Ginger Gold Mystery Box Set 3

by Lee Strauss

  “That was quick,” Haley said. “I like the nice and tidy ones.”

  “Except that Mrs. Edwards denies it—adamantly. She’s hired me to investigate.”

  Haley’s dark brow reached for the ceiling. “Is that so. Do you believe her?”

  “I think I do.”

  Haley locked the cabinet and filed the key in the pocket of her tweed skirt. “What did she tell you?”

  Ginger related the conversation she’d had in the interview room at Scotland Yard.

  “Not exactly a grieving widow,” Haley said. “And with good reason, it seems. I can confirm that Theo Edwards had engaged in an intimate act earlier that day, but I’m afraid I couldn’t tell you with whom.”

  “Someone present at Thursday night’s choir rehearsal is our murderer.” Ginger twisted a short strand of red hair around her finger. “I wish there were a way to tell if it was premeditated or an impulse killing. I did notice the door to the balcony near the vestry had recently been oiled. I’ll have to have a word with Mr. Simpson about that.”

  “Have you narrowed down a list of suspects at all?” Haley asked.

  Ginger motioned to a blackboard that hung on one wall. “May I?”

  “By all means.”

  Ginger listed the names of all the people at the rehearsal who were without alibis on the night in question. “There’s Miss Howard. She admitted to being in love with Theo Edwards.”

  Haley leaned against a table and folded her arms. “Perhaps she was the victim’s assignation?”

  Ginger tapped the tip of her chalk piece beside Marjorie Bertram’s name. “Miss Bertram admitted that Mr. Edwards had been making romantic advances toward her, and though she tried to contain her emotions, became visibly upset about that.”

  She underlined Catherine Edwards. “Miss Edwards, the victim’s sister. She seemed devoted to her brother, but perhaps she held a grievance.”

  Haley pushed a flyaway curl off her face. “Maybe she didn’t like his affairs with the younger women.”

  “That’s something to consider,” Ginger agreed. “Miss Edwards doesn’t appear overly fond of her sister-in-law, but that doesn’t mean she’d condoned adultery.”

  The last name on the list was Cecil Piper.

  “Mr. Piper is our least likely suspect,” Ginger said.

  “Those are the ones that often end up being guilty,” Haley said.

  “True. He didn’t care for the way Mr. Edwards treated his wife. He might’ve struck out to protect her honour.”

  “What about the sexton? Did he have a grievance against the victim?” Haley asked.

  “I wish I knew,” Ginger said as she wrote Mr. Simpson’s name on the board. “I’ll have to ask Oliver about him.”

  “Is that all?” Haley asked.

  Ginger pursed her lips as she considered something distasteful. “There’s Mary Blythe. She arrived just after the body fell. She could’ve run down from the balcony level.”

  “Was she out of breath?”

  “I didn’t notice.”

  “What motive would she have had?”

  “Well,” Ginger said as she added Mary’s name to the list. “She’s also a young, pretty girl. Theo Edwards would’ve noticed.”

  Haley grimaced. “Poor Reverend Hill.”

  “I’d like to start by interviewing Miss Howard,” Ginger said. “I’m sure she’d have insight as to Mr. Edwards’ character.”

  “And possibly inadvertently confess?” Haley added.

  Ginger scoffed. “Wouldn’t that be nice? I don’t suppose you could come along?”

  “Why not?” Haley pushed away from the table and smoothed out her tweed skirt. “I don’t live here.”

  “One couldn’t tell. Are you sure Dr. Gupta wouldn’t mind?”

  “It’s slow at the moment. I’m due for a break, I should think.” Haley retrieved her matching tweed jacket and black handbag. She pulled a face. “I’m assuming you drove the Crossley here?”

  “I did.”

  “We could take a taxicab?” Haley said, hopefully.

  “Nonsense! The Crossley has petrol and is ready to go.”

  They’d hardly been in the motorcar a minute before Haley grabbed onto the ceiling handle above the passenger window.

  “Oh, Haley,” Ginger said with a grin, “it’s not that bad.”

  At that exact moment, a black cat dashed in front of the motorcar and Ginger swerved, nearly hitting the pavement, but managing to correct herself in time.

