonde braid of her wig swung along her back, and Ginger used this distraction to pull on her dress. It had a breakaway back, and it fell to the floor leaving Ginger in her frilly bloomers and full-body corset. She covered her body as if she were embarrassed, swooped down to collect her dress and scurried off the stage, pausing briefly. She winked at the crowd while raising her back foot before disappearing out of sight.
Ginger stopped to catch her breath, registering the hoots and howls of the audience that followed her. She grinned to herself as she slipped her costume back on. She still had it.
Cindy, dressed as an Indian princess with a long black wig and a colourful, sheer, floor-length sari, waited nearby with the covered cage. Unlike Nuala and Sorcha, who had waited to go on with whisky-induced smiles and giggles, Cindy's expression was serious. She breathed in deeply and shook out her arms as if to calm herself.
"Is everything all right?" Ginger asked.
Cindy glanced at her sharply. "Please don't speak to me."
Everyone dealt with nerves differently. Ginger said no more.
The song selection had a hint of the east, the high notes fingered lightly like the tone of a penny flute. Cindy had placed the covered cage onto a small table set to one side and began dancing gracefully, palms pressed together prayer-fashion in front of her chest, hips floating. It was fascinating to watch her, and Ginger could see immediately why Cindy closed the show. Soo
n, the sari fell to the floor to the hoots and cheers of the crowd. In just her corset and knickers, she floated next to the cage, which had been forgotten until now. Cindy snapped the blanket off with flair. Ginger gasped. Cindy's bird wasn't a bird at all. It was a snake. Tri-coloured—red, black and pale yellow. Was this the murder weapon?
Chairs near the front of the stage shuffled back when Cindy made a show of opening the cage. She slowly reached inside and gathered the snake's long body into her hands. She eased it around her neck, holding the head in one hand and the tail in the other. Her hips continued to sway to the music. After a few minutes with the crowd collectively holding their breath, Cindy placed the snake back into its cage. Cindy finished her routine by bowing, giving everyone a good look at her ample cleavage. Then she picked up the cage and exited stage left.
Ginger joined in the applause. "Very impressive," she said as the snake dancer approached.
Cindy's face broke into a smile. "Thank you. It's always a thrill for me. I feel as high as if I had smoked an opium pipe!"
"Oh. Does that go on around here?" Ginger said, looking interested.
Cindy shrugged. "Sometimes."
"Is your snake dangerous?"
"Jake? Only if you don't know how to handle him." She patted Ginger's arm and smiled wryly. "He's a wild scarlet. Harmless. I'm not crazy enough to dance with a poisonous snake."
"Where did you get such an exotic creature? It's surely not native to England."
Cindy shot Ginger a sideways glance. "You'd be amazed at what you can buy at Harrods Animal Kingdom."
The dancers mingled in with the crowd. Cindy, Nuala, and Sorcha seemed to have regulars they headed for, plopping themselves carelessly on the men's laps.
Ginger headed casually to Felicia and Haley's table, having locked eyes with the gentleman there. His were a lusty, icy-blue and Ginger immediately distrusted him.
"You're new," he said with a lazy smile. His accent was notably American, but not from New England. She felt providence had guided her to the diplomat.
He pulled away from the table to offer his lap.
Ginger deftly ignored the man's suggestive move and pulled up an empty chair. Cindy pushed past, bumping into Ginger's chair and didn't bother to say excuse me. Cindy's eyes latched on the man. At first, Ginger thought she would take the proffered lap, but instead, she whispered hotly in the man's ear, and by the angry glint in her eye, Ginger doubted her message contained sweet nothings.
The diplomat grunted, giving Cindy a nasty look, before readjusting his smarmy grin for Ginger's sake.
Ginger reached out her bare hand. "I'm Antoinette."
"Bonsoir, jolie dame. I’m John Phillips. I enjoyed your dance very much."
Ginger stared up from under her eyelashes. "Merci."
"Nothing compared to the snake dancer," Felicia said with disdain.
Haley pitched in, feigning additional displeasure, "I'm not a fan of reptiles. I mean what would happen if the thing got away?"
"What happened to that other dancer, I wonder," Felicia said. She tapped the man on the arm. "Mr. Phillips, you must know who I mean?"
Ginger was impressed by Felicia's initiative, giving her the man's name and bringing Emelia's case into the conversation.
Mr. Phillips nodded. "The Shepherdess." He leaned towards Ginger. "A similar routine to yours, Miss Antoinette, though I confess, I enjoyed yours better."
"So kind of you to say, Monsieur Phillips. Were you not a fan of Mademoiselle Destiny?"
"Oh, certainly." His lips tugged up. "She definitely had her qualities."
"Do you know what happened to her?"
Jonathon Phillips' smile fell. "I heard she died."
"Oh, no!" Ginger exclaimed, keeping to character. "So sad."
"Apparently, she'd been murdered," Felicia said as though caught up in the scandalous story.
"It's not safe to walk alone after dark," Haley added with a note of self-righteousness. "Especially in London."
Felicia scoffed. "It's no more dangerous than New York!"
Haley sniffed in return. "Both cities are unfriendly once the sun sets."
"I only know what the papers, say," Mr. Phillips said. "A dog walker discovered her body in Kensington Gardens." He took a long pull of his whisky. "Now let's talk about more pleasurable things, shall we?"
