Murder at Feathers & Flair

by Lee Strauss

  Lizzie opened the small bottle and eased one aspirin into her palm. She handed it along with the glass of water from the bedside table to Ginger.

  “Thank you,” Ginger said, before she swallowed the pill.

  Ginger paused just outside the sitting room doors and took a fortifying breath. She stepped forward with all the confidence she could muster.

  “Captain Smithwick. What a surprise.”

  Tea had been served and the captain set his cup and saucer down before standing and swivelling to face her. He was a large, imposing man dressed in a blue-striped suit. It’d been a while since Ginger had seen him out of uniform. His hair was parted down the side, trimmed around the ears and greased back. Lines formed around his dark eyes as he smiled—not a smile of affection though, but of conceit.

  “Hello, Ginger.”

  Ginger despised his use of familiarity but ignored it. Lizzie had followed her in and poured her some tea. Ginger accepted the cup once she was seated.

  “That’s an interesting accessory,” Captain Smithwick said, nodding at Ginger’s neck brace.

  “Yes, well, I had a little accident with the Daimler this afternoon.”

  “I see.”

  “What brings you to London?” The last Ginger had heard, the captain had been stationed in St. Albans.

  He stared at her. “Work.”

  Ginger sat and casually crossed her legs. She sipped her tea, not allowing him to intimidate her.

  “You set your little detective on me,” Smithwick said with contempt. “Whatever for?”

  She pursed her lips in disgust at the captain’s effort to demean Basil, but she didn’t react.

  “Did you speak to him?”

  “I did not.”

  “And why not?”

  “Because, Lady Gold, I thought to myself, what an excellent excuse to pay my good friend a visit. For old times’ sake.”

  The man infuriated her! And in return, her head throbbed all the more. I must take some more aspirin, Ginger thought. She calmly sipped her tea, refusing to appear bothered. She and the captain were not friends. Her animosity toward him went further back than the ignoble way he’d treated her sister-in-law. It went back to France. He had been her superior at the time, and she had often disagreed with his approach, so reckless and often blatant in his disregard for human life. For Francis Smithwick, only the mission mattered.

  “I believe the secret service may be involved in the death of Mary Parker,” Ginger said. “An agent apparently working for both the Russians and the British was killed, coincidently, in my shop.”

  “Oh, yes. I heard about that. A nasty inconvenience I can imagine.”

  “Do you know anything about that?”

  Captain Smithwick leaned forward and smirked. “If I did, you know I couldn’t tell you. So the answer, of course, is no.”

  Ginger feared as much.

  “Was Princess Sophia von Altenhofen part of the mission?”

  “I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.”

  Ginger snorted in exasperation. “Francis, why did you come?”

  “As I said . . .” He lifted his teacup. “A friendly visit. So how are you, Ginger? Besides the inconvenient neck problem. I understand the inspector has got back with his wife. I dare say, that must sting.”

  “You’re despicable.”

  “I’ve been called worse.”

  Ginger relieved herself of her teacup and stood. “If you’ve nothing more substantial to offer, I bid you good day.”

  “Now, now, don’t be so hasty. I’m not the kind to visit an old friend without bringing a gift of some sort. Please sit.”

  Ginger hesitated, but then did as the captain bid. She couldn’t let her pride get in the way, even if the chance of Smithwick’s offering something of merit was infinitesimal.

  “Very well,” she said. “Let’s have it.”

  “You know I can’t say much since you’re no longer part of the team.”

  “I’m aware.”

  “You could change that.”

  “I’m not interested,” she replied. Especially if it meant working under Smithwick’s command again.

  “Such a pity.” Smithwick stood and tugged on his waistcoat. “Whoever killed Mary Parker, it wasn’t one of ours.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Quite.”

  So that meant it couldn’t have been Lord Whitmore. “Are you saying MI5 isn’t involved?” Ginger tried to be nonchalant.

  “Sorry, but I’m afraid you’ll get no more from me.”

  Voices erupted from the entrance hall. Felicia asked Pippins where Ginger could be found.