  “Holy moly! Ginger, I swear, I’m never driving with you anywhere again.”

  “It’s not my fault a black cat crossed my path. As they say in America, it’s bad luck.”

  “You’re not superstitious, are you?”

  “Not usually. Except when a black cat crosses my path, and my good friend threatens to disown me.”

  “I hardly said I would disown you! Just your motorcar.” Haley’s eyes left the road for a split second to glare at Ginger. “When you’re the driver.”

  Miss Anna Howard lived in a red-bricked terraced house in an area of London crowded with such houses. Ginger was glad she’d taken note of each suspect’s personal address when Basil had asked the question during the interviews the night of the murder. She parked in front of the correct address.

  An older lady with hair curlers tucked under a mesh scarf answered the doorbell. The lines around her mouth fanned out from pursed lips, and unruly eyebrows furrowed downwards. “We don’t want any.”

  “Excuse me, madam,” Ginger said quickly, not relishing the idea of the scarred wooden door slamming in their faces. “I’m Lady Gold, and this is Miss Higgins. We’re here to see Miss Howard. Is she home?”

  A younger voice called out from behind the lady. “Who is it, Mummy?”

  “Friends of yours. A la-dy.”

  Anna Howard squealed and appeared from behind her mother. “Who is it?” Miss Howard had a white powdery substance on her nose and held up dough-encrusted fingers. Her expression switched from expectant to confused. “Oh.”

  “Hello, Miss Howard,” Ginger said. “Would you mind if we came in. We just have a few questions about Mr. Edwards.”

  Mrs. Howard frowned. “What would my Anna know about a Mr. Edwards? She’s not friendly with men.”

  “Mummy, that’s the choir director from St. George’s who died,” Anna said. “I was there, remember. These ladies just want to chat about him. She waved a flour-covered palm. “Come into the kitchen. I’m baking some pies.”

  Ginger cast a glance at Haley. For a girl who’d recently professed love for the deceased, she seemed overly cheery.

  Ginger and Haley each took a seat at the table.

  “It smells fantastic in here,” Haley said. “What kind of pies are you baking?”

  “Chicken and leek. Can I get you some tea?”

  Ginger and Haley accepted, and Miss Howard set the kettle to boil. “I hope you don’t mind if I work whilst we talk,” she said. “The oven’s hot, and I don’t like to waste the heat.”

  “Go ahead,” Ginger said. “Like I mentioned earlier, we’d like to ask a couple questions about your relationship with Theo Edwards.”

  Anna Howard’s blonde head snapped up, her eyes on the kitchen door. She hurried to shut it while whispering over her shoulder. “I don’t want my mum to hear. She’d be so disappointed in me if she knew.”

  “Forgive me for saying,” Haley said, “but you don’t seem overly upset.”

  Anna returned to her piecrust and began rolling.

  “I am, actually. Heartbroken, if you must know. It’s why I’m baking all these pies. If I don’t keep busy, I’m a puddle, and Mummy would know. I just can’t have that.”

  Ginger wondered just how far Anna Howard would go to keep her mother from discovering the truth.

  Anna ran the top of her hand under her nose leaving a distracting flour moustache in its wake. The whistle blew, and Anna quickly brought out teacups, saucers, sugar, and milk along with the kettle and
teapot.

  “Do you mind pouring for yourself?” she asked. “My hands are slippery.

  “How long had you been . . . meeting with Mr. Edwards?” Ginger asked as she poured for herself and Haley.

  “About three weeks.”

  Haley raised a dark brow. “That seems like a short time to fall in love.”

  Anna’s rolling pin stilled, and she stared, her eyes glistening. “When you know, you know. Theo and I were meant to be together.”

  A sob escaped Anna’s throat, and she began to roll the dough ferociously. “We were going to run away, you know. His wife didn’t understand him. He said she was stark raving mad.” She pointed the rolling pin at her guests. “She was mad, wasn’t she? She killed her own husband!”

  “She allegedly killed her husband,” Ginger said gently. “She’s innocent until proven guilty.”

