by Lee Strauss
Haley tried hard not to roll her eyes.
“It’s against our policy to give out personal information on our passengers, but since we’re docking soon, I don’t see how it should be a problem.” The concierge relinquished the room number. Miss Guilford’s stateroom was located on the starboard side. It was on the same side as the Walshes, but nearer to the bow. Still plenty of opportunity for awkward encounters.
“Thank you, Ernest!” Ginger blew him a kiss. “You’re such a peach.”
“And you are shameful,” Haley said under her breath as they walked away.
“Yet I got the room number, didn’t I?”
“For that, I say, well done. How, exactly, do you plan to present us to Miss Guilford?” Haley said. “I doubt she even knows we exist.”
“I doubt she knows anyone exists who is not in her entourage,” Ginger replied. “Film stars live in their own fantasy world.”
“I hear she's going to be in a talkie next,” Haley said.
“With that voice?”
Ginger and Haley turned onto the corridor where Nancy Guilford’s room was situated, just as the door of the room in question opened and Chief Officer MacIntosh slipped out. Ginger and Haley ducked back behind the corner before he could see them. Ginger held her finger to her lips for Boss’ sake.
“That’s interesting,” she said once MacIntosh was out of sight.
“Very interesting, indeed,” Haley said. “Nancy Guilford and the first officer are acquainted. Lovers?”
“Coconspirators to murder?”
“What could possibly be their motives?”
“Perhaps the chief officer would like to be captain one day.”
“You think he’d kill for that?” Haley said.
“I don’t know,” Ginger said. “What else would he have to gain?”
“Maybe he was the blackmailer, and after demanding more money, he and the captain got into a fight,” Haley said. “In a rage, MacIntosh killed him.”
“It’s possible, and it could very well be what they were arguing about. Or it’s possible it’s purely greed for power. MacIntosh is now the standing captain for the duration of this trip. We need to find out whether he would remain the captain of this vessel indefinitely.”
“His motive could be as simple as a lover’s quarrel,” Haley said. “Perhaps MacIntosh, besotted now with the sensual Miss Guilford, fell into a jealous rage with the prospect of sharing her.”
“The argument between the men could’ve been over Miss Guilford then,” Ginger said.
“MacIntosh’s definitely strong enough to put a man into a barrel.”
Haley slowed as they reached Miss Guilford’s door. “But that still leaves the question as to why bother.”
“A body would be preserved in pickle juice somewhat, wouldn’t it?” Ginger asked.
Haley conceded. “Perhaps for a very short while.”
“But long enough to get it to shore tomorrow night, surely?”
“Yes. That raises the question as to why the killer wants to preserve the body. Is it more than just proof of death? If not, what does our killer need to prove?”
Ginger knocked. Unlike Mrs. Walsh’s slow response, the door opened immediately. The smile on Nancy Guilford’s face dropped when she saw who it was.
“Were you expecting someone else?” Ginger asked.
The actress sneered and said with her nasal drawl, “Wasn’t expecting you, Mrs. Gold.”
“So, you do know who I am.”
“The captain liked to rave about you and his connection to your family.” She squinted suspiciously. “Why are you here?”
Ginger dug into her shoulder bag and produced the half bottle of brandy. At this rate, if they drank with every suspect they queried, they were going to be sloshed by the end of the night.
Nancy eyed the bottle and waved them in. “The dog stays out.”
“If the dog stays out, so does the brandy.”
“Fine, but if he soils the carpet, I’m sending you the bill.”
“Agreed.”
Nancy Guilford seemed to thrive on chaos and disarray. Items of high-quality clothing were draped over each chair, and lacy lingerie hung seductively from open drawers. Though the bed was made, thanks to the chambermaid, the quilt was untidy and shimmied out of place by recent use. There wasn’t a book in sight, but a stack of movie magazines littered the table.