Chapter Sixteen
Ginger was finishing her breakfast and sneaking bits of bacon to Boss, who watched her with bright eyes and the stub of his tail wagging in anticipation when Pippins entered the morning room.
"Telephone call for you, madam. It's Miss Higgins."
Haley had gone to work early. She must have been exhausted after staying late at the club the night before. Ginger felt a twinge of guilt as she shifted from the table and hurried to her study.
"Hello, Haley." Ginger could picture her in her position in the mortuary. "I'm assuming you have news?"
"Excessive proteins were found in the blood sample."
"What does that mean?" Ginger twisted the cord of the telephone through her fingers, nervous with anticipation.
"Excessive proteins indicate the presence of snake venom," Haley answered.
"Interesting,” Ginger said. “Cindy told me her snake was harmless."
"Could she be lying?"
"Anything is possible. Have you called Scotland Yard with the news?"
"I just got off the telephone with them. Superintendent Morris wasn't available, so I left a message."
“What about Emelia’s clothes?”
“Nothing noteworthy,” Haley said. “Everything was in good condition, no spills, tears or stains.”
"Good to know. I'm heading to the Yard now," Ginger said, feeling excited. "I have to tell Superintendent Morris what I know about Cindy's snake."
"And break the good inspector out of jail," Haley added. Ginger could sense the mirth in her voice.
"Yes, indeed! Everyone's favourite burlesque dancer just jumped to the top of the suspect list."
As Ginger sped through the streets of London, her mind filled with thoughts of the previous night and the things she'd done and learned. She was only vaguely aware of the aggravated horns honking in her wake. Cindy, whatever her real name was, didn't like to be upstaged. Imagined or not, Emelia had become the snake dancer's enemy. If anyone knew how to retrieve snake venom from her snake without getting bitten—assuming it was indeed poisonous—it would be her.
Ginger shouldn't have been surprised at Superintendent Morris' lack of appreciation for her revelation. She felt like a schoolgirl in the headmistress' office, standing with hands clasped in front of her as the superintendent leaned over his desk, red in the face.
"I told you to stay out of police business!"
"Yes, but—"
"I've got a man assigned to that club."
"So, he must've seen Cindy and Jake."
The V in between Superintendent Morris' bushy brows deepened. "Who are Cindy and Jake?"
"The snake dancer and her snake."
Superintendent Morris growled. "You're saying you suspect this Cindy's snake bit Emelia Reed?" Obviously, he hadn't got Haley's message.
"All I know is that Emelia Reed was bitten by a snake, and a dancer at the same club that Mrs. Reed danced at has a snake. It's worth investigating.”
"Yes, yes, yes. No need to tell me how to do my job, Lady Gold." He let out a frustrated breath. "I expect this clears Reed. For the moment anyway." The superintendent almost looked disappointed. "I'll call the station."
Ginger smiled. "Let them know I'll pick him up." Her stomach twisted with nerves at seeing Basil again. She was still wary of Basil's emotional state and protective of her own. Yet, she was happy he was about to be released.
Basil looked a little worse for wear with dark shadows under his eyes, a wrinkled shirt, and salt and pepper bristles forming on his chin. He inhaled when he saw Ginger.
"You're a sight for sore eyes."
"I'm just happy to see you on this sid
e of the bars."
"As am I,” Basil said, relieved.
"I'll drive you home."
"That would be appreciated. I'm in desperate need of a bath and a shave."
Ginger agreed.
The station constable called after them. "Excuse me, Chief Inspector. Superintendent Morris wanted me to give you a message." The constable cleared his throat looking distinctly uncomfortable, and Ginger figured the message was unpleasant to the messenger. She was right.
"He said, you might be off the hook, for now, Mr. Reed, but don't leave town. And keep off this case if you want a job to come back to."
"Understood, Constable," Basil said. "Thank you."
"Oh, and he said, to keep your lady friend in line." He glanced at Ginger sheepishly. "Forgive me, madam. His words not mine."
Ginger clenched her teeth. She could keep herself in line, Superintendent Morris, thank you very much.
The ride to Mayfair was quiet.
Basil broke the silence. "You were at the North Star last night?"
He knew that had been Ginger’s plan. She replied simply. "Yes."
"You danced?"
"I took Destiny's place in the programme."
Basil ducked his chin and shook his head. “I wish you hadn’t.”
“I know. But it was the fastest way for me to get to know the dancers. It was how I found Jake the snake, which led to your release I might add."
Basil sighed. "I thank you for that."
Ginger pulled up in front of Basil's house. She faced him with a tilt of her head. "Are you really going to stay off the case?"
He snorted. "Not on your life."
Ginger grinned and followed Basil inside.
Chapter Seventeen
One thing Ginger had to appreciate her stepmother, Sally Hartigan, for was that she had insisted that Ginger and her half-sister Louisa learned to cook. At least the basics. Sally didn't teach them herself, of course. They had a full-time cook to take on that thankless task.
While Basil bathed, Ginger took liberties in his kitchen. She imagined he must be starving by now, notwithstanding lousy prison food. She found eggs, a tin of kippers, tomatoes, and a dish of butter in the pantry. A loaf of bread sat on the counter, growing stale but suitable for frying. Before long, the place was filled with the aroma of melted butter. The egg whites touched the fish, and after a few minutes, she flipped them to the satisfying sound of sizzling. Meanwhile, she sliced the bread and tomatoes, then fried the bread in the same pan in the egg and kipper juices.