  Anna sniffed. “Well, it’s only a matter of time, then, isn’t it? She’s ruined everything, you know.” Anna lowered her voice. “We were going to run away together, go to America where no one would know us. No one would know—”

  “That he was already married to someone else?” Haley asked.

  “I told you, that marriage was a sham. There weren’t even any children! Theo said the marriage hadn’t even been consummated.”

  Anna Howard’s naïveté was stunning. It amazed Ginger how disillusioned one could be. Mr. Edwards was apparently a great deceiver and manipulator.

  “I know you disapprove, that you think I’m an adulteress, and that I’m going to hell, but I don’t care. I would’ve finally got out from under Mummy’s thumb. Now . . .” Her voice drifted off, and she hiccupped.

  “Did Mrs. Edwards know about your affair?” Haley asked.

  Anna shook her head. “It wasn’t an affair. They didn’t even sleep in the same room. Mrs. Edwards slept in Catherine’s room.”

  Ginger shared a knowing look with Haley. The poor girl was deluded.

  “To your knowledge, Miss Howard,” Ginger started, “did Mrs. Edwards know about your relationship with Mr. Edwards.”

  Anna sighed. “To my knowledge, no. No one knew. Theo said we had to keep it totally secret to protect my reputation. He was so thoughtful that way. Now if you don’t mind, I really need to take care of my pies, or they’re bound to flop.”

  “Thank you for the tea,” Ginger said.

  Mrs. Howard was seated in a rocking chair in the living room. Ginger smiled as they passed through, but the elder Howard lady stared back with a look of suspicion.

  Ginger opened the door and nearly ran into the knuckles of the next guest about to knock.

  Basil Reed's mouth spread into a grin. “Hello, Ginger. Hello, Miss Higgins.” Then to Ginger, he said, “Why am I not surprised to see you here?”

  “As you already know,” Ginger answered haughtily, “Mrs. Edwards has employed me to look into this case.”

  “Yes. She’s quite vocal about her innocence,” Basil said.

  “Perhaps that’s because she is innocent.”

  “Perhaps.”

  Mrs. Howard shuffled up behind them. “Come or go, but don’t stand there with the door open!”

  “Sorry, Mrs. Howard,” Ginger said. “Miss Higgins and I were just leaving, but there’s someone else here to see you.”

  Mrs. Howard gave Basil a withering look. “Whatever you’re selling, young man, we don’t want any!”

  Ginger slid into the driver’s seat of her motorcar. Haley opened her door but hesitated.

  “Are you going to get in?” Ginger asked.

  “I think there’s a bus stop near here.”

  “Don’t tell me you’re so frightened of the Crossley that you’d rather take the bus.”

  “I’m not frightened of the Crossley, I’m frightened with you driving the Crossley.”

  “I’m going to visit Miss Bertram. Surely, you want to join me?”

  “I do.”

  “Then get in.”

  “Fine,” Haley muttered as she settled in and shut the passenger door. “But if I die at your hands, I promise I’ll come back to haunt you.”

  Ginger laughed. “Deal.”

  Miss Marjorie Bertram lived in a flat in a stone and brick house that had once been lived in by a wealthy family but had now been divided into several smaller abodes. Miss Bertram responded to the ringing of the bell of her ground-floor flat.

  “He was right,” she said on seeing them. “Come on in.”

  Ginger stared at the youthful, sensible brunette.

  “Hello, Miss Bertram. What do you mean, he was right?”

  “Chief Inspector Reed. He said there was a good chance that you might call around.”

  “He did, did he?” Ginger said through tight lips. “What else did he say?”

  “That I was to cooperate and answer your questions.”

  Ginger glanced sideways at Haley who merely shrugged.

  “Would you like some tea?”

  “That would be splendid,” Ginger said.

  Haley whispered in Ginger’s ear. “More tea? I’m going to float away.”

  The sitting room was brightly decorated with a light, paisley-print wallpaper; whitewashed floor with a large wool rug; and rose pin-cushion chairs placed in a semicircle around a fireplace, now lit. Above the mantelpiece was a photograph in a circular frame of a lady wearing a red dress.

  “Do you live alone, Miss Bertram?” Haley asked.

