by Lee Strauss
Haley took a peek in the wardrobe. “Anything?” Ginger asked.
“Nothing out of the ordinary,” Haley said. “Several well-made dresses in dark shades of blue, grey, and black.” She gave Ginger a look. “Well-stocked widow fare, if she was preparing for such a thing, and a variety of black tie-up boots. Mrs. Walsh might not have your fashion sense, but she has a good tailor.”
“Do you think her wardrobe indicates premeditation?”
“That or her sense of style is legitimately worse than mine.”
At the back of the stocking drawer, Ginger discovered a shiny silver square.
“Well, look at this,” she said. With gloved hands, she held up a cuff link engraved with a fleur-de-lis.
“The captain’s cuff links?” Haley said.
Ginger ran her fingers along the bottom and edges of the drawer. “Cuff link. There’s only one.”
“It’s not so unusual for a wife to be in possession of her husband’s belongings,” Haley said.
As Ginger had hoped, the door between the two rooms was unlocked, which surprised her, considering Miss Guilford admitted to being a frequent visitor. Surely the captain had had enough respect for his wife that he would’ve at least locked the door.
Then again maybe he had locked the door and it was the wife who had unlocked it and entered.
The room was an inverse duplicate of Elise Walsh’s. A quick search through the drawers and wardrobe produced a male version of the same sort of belongings.
“Surely we’re not the first to poke around,” Haley said.
Ginger agreed. “The good Chief Inspector must be doing something to earn his reputation. Certainly this was the first place he came.”
Ginger found a fine mahogany box filled with a nice assortment of cuff links. “No solos in here,” she said.
Boss sniffed the carpet in an area behind a chair next to the window and whined.
“What is it, Bossy?” Ginger followed him to a barely noticeable dark splatter that marred the pattern of the red carpet.
“Looks like something bad happened here,” Ginger said.
Haley joined them and squatted to take a closer look. “Blood.”
Ginger pointed to the sideboard. “One of the candleholders is missing.”
“I thought they were secured?”
Ginger leaned over and squinted. “It appears they can be unfastened. Probably so the maids can clean them.”
Haley straightened and brushed out her skirt. “I’d wager a bet that the missing candleholder is the murder weapon.”
“So, this is the scene of the crime,” Ginger mused. “But how did the killer get the body to the cold pantry three decks below? Even a strong man would get winded with dead weight over his back like a sack of potatoes.”
“A laundry cart perhaps, or a service trolley?”
“Ah, good thinking, Haley. The captain would quite likely arrange for something to be brought up if he planned to entertain.”
“We have to consider that it’s possible we’re dealing with more than one killer,” Haley said. “Two working together for a common goal.”
“Or maybe not a common goal,” Ginger said. “Perhaps there are two motives and the killers discovered that they each wanted the captain dead for different reasons and colluded.”
“Good hypothesis,” Haley said. “Let’s say you’re right. Who would our couple team players be?”
“Nancy Guilford and MacIntosh? Elise Walsh and Babineaux?”
The sound of voices travelled from Mrs. Walsh’s room. Ginger stared at Boss and held a finger to her lips. She was going to have to give him an extra treat when they got back to their room.
The door adjoining the rooms was left open a crack, enough for Ginger and Haley to witness Mrs. Walsh alone with Babineaux.
“I may have despised him,” Elise said, “but that doesn’t mean I wanted him dead.”
“Le monde verra cela comme tragique, mais pour nous, chère Elise, cela signifie la liberté.”
Ginger gave Haley raised a brow and whispered, “The world will see this as tragic, but for us, dear Elise, it means freedom.”
Chapter Fourteen
Ginger and Haley eased out of the main door from the captain’s room and into the corridor.
Keeping her voice low, Haley asked, “Was that an admission of guilt by Babineaux?”
“It certainly could be interpreted as such,” Ginger said. “However, he didn’t actually say he did it.”
“Your suspicions about Babineaux and Mrs. Walsh were spot-on,” Haley said. “His affection for her could be considered motive.”
Ginger nodded. “I agree.”
“So, what now?”
“I’m not sure. I’ll take Boss for a little walk and think on it.”
“I’ll meet you back in the room later.” Haley turned in the direction of the port side and Ginger continued on.
On deck, many of the passengers took advantage of the sunshine. Mr. and Mrs. Fairchild waved when they spotted Ginger. She waved in return but picked up her pace, pointing to the dog to indicate she was in a hurry to take him below—a ruse to prevent a lengthy social entanglement.
After more than one frown and a mutter of disapproval at Boss’s presence, Ginger lifted him into her arms, allowing the crêpe-de-chine of her bell sleeves to conceal him. An upswing of wind caught hold of the rim of her hat, and if it hadn’t been for her excellent reflexes, she might have lost it. She pressed it firmly in place with one hand.
She was debating her next move when fate intervened. Patty Applebalm hurried by, a white-gloved hand also trapping her hat on her head.
