by Lee Strauss
"I'd rather hoped you had got this mode of excitement out of your system, Felicia," Ginger said. "It's really beneath your station, not to mention dangerous." Ginger held up a palm, "And please don't tell me I sound like Ambrosia."
"Well," Felicia pouted, "you do. I have no diversions, and I'm not going to marry any of the old oafs Grandmama has picked out for me."
"Then find your own old oaf," Ginger challenged. She couldn't help stepping into her big sister role. "Spend time where gentlemen do."
"Like church?"
"Why not?" Matilda Hanson said, surprising them both. "You're not likely to meet a philanderer there."
Ginger stared at the young woman. Was she, too, enamoured with Oliver Hill?
"You can meet philanderers anywhere," Felicia said. "Even church."
"True," Ginger admitted. "But the ratio is bound to be far less."
Oliver was waiting patiently in the sitting room when Ginger found him. "Sorry, for the delay. I ended up chatting with Miss Gold and Miss Hanson. I think Miss Hanson is doing better."
"Yes, and thank the Lord," Oliver said, standing.
"My Crossley's in the garage in the back." Ginger searched for Boss, who had returned on his own to the sitting room and was already curled up by the fireplace. "Oh Bossy, you lazy puppy! We're going for a motorcar ride."
Boss knew the word "motorcar" and was immediately up and following Ginger with canine anticipation. They found Pippins and Scout playing a pencil and paper game in the morning room.
"We're playing 'noughts and crosses' missus. Just for a few minutes over tea. It's all right, innit, missus?"
Ginger fondly remembered playing this same game with a much younger Pippins when she was a child. "So long as you've completed your schooling."
"The tutor phoned to say that he is ill, today, madam," Pippins explained.
"Very well. I'd hate to interfere with a good game of tic tac toe."
Oliver greeted the older man and young boy with questions about their well-being. "Each day I wake up is a good day, Reverend," Pippins said jovially.
Scout wasn't as perky about his future. "Is good here, Reverend ’ill. I miss my cousin."
"How about I come for a visit soon," Oliver said. "I hear there's a new horse on the premises."
"Oh, there is, Rev, and a real beauty, too!"
Ginger smiled at the exchange. "Whenever you're ready, Rev."
Ginger led Oliver down the cobbled path through the back garden to the garage where the Crossley was parked, noting how carefully Boss tried not to get underfoot. Ginger found the garage door unlocked and assumed Clement had been tending to the motorcar.
Suddenly, Boss began barking wildly.
"What is it, Boss?" Ginger turned to Oliver. "This is quite unlike him."
Boss was relentless, taking a stance near the backseat on the driver’s side and yipping madly. Ginger opened the door and screamed.
Chapter Twenty-Five
A snake slithered out of the car, but Ginger slammed the door on it. The reptile's lifeless head dropped to the ground.
"Good heavens!" Oliver said, holding a hand to his heart. "That did startle me."
Ginger had been more than a little startled too. She swept Boss off the ground and held him tightly. "How did a snake get into my motorcar?" She walked around the vehicle. All the doors were shut tight and the windows closed.
"Open the boot," Oliver said.
Ginger clicked it open. Empty. "It's sealed. Not a crack or crevice.
"Strange," Oliver said. "Do you think—?”
"Someone put it there."
Oliver grimaced. "But why on earth?"
"To send me a message," Ginger said grimly.
"A message about what?"
"I've been investigating the death of Emelia Reed. Basil asked me to help. She was poisoned with snake venom."
Oliver opened the door and looked closely at the grizzly remains—brown scales with black speckles, the length of the body remained on the seat while the head lay, mouth gaping, on the ground. "It's a common grass snake," Oliver said. "Harmless."
"Whoever did this meant to frighten me off," Ginger said. It also meant that her cover had been blown. It had to be someone from the club, but who? Conway? Nuala or Sorcha? Cindy was out of jail. Being a snake-lover, this might be an intimidation tactic. Where was she now, anyway? There'd been no sign of her at the club.