As she had with Mrs. Walsh, Haley claimed three glasses from their position beside the matching crystal decanter and set them on the sideboard in front of the candleholders. Ginger hovered over an open drawer, taking a moment to register the items—unfolded gloves topped by a crinkled receipt from a jewellery store—before closing it with her hip. She poured the brandy and passed a glass two fingers full to Nancy Guilford, who accepted with a nod of thanks.
“I suppose you figured out that the captain and I were lovers,” she said after her first sip.
“We gathered that much.” Ginger didn’t think it necessary to say that they got the confirmation from the captain’s wife.
“And you suspect me of being involved with his death.”
“Were you?” Haley said.
Nancy took a big swig. “Nope.”
Short and to the point. “Were you with him last night?” Ginger asked.
“Not that it’s any of your business. But, yes.” She retrieved a cigarette from its case, inserted it into an ivory holder, and lit it with a silver lighter. Blowing smoke from the side of her mouth, she added, “And before you ask, he was alive when I left his room.”
“Can you substantiate it?” Haley said.
Nancy Guilford glared back. “I don’t have to provide an alibi to you.”
“How well are you acquainted with Chief Officer MacIntosh?” Ginger said.
“This ain’t none of your business, honey.”
Ginger tried the same trick she had with Mrs. Walsh and presented the conversation as an opportunity to practice her answers to the police.
“How well are you acquainted with the chief officer?” Ginger repeated.
Nancy considered her before answering. “As well as anyone on this boat.”
“Did you know that Captain Walsh was being blackmailed?”
Nancy scoffed. “Who told you that? Elise? She’s delusional. She hated how Joseph preferred my company to hers and will do anything to cast a shadow over his memory.”
“So, as far as you know, the captain wasn’t being blackmailed.”
“No, he was not.” She stubbed out her half-smoked cigarette. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’m feeling very tired and would like you to go.”
Ginger examined the brandy bottle, with still a good third left, and sealed the top.
“Always a pleasure,” Ginger said. Haley scoffed.
“Let’s go, boy,” Ginger urged Boss as she opened the door. She stopped short, having found herself nose to nose with Chief Inspector Reed, who had his fist up to knock.
“Chief Inspector Reed, what a surprise to see you here!”
His face tightened with a look of disgruntlement, an expression Ginger was beginning to believe was reserved for her. He eyed Boss with distaste, then said, “Is it? May I ask why you are here?”
Ginger waved the near-empty brandy bottle. “Just having a little tête-à-tête with our good friend, Nancy. Were you aware that she’s a famous movie star? In America, that is.”
“I’m afraid I haven’t seen any of her films. Now, if you wouldn’t mind,” Chief Inspector Reed grumbled, “I would like to interview her.”
“Most certainly, Chief Inspector,” Ginger said with a victorious grin. “Good day.”
Chapter Twelve
With her broad-rimmed hat adorned with white silk flowers, and her delicate lacy gloves that nearly reached her elbows, Ginger believed she rivalled the actress when it came to glamour. She leaned back onto the lounge chair and daintily propped up one knee beneath the smoky blue crinkled silk of her Canton crepe frock. The breeze blew th
e oriental crêpe-de-chine trim of the skirt and bell sleeves in elegant waves. When case required solving in a limited amount of time, taking a moment to enjoy the sun might seem frivolous, but Ginger needed a chance to pause and think. She closed her eyes. Every puzzle could be solved if studied from all angles.
Captain Walsh had been bludgeoned and transported to the cool pantry for preservation. The scene of the crime was unknown, at least to her. Those in relationship to the captain were all possible suspects.
“Just the person I was looking for.”
Ginger smiled at the familiar voice before opening her eyes. “Ah, Chief Inspector Reed. Have you come to enjoy the lovely view?”
“I wish I had opportunity for leisure, Mrs. Gold, but alas, I have a murderer to apprehend.”
Ginger sat up and adjusted her sunhat, ensuring the blue and green floral adornment was situated properly over her ear. “A trite inconvenience to one’s relaxation.”