  “Quick!” she said, moving toward the captain. “You must leave through the kitchen.”

  “Why? Shall I not greet Miss Gold before I go?”

  “You most certainly shall not!”

  Ginger was desperate to spare Felicia further upset. “Please. I appeal to your sense of decency, Captain.”

  “Very well. You may show me out like a common servant.”

  Ginger had no qualms about that. Her opinion of her servants topped that of what she held for Smithwick by a long shot. Though it pained her physically to do it, she hurried him across the sitting room practically pushing him through the dining room door.

  “Lizzie!”

  Thankfully the young maid was within hearing distance in the kitchen. She scampered into the dining room and stopped short in surprise at seeing Captain Smithwick standing there with a scowl on his face.

  “Madam?”

  “Please show the Captain out through the morning room. He’s expressed interest in seeing the garden, and with my injury—”

  Smithwick gave her a sharp look. As if he’d be interested in her garden and in January.

  Lizzie bobbed, her chin down. It wasn’t her place to question her mistress. “Please follow me.”

  Ginger leaned against the wall to catch her breath. That beastly Smithwick! Would she ever manage to rid her life of him?

  “Are you all right, madam?”

  Mrs. Beasley poked her head into the dining room, obviously struck with curiosity at the sight of one such as the Captain being escorted out of the back door by Lizzie. She stared at Ginger with concern.

  Ginger brushed at her dress. “Yes. Of course. I just needed a bit of fresh air. I’m quite all right now.”

  “Are you sure? I heard about your accident.”

  “I’m fine. Just a sore neck.”

  “I’ll send Grace in with some more tea in the sitting room and bring out a plate of sandwiches.”

  “That would be marvellous, Mrs. Beasley. I believe Felicia is home, as well.”

  “We’ll make enough for two, then.”

  “Thank you.”

  Felicia burst into the sitting room through the entrance room doors just as Ginger came from the dining room.

  “Ginger!” Felicia said sounding rather worked up. She didn’t even take note of Ginger’s obtrusive collar. “I’ve just come from the theatre.”

  “What’s the matter?”

  “It’s Matthew Haines. He’s missing now, too.”

  Ginger gawked. “What do you mean, he’s missing?”

  “Just like Angus. Just gone! No one has seen him. He didn’t show up for our auditions. Geordie Atkins called at Matthew’s flat, and he wasn’t there either. Ginger, someone is stealing actors!”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Ginger settled back in her chair. She couldn’t wait to fall into a blissful state of nothingness in the comfort of her own bed.

  “Felicia, darling, I don’t think anyone is stealing actors. Please tell me what has happened?”

  “It’s just like with Angus. Matthew and I made plans to meet for lunch before the auditions, and he didn’t show up. Of course, I was put out, but I assumed he’d lost track of time. When he didn’t show up for the auditions either, I just knew something terrible had happened. Ginger, what have you got around your neck?”

  Ginger gr
inned at Felicia’s sudden change of track. “I’m afraid the Daimler and I got caught on a slippery patch of sleet and smashed into another motorcar.”

  “Are you okay?”

  “Yes. A bit of neck strain. I’ll be fine in no time.”

  “What about the Daimler?”

  “In the mechanic’s garage. I haven’t yet heard how it’s faring.”

  “Oh dear,” Felicia said. “How unfortunate. But what to do about Matthew?”

  How like Felicia to dart back to her own troubles.

  “A second missing actor is indeed odd. Then again, perhaps he was inspired by Mr. Green to live in a carefree fashion.”

  “I just can’t believe it,” Felicia huffed.

  Unfortunately, Ginger could. Mr. Haines didn’t seem the type to take much seriously. To placate Felicia, she said, “I’ll call Basil and inform him.”

  “Thank you.” Felicia sniffed into her handkerchief then helped herself to a tuna triangle.

  Ginger eased to the hall, not moving her head or neck in the slightest. She bent her knees to reach for the candlestick phone and dialled the Yard.

  “I’m sorry, madam. Chief Inspector Reed is unavailable.”