"I need to ring Basil," Ginger said. "I'm afraid you'll have to take a taxicab back to St. George's after all."
"Perhaps I'll stay until he arrives," Oliver said. Ginger noted the protective look in his eyes and the determination in his stance. "To protect the evidence, and all that."
Ginger wanted to hug her friend at that moment. "Thank you, Oliver."
George Hartigan's study, Ginger's study now, was a source of emotional comfort. Ginger's many childhood memories included spending time with her father in this room, him smoking a pipe as he wrote his business correspondence, and her curled up with a book in the cosy chair by the fireplace. If she closed her eyes and concentrated, she could see him sitting there dressed in a dark smoking jacket, his pipe hanging out of the corner of his mouth. She could even smell the tang of his tobacco.
She settled herself in her new office chair—Father's had been too big and worn out to use comfortably—and picked up the barbell-style receiver of her new telephone. She dialled Basil's home number, hoping he was there. He picked up after three rings.
"Reed."
"Hello, Basil. It's Ginger." Ginger relayed the disturbing discovery.
Basil's response was tense and abrupt. "I'll be right over."
Pippins was in the passageway, waiting, as he did, in case Ginger needed anything.
"Pips, did you notice anything unusual in the back garden this morning?" Ginger asked. "Perhaps someone you didn't recognise?"
"If I had, madam," the elderly man said, "I would've notified you immediately."
"Of course. Thank you."
"You might talk to Clement," Pippins said. "He's been working in the garden all morning. Perhaps he noticed something out of the ordinary. Would you like me to fetch him?"
"I can do it," Ginger said.
"Last I saw him, he was heading toward the rose garden."
Clement was tending the roses, wielding a pair of sharp secateurs and pruning the plants back mercilessly.
"Good day, Lady Gold." Clement straightened up stiffly when he spotted Ginger. In his fifties, he had strong arms and thinning hair. As far as Ginger knew, he'd never been married. "Is there something I can help you with?" he asked.
"Hello, Clement. Did you unlock the garage this morning, by any chance?"
"Indeed. I do every morning, madam, at six a.m. I make sure the Crossley is ready for you to drive should you wish." He wrinkled his nose in question. "Would you rather I didn't?"
"Normally, it's not a problem, but for the next while, you probably shouldn't."
Clement's brow furrowed further. "Did something happen?"
"Just a little prank. Did you happen to notice anyone in the back lane?"
"No, madam. It's been only young Scout and me out this way, caring for Goldmine."
Ginger found Scout in the stable, feeding Goldmine an apple from the palm of his hand. On seeing him, so small against the horse, her heart gave a maternal squeeze.
"Hello, Scout," she said.
"Oh, ’ello, missus. Me and Goldmine are just keeping each other company. I did my chores, you can ask Mr. Clement."
"And I'm sure you did a fine job," Ginger said with a smile. "While you were very busy working, did you happen to spy a stranger on the property? Perhaps around the garage?"
Scout's face crumpled in concentration, and he lapsed into his street parlance. "No, missus. I di’n’t see nuffin' 'spicous."
"Well, if ever you do see someone you don't know on the property, let Mr. Clement know." She added protectively, "Don't approach him yourself."
Scout, always eager to
please, nodded animatedly. "Yes, missus."
Ginger returned to Oliver who was dutifully keeping watch. "No one saw anyone or anything unusual this morning," she announced. "Clement unlocked the door at dawn."
Basil arrived with a dark mood of dismay. He looked surprised at seeing Oliver there, his gaze narrowing briefly.
Pippins hovered behind him, having let Basil into Hartigan House and leading him out to the back garden. Ginger nodded subtly, and the butler quietly made his leave.
"Oliver was here to pay a pastoral visit to Miss Hanson," Ginger explained, "and I was about to drive him back to the church. We found this creature in the back seat of the Crossley."
Basil stared at the dismembered pieces. "What happened to it?"
Ginger explained the accidental decapitation.
Basil's hazel eyes tightened with concern. "You're in danger, Ginger."