Ginger turned on her heel and followed.
“Miss Applebalm!”
The lady shot a startled look over her shoulder.
“Hello!” Ginger said with a friendly smile. “I don’t think we’ve been officially introduced. I’m Mrs. Gold.”
Patty Applebalm hesitated before answering. “How do you do?”
“Just fine, thank you. You?”
“Very well.”
Ginger stepped into stride beside the lady, who wore a day dress in a shade of peach that did not flatter her skin colour. Ginger was surprised that Miss Guilford hadn’t pointed it out. Or maybe she had, and Miss Applebalm ignored her advice. Though the assistant had a mousy, unassuming air about her, one couldn’t work for someone like Nancy Guilford if one didn’t have at least a little spunk.
“Have you worked for Miss Guilford long?” Ginger asked. “It must be such an exciting job, assisting a famous film star.”
Patty Applebalm considered Ginger as if she wasn’t quite sure about the level of intelligence she was dealing with. “I’ve known Miss Guilford all her life.”
Ginger noted that Patty didn’t actually answer either question.
“Are you her aunt?”
Patty glanced at her sharply. “Why do you ask that?”
“Well, you said you’ve known her all her life, and I do see a slight resemblance.” It was a very slight resemblance, as in hardly at all, but Ginger hoped her exaggeration would draw the woman out. She was rewarded.
“It’s not widely known, but Nancy is my twin sister’s child. Sadly, my sister is no longer with us.”
“I’m sorry. It’s fortunate that Miss Guilford still has you at her side.”
“I love her as my own. It’s very gracious for Nancy to employ me. There are hundreds of young girls who’d be happy to take my job, and more qualified too.”
“A mutually beneficial arrangement, then.”
“Well, yes.”
Boss wiggled in Ginger’s arm, and Patty Applebalm’s hand flew to her chest. “Good golly! I didn’t notice your dog.”
“Oh, please do excuse him. He didn’t mean to frighten you. He’s really such a gentleman.”
“He is a . . . funny-looking sort of thing.”
Ginger blinked but retained her smile, ignoring the insult to her beloved pet. “He’s a Boston terrier, a terrier
and boxer mix. The breed is all the rage in America.”
Patty harrumphed.
“You’re not a dog person, I take it?”
“I prefer cats,” Patty said. “I had to leave Peanut and Butter at home. It’s not so easy to transport cats.”
“I’m sure they miss you.”
Ginger caught sight of the rising waves, and her stomach turned as the ship lilted. She dreaded the thought of being tossed about at sea. Once in a lifetime was enough.
“I really must hurry back,” Patty Applebalm said. “Miss Guilford is expecting me.”
“Of course. Please give my regards to Miss Guilford.”
Ginger and Miss Applebalm parted ways, leaving Ginger alone. It was then that she heard someone hissing.
“Psst!”
Ginger stilled and turned to the sound.
“Psst, miss.”
Ginger scanned the deck for young Scout, knowing the lad would be in deep water if he was caught in first class. She had to give him credit—though she heard him, she couldn’t see him anywhere. He was as invisible as he’d claimed.
She could’ve had Boss sniff him out, but she didn’t want to draw attention.
“Meet me by the engine room,” she said aloud to seemingly no one, catching the odd look from a grey-haired couple strolling pass.
Ginger meandered languidly, keeping an impassive expression on her face, but inside she raged with curiosity. Young Scout must have something important to tell her if he felt it merited the huge risk he took to find her.
Scout sat on a bench across from a stack of wooden, whitewashed lifeboats. He was so small—much smaller than a boy his age should be—that his bare feet dangled in the air. Ginger’s heart pinged. Her dog’s life was better than this young boy’s. The unsatisfied maternal piece of her soul longed to sweep him up and take him home. Give him a warm bath and a hot bowl of soup. A haircut and a toothbrush. A teddy bear and a hug. But she knew there were hundreds more just like Scout in London, and she’d left as many behind in Boston. At least she could help this one by giving him these little jobs.
“Scout,” she said as she approached.
He stretched out to pet Boss. “’Ello, ol’ boy.” Then to Ginger, “’Ello, miss.”
“Why don’t you call me Mrs. Gold,” she said. “We’re friends now, aren’t we?”
“Yes, miss—I mean, missus!”
Ginger smiled. Scout’s enthusiasm was contagious. “What do you have for me, young man?”
She expected him to produce the missing silver cuff link, for which she was prepared to compensate him with a generous tip.
Scout stood and twitched with restrained excitement. “Ya told me ter tell ya if I saw summit ’spicious, right?”
“Yes.”
“Oi, I seen summit real ’spicious-like.”
“What did you see?”
“I saw a lady throw summit over the rails.”
“Did you see what it was?”
Scout frowned. “No, but it were about this long.” He held out his small hands to the length of a loaf of bread. “And heavy-like. She throw’d it over and . . . and it made a good splash.”