“Quite right.” The chief inspector removed his Panama straw hat and indicated to the empty lounge chair. “May I join you?”
Attracted to his confident air and admiring the handsome face the good Lord had given him, Ginger stared at the man. She especially appreciated his sense of style, noting his crisp tweed suit with a good crease down the trousers and his two-tone brogue shoes. She smiled. “Of course.”
Instead of relaxing into a vacant lounger with legs outstretched, Chief Inspector Reed balanced at the foot end and leaned his elbows on his knees.
“You look serious,” Ginger said.
“I am. I’ve heard from Scotland Yard. Are you aware that Captain Walsh owed your father money?”
Ginger blinked. “No, I’m not. How much?”
“A good deal. Ten thousand American dollars.”
“What?” Ginger’s mouth dropped open. “I had no idea.”
Basil Reed eyed her carefully before asking, “Are you sure about that?”
“Chief Inspector Reed, what are you suggesting?”
“Perhaps the captain refused to pay up.”
Ginger scoffed. “So, I smacked him over the head a couple times, dragged him to the pantry, and stuffed him into the pickle barrel.”
“Not on your own, perhaps. You would’ve needed help. From a friend?”
“Who? Do you mean Miss Higgins? Most certainly not!”
The chief inspector made a show of looking around the deck. Only a few of the lounge chairs were occupied. “Where is the good nurse?”
“Miss Higgins remains in the room, her nose in a book. She’s quite serious about her studies.”
“As a doctor in training, Miss Higgins likely knows how to stop a heart.”
“I’m sure she could come up with something far more interesting than bludgeoning, which wasn’t what killed the captain, by the way.”
“For the moment, I only have Nurse Higgins’s word on that.”
Ginger huffed. Men.
A bank of clouds rolled in, marring the once-bright blue sky. The wind stirred forcefully, and Ginger’s skirt billowed upwards, revealing a shapely calf. Ginger quickly adjusted the hem.
Basil Reed cleared his throat and set his gaze back to hers. “Mrs. Gold, did you bring a revolver onboard?”
“Chief Inspector!”
“A gun is just another fashion accessory for Americans, but we English take our weapons more seriously.”
“I don’t see how my having a revolver or not is relevant. The captain didn’t die of a gunshot wound.”
“Please answer the question.”
“Oh, drat it. Yes. Yes, I did. A nice little muff pistol.”
“Make and model?”
Ginger stilled, pushing down her annoyance. She jutted her chin out in defiance. “Remington derringer, model 95. Cute little thing.” Daniel had given it to her before he left Boston to join the British Army. “Are you going to take it from me?”
“Why do you carry it?”
“I’m a woman travelling alone to a foreign land.”
“England is hardly foreign to you, and you have a travel companion.”
“Also a woman. We are both vulnerable.”
Basil Reed raised a brow but conceded. “I’ll allow it for now, so long as you promise to register it in London when you get there.”
“Why should I do that? I’m not planning to stay.”
“Then keep it out of sight unless absolutely necessary. If you find your plans change, come to the station. I’ll assess your situation and consider registering permission.”
Ginger could hardly contain her indignation. Sensing his master’s strong emotion, Boss slunk out from under Ginger’s chair.
“Whoa,” Chief Inspector Reed said, jerking back. “I thought dogs weren’t allowed on deck.”
“Boss prefers my company, and he’s really no trouble at all, so long as I keep him out of sight.”
Chief Inspector Reed gave her a sideways glance. “I perceive you are one who doesn’t mind bending the rules. I have to ask, Mrs. Gold, do you always get your way?”
“No.” Not always.
“But often?”
Ginger no longer cared that Chief Inspector Reed was handsome or charming. “What’s your point?”
His lips tugged up to one side. “I’d say don’t leave town, but as we’re on the Rosa, you’ve nowhere to go.” Boss let out a low growl of displeasure. Chief Inspector Reed took a careful step back. Was the good Chief Inspector afraid of dogs? Ginger stifled a smirk.