"If I were truly in danger, this snake would've been venomous."
"Emelia died at the hands of whoever is responsible for this."
"That's an assumption," Ginger returned.
"An assumption with merit."
"I'm not stopping until this is solved."
"Ginger."
"Don't Ginger me. You've not been the same—"
Oliver cleared his throat. "I think I'll be heading off now."
Ginger grew crimson with embarrassment. She'd momentarily forgotten the vicar was still with them. Blast Basil! He was making her lose her senses!
"I'll see you out," Ginger said. She needed to get her wits about her.
By the time she'd returned, Basil had gathered the pieces of the snake and put them into an evidence bag. Even though he was working unofficially, certain things were habitual.
He sighed, and Ginger recognised his look. Resignation at not being able to control her. He hadn't been able to control Emelia, either. Basil appeared to attract women with strong personalities.
"I took the liberty of letting myself into Emelia's flat. I found this in her things."
He offered Ginger a booklet and she opened it. "Bank records?"
Basil nodded.
On further study, Ginger saw a pattern of deposits. She stared up at Basil. "Was she—?”
"I believe she may have been blackmailing people," Basil returned. "At least three if you can go by the regularity of the numbers."
"Is there any way of telling who the three people are?" Ginger asked.
Basil pointed to the booklet. "The entries have a notation."
"Yes, I see. Initials."
"I suspect that CS is Conway Sayer. JP, John Phillips; CW, Cynthia Webb. We need to find out what Emelia knew about them."
"Well, from what I could gather from the club's ledger," Ginger said, "Sayer is pilfering. If Charles Sabini ever got wind of that, Sayer would be as good as dead."
"Definitely motive."
"John Phillips is an American diplomat, but he doesn't seem terribly concerned about his reputation," Ginger mused. "Otherwise, he'd at least use an alias."
Basil agreed. "It must be something else then."
"I have no idea about Cynthia Webb," Ginger said. "What did the Yard find out about her?"
"That's the thing. They can't find anything on her at all. It seems her "real" name is just another alias."
"She's hiding something."
"She's not the only one, I suspect."
Pippins returned, caught Ginger's eye, and waited for her to acknowledge him.
"What is it Pips?"
"Miss Higgins on the line for you, madam. She says it's important."
She glanced at Basil. "If you'll excuse me."
Ginger hurried to her study to take the call. Haley never rang unless something pressing or pertinent came up.
"Hello, Haley," Ginger said.
"Ginger, good. You're there."
"What is it? Do you have news on Emelia Reed's case?"
"You might call it that. Jonathan Phillips is on my table. Dead. A snake bite on his neck."
Chapter Twenty-Six
There was nothing like death to suck the life out of one's personality. Once so pompous and charismatic, Jonathon Phillips' lifeless body lying flat and naked under a white sheet on the ceramic slab appeared smaller, his boisterous presence lost.
As usual, Haley didn't waste time on pleasantries and got right to the point.
"The bite mark on his neck matches the one found on Mrs. Reed precisely, leading me to believe it was from the same snake."
"Was Mr. Phillips restrained in any way?" Ginger asked.
Haley shook her head, and a strand of dark curls fell free from her casual faux bob. "There are no other suspicious lesions, however, unlike with Mrs. Reed, arsenic was found in his blood. Along with the extra protein that supports the venomous bite."
"He was poisoned first," Basil said. "Mr. Phillips was a strong man. Our killer incapacitated him before releasing the snake."
"It would appear that the killer was stronger than Emelia, able to restrain her with his or her own physical strength, but not stronger than Mr. Phillips," Haley said.
"Yes," Basil said. "But why not just kill him with arsenic? Why go to the trouble of the snake. It only ties him or her to Emelia's murder."
"It's personal," Ginger said. "Our killer isn't scared of having a secret revealed. He or she is angry on a deeper level."
Basil's studious hazel eyes landed on Ginger. "You could be right. The question is, how are John Phillips and my wife connected to this killer?"