  “Very well, I’d like to report a missing person. Potentially missing.” Ginger relayed the information she’d gleaned from Felicia. “This is the second young man from the Abbott Theatre to disappear. It may be purely coincidental. However, it may also be a case where two young men—I’m referring to Mr. Haines and Mr. Green—are in trouble. Please ensure the appropriate investigator is informed.”

  Ginger returned to Felicia who looked quite forlorn and exhausted.

  “Why don’t you have a lie down before dinner?” Ginger said gently. “I’ve let the police know about Matthew. Let’s let them worry about it for now.”

  Felicia yawned into her hand. “I think I shall, Ginger. Thank you.”

  Ginger slid back into her chair, exhausted herself. It had been quite a day already, first with the countess’s strange performance, then the motorcar accident, then Smithwick’s inexplicable visit, and now another missing man.

  Why had Smithwick bothered to come? If the British secret service was involved, wouldn’t Smithwick want her to stay out of the investigation? He never made mention of any desire of that sort. Perhaps it was because they really weren’t involved, as Smithwick had implied. If not, then who? The Germans? The Russians? The Romanians?

  And why stage it at her gala?

  With her foot, Ginger removed the folded easel paper she’d tucked under her chair. Despite the collar, her neck was still sensitive to movement. She rang the bell, and Pippins arrived soon afterwards.

  “Pips, would you mind so much?” She poked the paper with her toe. “I need it tacked to the easel again.”

  “Certainly, madam.” Pippins did as requested. “Anything else you need from me?”

  “Perhaps some tea.”

  After adding a log to the fire, Pippins left Ginger alone in the sitting room. She stared at the board.

  Lady Ilsa Lyon, kleptomaniac; husband Lord Lyon, protective; Princess Sophia, territorial enemies; Lord Whitmore, British secret service agent; Countess Andreea Balcescu, elusive.

  She retrieved a pencil from a drawer in the sideboard. She was about to scratch out Princess Sophia’s name, then stopped. Just because she was dead, didn’t mean she hadn’t killed Mary Parker.

  What motives did this crew have?

  Next to Lady Lyon, she wrote: theft. Had Lady Lyon wanted the real blue diamond badly enough to kill for it? It was hard to imagine her breaking the victim’s neck.

  Lord Lyon: defending family name. It was quite likely that Mary Parker saw her attacker. Ginger could see how he might kill her to prevent his wife from going to court. He was certainly strong enough.

  Princess Sophia: Was she working for the Germans to intercept the coded message? If so she had failed. Perhaps she was also after the necklace. Had Mary Parker been wearing the real blue diamond at the gala? Had Sophia merely planted the doubt by telling Ginger it was a fake, waiting until the end of the night to break the lady’s neck and switch the necklaces?

  Ginger wrote “theft” beside the princess’s name.

  Beside Lord Whitmore, Ginger wrote: fulfilling his mission? Perhaps Mary hadn’t hung her shawl up with a message inside. Perhaps she was waiting for a message to be delivered. Had Lord Whitmore needed to prevent Mary from receiving a message from the Russians? If so, who was the Russian?

  Countess Balcescu: Wild Card

  Lizzie arrived with a tea tray. “Here you are, madam. Would you like me to pour? Perhaps it’s better if you sit down.”

  Ginger slowly lowered herself into a chair and accepted the hot tea. “Thank you, Lizzie.”

  “Just ring the bell if you need anything else.”

  “I will.”

  Ginger blew on the tea to cool it as she stared at the board. The whole thing made Ginger’s headache worsen with a vague dizziness. She was still no closer to the truth than she had been this morning. She took a small sip.

  “You look like you could use something stronger than tea.”

  Ginger slowly turned towards Haley’s voice.

  “I do believe you are right.”

  Haley’s gaze fell to Ginger’s neck. “Oh, honey. What happened?”

  Ginger relayed her misadventure once again.

  “I’m glad it was a minor crash. You’d be surprised how many fatalities involve automobiles.” She paused. “Are you in pain?”

  “Somewhat,” Ginger admitted.