“Mrs. Gold, isn’t a clandestine pet outing ambitious and a little daring?”
Ginger shrugged and batted her eyelids with innocence. “Those are words I like to live my life by—ambitious and daring. In fact, I want those very words written on my tombstone when I die.”
Basil Reed’s jaw slackened, but then he pressed his lips firmly together.
Boss emitted another low belly growl.
“Boss doesn’t seem to like you, Chief Inspector Reed, which is odd,” Ginger said curtly. “He’s usually such a good judge of character.”
Chapter Thirteen
“That man is infuriating!” Ginger tossed her hat onto her bed as Boss reclaimed his spot on the pillow.
Haley sat up with interest. “Which man?”
Ginger peeled off her gloves with exaggerated flair. “Chief Inspector Basil Reed.”
“Full name declaration. Must be love.”
“This is no time for jokes, Haley. He suspects me—us, actually—of murder.”
Haley looked stunned. “That’s ridiculous.”
Ginger bobbed her head. “It most certainly is! Apparently, Captain Walsh owed my father money. Even if I had known about that, which I hadn’t—you know how tight-lipped Father was when it came to finances—why would I kill him? I certainly wouldn’t be any richer.”
“Well,” Haley said, tapping her lips with a pencil. “Assuming you were behaving logically and not full of passion and spite.”
“I’m not spiteful! The chief inspector is still in one piece.”
“For now.”
Ginger calmed enough to sit on the mattress and unbuckle her suede double-strapped shoes. “I may be passionate, but I’m not vengeful.”
“Perhaps I am, then,” Haley said with a smirk. “Perhaps I knew about the injustice and killed the captain in a failed attempt to honour your father’s memory.”
“Haley Higgins! You mustn’t joke like that!”
Haley chuckled. “I couldn’t have moved him to the pantry without help, and you’re the only friend I have.”
Ginger was warmed by Haley’s admission. In normal circumstances, they wouldn’t have forged a friendship, each of them running in different circles—Ginger part of the upper class and Haley in the middle. If it weren’t for her ailing father, and the wartime experiences they shared—a nightmare that removed social class and equalised men—they’d never have met.
“As much as the chief inspector’s suspicions offend me, I suppose he is merely doing his job,” Ginger said
. “I can’t begrudge him that.”
“There’s common sense talking.”
Ginger poked at the air. “We must get into the captain’s room.”
“And there goes the common sense.”
“I’m serious, Haley, and you need to be too. We must clear our names.”
“And trespassing in a dead man’s room will help us to do that how?”
“We won’t know until we do it, now, will we?”
With Boss walking inconspicuously between them, they headed for the Walshes’ staterooms.
Haley glanced at the dog. “Do you think it is a good idea to bring Boss?”
“Boss is very bright. He might sniff out something we’d miss.”
“Or bark and give us away.”
“He won’t bark if I tell him not to.”
“Smartest canine on the planet.”
“You said it, and Boss and I both heard it.” The terrier’s knob of a tail shimmied in response.
They stopped at Mrs. Walsh’s door, and Ginger knocked.
“Mrs. Walsh?”
There was every chance Mrs. Walsh would be in her room, but even as a newly minted widow, she wouldn’t be expected to ride out the rest of the journey trapped in her personal quarters. Ginger tapped on the door and called out again, but it remained quiet on the other side. Haley tried the knob. “It’s locked.”
Ginger removed a hairpin from her hat, wiggled it through the keyhole, and moments later the lock gave.
“Mrs. Gold, you never fail to amaze me.”
“The war,” Ginger said in way of explanation. She’d learned a great many unorthodox skills while serving in France. “Come, Boss.”
The room looked much the same as it had that morning. Ginger took the opportunity to sneak a search of the drawers. Plain Victorian underthings—bloomers, stockings, corsets—no face powders or jewellery, just a few hat pins. Mrs. Walsh was a no-nonsense woman.