"That is the question," Ginger said professionally, but inside she was stuck on the words, my wife. In the past three months, Basil had only referred to Emelia by her first name. He had never once called her his wife, at least not in Ginger's presence. She tucked her chin and averted her gaze.
Basil sighed before turning to Haley. "Any other points of interest to report?"
"Only that Scotland Yard will be here any moment."
"Oh, we’d better skedaddle," Ginger said. She gave Haley a quick hug. "Thanks for calling us first. You're a brick."
Haley cracked a smile. "I honestly don't see why the English think calling someone a brick is flattering."
Ginger managed a smile. "There is a lot that goes on around here I don't understand."
Basil slid her a sideways glance. Had he picked up on her double meaning?
Back in Basil's Austin, Ginger borrowed the rearview mirror. She straightened her hat, reinforced the curls of her bob against her cheek, and reapplied her lipstick. Then, feeling emboldened and confident she turned to Basil and asked, "What now?"
Basil directed his motorcar back towards Belgravia. "Let's visit the American Embassy and see what they have to say."
Ginger agreed this was a good next move.
The journey led them through Mayfair, past the Ritz Hotel along Green Park with the outline of Buckingham Palace in the distance. Ginger wondered what His Majesty was up to these days. She glimpsed a small crowd of well-dressed women on the pavement forming a half-circle around another lady wearing a white spring jacket and a red cloche hat. The group of women was obviously enraptured by whatever the woman in the red hat was saying.
"Pull over!" Ginger said.
"What?"
"Pull over. That woman in the red hat, is it Cynthia Webb?"
Basil leaned close to peer out of the passenger window, and Ginger couldn't ignore the warm, musky scent of his cologne.
Dang him!
"Her look is so altered, it's hard to tell at first, but I do believe you're right."
"Look at the billboard behind her. Jeune et Belle. That's the brand of face cream the girls use at the club."
Basil opened his door to step out, but Ginger stopped him. "She'll recognise you."
"What about you?"
"She only knows me as a blonde French woman."
Ginger hopped out of the Austin and blended in with the group of entranced ladies.
"Perhaps by looking at me, you would guess my age to be twenty-five, wo
uldn’t you?" Cindy declared. "No. I'm nearly forty-five years old!
A gasp of surprise and a murmur of appreciation rose from the small crowd.
Ginger had seen Cindy's legs. There was no way she was forty-five.
"After a month of using Jeune et Belle face cream your wrinkles will smooth away, and your skin will tighten. Age spots and unsightly blemishes, gone! This formula is scientifically designed in the best beauty labs in Paris. Normally, a jar like this would sell for ten shillings! But today I’m offering you a special deal. One jar for five shillings. Or save even more when you buy more. Two for seven or three for ten! This opportunity will end when the supply does, so make sure to stock up today."
The women practically bowled one another over to purchase Cindy's beauty cream. Ginger shook her head.
Perplexed, Basil looked at Ginger as she closed the door behind her.
"My guess is that she's selling udder salve under the pretence of an expensive French beauty treatment.”
“What makes you think that?” Basil asked.
"We saw John Phillips buy a large tin of it from Harrods. The colour and texture of the jar of Jeune et Belle at the club is the same. She’s added scent to make it seem like an expensive product from France.”
Basil worked his lips. “Had John Phillips and Cynthia Webb been working on the swindle together?"
"Perhaps this confidence trickster no longer wanted to share the proceeds with her partner," Ginger said. “You wouldn't believe what's she's charging."
Basil concurred. "And maybe Emelia got in her way somehow."
"It could be what Emelia was blackmailing Cindy for."
"Fraud is a criminal offence," Basil said. "Cindy will be facing time in prison."
"Should we ring the police? She's fleecing all those women."
"We can call from the embassy, but I'm sure she'll be long gone by then."
As they entered Grosvener Gardens, Basil slowed his vehicle to negotiate around a lumbering horse and carriage. He stopped in front of number four, a lime and brick structure that housed the US embassy.