  Haley opened her handbag, pulled out a glass bottle of aspirin, and uncorked it. “Take this. It’s aspirin.”

  “Thank you, Haley.” Gingered washed the aspirin down with a gulp of tea.

  “It was the sleet. We were all travelling at very slow speed. It was a slippery patch—one could barely see it.”

  Ginger enjoyed the time she and Haley spent together at the end of their days, telling their stories to each other over a short tumbler of brandy. Haley took a moment to stoke the fire, adding another log to keep the flames burning, before pouring two glasses. She handed one glass to Ginger, and they curled up on their respective chairs. Boss must’ve heard their voices, as he sauntered in and jumped up on Ginger’s lap. She stroked his soft fur.

  Haley glanced across the room. “I see the chart is back up. What’s the new scribble?”

  “I’m trying to determine motive. The whole thing is so convoluted.”

  “Countess Balcescu is a wild card?”

  “The countess came to the shop this morning and nosed around upstairs. At first I thought she was interested in the factory dresses, but she acted strangely upon leaving and I followed her.”

  “Oh, dear.”

  “If only I had been a second earlier, if I hadn’t slipped and torn my best stockings, I would’ve made the train.”

  “And then what?”

  “I’d know if she actually went to Brown’s Hotel, as she said.”

  “Why would she lie?”

  “Because I don’t think she’s really who she says she is.”

  “Oh my. Another secret agent?”

  “I have no idea. But there was something . . .”

  “What?”

  “I caught sight of her in the rain, and her face, looked—” Ginger paused, searching for the right words.

  “Looked like what?”

  Ginger lifted her gaze and wrinkled her nose. “Looked like it was coming off.”

  Haley considered her statement, then said, “It must’ve been a refraction of the light in her reflection.”

  Ginger sipped her brandy. “You’re probably right.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Ginger did as the doctor ordered and stayed at home for the next three days. Madame Roux was an absolute darling and fully competent to run Feathers & Flair. Ginger wondered why she bothered going in to assist at all. She was grateful she could lie about in her bed and sleep. She had been m
ore weary than she’d thought.

  On the fourth day, Ginger was startled awake by Lizzie in the early morning hours. She leaned up on one elbow, feeling noticeably better. “What is it, Lizzie?”

  Lizzie placed an oil lamp on her bedside table. “I’m so sorry to disturb you, madam, but there’s a call for you from Scotland Yard. Says it’s urgent. I wasn’t sure what to do, but I thought you’d want me to wake you.”

  “You did the right thing, Lizzie.” Ginger pushed herself up into a sitting position. “Hand me the bottle of aspirin and a glass of water, will you?”

  Her maid did as she was asked. Boss, sensing his mistress’s physical distress, padded softly along the quilt to her side, nudging her arm with his wet nose.

  “I’m all right, Boss,” Ginger said as she scratched around his pointy ears. “Just need to warm up a little.”

  Ginger swallowed the pills and then removed the collar and tested her mobility. Much better than the day before. She replaced the collar, accepting that it would be prudent to continue wearing it, but perhaps by the next evening her neck would be strong enough to attend the dance without such an unsightly accessory.

  The inspector on the phone? Her curiosity was piqued. Ginger pulled on her dressing gown and took the steps as fast as she could. Boss, her constant companion of late, followed right behind. What could Basil possibly want? The bell-shaped handpiece of the candlestick telephone had been laid on the table on its side. She picked up both pieces.

  “This is Lady Gold.”

  “Ginger, it’s Basil.”

  “Did you find the murderer?”

  “Sadly, no. I’m afraid I have a bit of bad news, though.”

  Ginger thought about the members of her family and was fairly certain all were still in their beds. Almost certain. She could never tell with Felicia—with her increasingly wild ways.

  “What is it?”

  “It’s Feathers & Flair. It’s been broken into.”

  Ginger’s jaw dropped. Relieved that it was only her shop and not a loved one in trouble, she was still stunned by the news. Why would someone break into her shop? Her mind could barely comprehend such a thing.