  “No. I have a flatmate, Charlotte, but she’s at work. She’s a nurse at the hospital. Works all sorts of hours, so I never know when she’ll be around. It’s nice, though. I like being alone.”

  “Are you employed?” Ginger asked.

  “I’m a typist.”

  After asking how Ginger and Haley liked their tea, Marjorie Bertram poured three cups. She settled in her chair and picked up a partially completed doily made of fine white cotton stabbed with a narrow crochet hook.

  “You don’t mind if I crochet while we talk?” she asked.

  “Of course not,” Ginger said. “You do lovely work.”

  “Thank you, Lady Gold. I find crocheting helps me to relax. With everything that’s happened . . . Well, this is my second since . . .”

  “Yes,” Ginger said, helping her along. “Mr. Edwards’ death was quite tragic.”

  Miss Bertram worked her crochet hook furiously. “I’ve never seen a dead body before. Charlotte has, of course, and thinks I’m making too much of it.”

  “I recall feeling very distressed by my first dead body,” Haley said.

  Miss Bertram paused and stared. “Your first?”

  “Miss Higgins is training to become a pathologist,” Ginger explained. When Miss Bertram’s eyes failed to register understanding, Ginger continued. “A pathologist examines bodies for cause of death.”

  Miss Bertram’s mouth dropped open. “Why on earth would you want a job like that?”

  “It can be quite interesting,” Haley said. “Especially when a postmortem exam helps to solve a crime. Prove criminal intent. Forensic science is useful in proving guilt and innocence.”

  Miss Bertram returned to her crocheting with fervour. “To each their own, I suppose. You and Charlotte would certainly have something to talk about.”

  “Miss Bertram, you told me on Thursday that Mr. Edwards had made unwanted advances, but you turned him down.”

  Miss Bertram’s pale face flushed red with embarrassment and her hands stilled.

  “That’s correct. But I told him in no uncertain terms that I wasn’t interested. He was a bore, and tricked other, stupid girls, but I wasn’t one of them. And I certainly didn’t kill him over it.”

  “No one is suggesting that you did,” Ginger said.

  Miss Bertram laid her crochet down on the coffee table. “Then why are you here?”

  “We’re trying to find the truth. You never know what small piece of information can lead to it.”

  “I’ve already told the police, and now you—twice—everything I know.” She
stood, indicating her wish to end the interview.

  “Thank you for your time,” Ginger said as she and Haley rose to their feet. “We’ll see ourselves out.”

  “Well, what do you think of that?” Haley asked once they were safely out of earshot.

  “I find it interesting what people do to relax in times of stress. Miss Howard bakes pies, Miss Bertram crochets.”

  “You shop,” Haley said.

  Ginger stared back at her friend. “I suppose I do. And you?”

  “I read medical textbooks.”

  Ginger grinned.

  Haley opened the passenger door but didn’t get in. “I think Miss Bertram’s hiding something.”

  “Possibly,” Ginger said. “The question is what?”

  “Maybe she knows who did it and wants to protect that person.”

  “Or perhaps she’s the killer. Are you getting in?”

  Haley wrinkled her nose and shook her head. “Nah. I’ll take the bus. I want to live another day.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Ginger parked the Crossley in the stone garage and made a detour to the stables to visit Goldmine, her Akhal-Teke gelding. The breed was rare in England, an import from Turkmenistan, and known for its glossy, silky hair. Ginger never failed to get lingering, inquisitive gazes when she took Goldmine out for a ride, and not only because she was a woman riding astride.

  Unsurprisingly, she found Scout there, smelling of oats, hay, and horse sweat. He was brushing the animal’s golden coat.

  “H-ello, missus,” he said with a toothy smile. “Come to ride Goldmine, have ya?”

  Ginger wrinkled her nose guiltily. “I’m afraid not. I don’t have time today.” In fact, she needed to start getting ready for another dinner engagement with William. “Would you like to ride him?”

  Scout’s pointy chin dropped in surprise. “On my own?”

  Like most street children, the lad hadn’t had an opportunity to learn to ride before staying with Ginger at Hartigan House. She’d given him a few lessons, but he wasn’t ready to take the horse out on his own.

  “How about I ask Mr. Clement to lead you around?”