“Where did this happen?”
“Right over there, missus. Be’ind the engine room.”
“Did you recognise the woman?”
“Nah. She had ’er back to me and a big ol’ ’at on ’er ’ead. The sun were in me eyes.”
His grubby hand extended forward, holding a palm-sized square sheet of paper. “She dropped this.”
It was a photograph of a toddler dressed in trousers and a simple white shirt. Ginger flipped it over, and the handwriting on the back was simply a child’s name. Joseph Jr.
Chapter Fifteen
From the corner of her eye, Ginger detected Chief Inspector Reed heading up the steps to first class.
“Scout, would you mind Boss for me for a little while? I’ll pick him up in the kennel later on.”
“Sure thing, missus.”
Ginger handed over Boss’ leash, reassured him that she’d come for him soon, and sprinted up to first class. She didn’t see the chief inspector right away and worried that she’d lost him, but then caught sight of him on the metal steps that led to the bridge. His suit jacket flapped in the wind, and he held his felt hat to his head.
Hand on her own summer hat, Ginger followed the chief inspector. She was careful to keep a good distance in case he should glance over his shoulder. From this vantage point, she could see passengers meandering about on both the first- and second-class decks. The sun shone brightly as it set in the west, while contrasting dark, brooding clouds rolled in from the east. The waves, once calm, were as choppy as meringue. The air smelled metallic with the promise of a change in the weather. Ginger only hoped they’d reach Liverpool before a storm broke.
Ginger called out to Chief Inspector Reed just as he positioned his fist to knock on the door to the bridge. “Chief Inspector!”
He turned to her in surprise. “Mrs. Gold? Can I help you?”
Ginger smiled brightly. “I’m assuming you’re about to interview Chief Officer MacIntosh. Would you permit me to join you?”
A deep V formed between his hazel eyes. “Surely, you must be aware that civilians aren’t typically invited to get involved in an open murder investigation.” His frown deepened. “Especially those who find themselves a suspect.”
Ginger ignored the last part of his statement. “Well, yes, I’m sure it’s not typical in a city like London. However, with only you onboard to investigate and only one day left before we reach Liverpool, I would think that you would appreciate a little assistance.”
The chief inspector folded his arms, the crisp linen of his suit crinkling at the elbows. “And how is it that you can assist me?”
“I have some information you might find helpful.”
Basil Reed raised a brow. “Go on.”
“If I give you what I know, I think it only fair that you allow me to accompany you.” She held up a palm. “Before you say anything, consider this—entering with a female companion would put the officer at ease. He won’t suspect that you are interviewing him as a potential murder suspect, and therefore would likely be more forthcoming.”
“You drive a hard bargain,” The chief inspector said, relenting. “Very well, you may join me, so long as you promise to let me do all the talking.”
Ginger pantomimed turning a key in front of her mouth.
“So, what is this piece of news that you have?” The chief inspector said.
“Miss Higgins and I were walking Boss, and we happened to witness Officer MacIntosh leaving Miss Guilford’s private room.” She stared at him with meaning. “Quite alone.”
“I see.”
“In fact, the incident occurred shortly before you arrived to interview her.”
“You seem to spend a lot of time on the starboard side of the ship. It is my understanding that your room is situated on the port side.”
Ginger batted her eyes. “How is it, Chief Inspector, that you would know exactly where my own private room is?”
“As the investigating officer of this crime, it is my duty to know where every passenger is situated and located.”
Ginger found that broad-stroke explanation disappointing. She enjoyed being the centre of attention and wouldn’t have minded if the chief inspector had specifically sought her out.
“Fair enough,” she said. “Shall we go in?”
Chief Inspector Reed knocked on the door, and it was answered by a sailor who announced their arrival to Chief Officer MacIntosh, now the acting captain.
MacIntosh didn’t seem surprised to see the chief inspector though he did raise a brow at the presence of Ginger Gold.
“And to what do I owe this honour?”
“If you would permit me,” Chief Inspector Reed said, “I have a few questions.”
MacIntosh considered Ginger with appraising eyes. Knowing that he was a ladies’ man, Ginger winked to give him the fal
se impression that perhaps she would be interested, should Miss Guilford become unavailable. MacIntosh sat casually in the captain’s chair just as Ginger predicted.
“Officer MacIntosh,” Chief Inspector Reed began. “How has the demise of Captain Walsh affected you and the goings-on here on the bridge?”
“Of course, we are all saddened and shocked by his death,” MacIntosh replied solemnly. “But as the next-in-line senior officer, it is now my obligation and duty to ensure that the passengers of the SS Rosa get to Liverpool safely.”
Basil Reed scribbled in a small notepad. “If I understand correctly, as second-in-command, you are now the acting captain of this ship.”
“That’s true.”
The chief inspector looked the chief officer in the eye. “Will that be a permanent position?”
MacIntosh didn’t break his gaze. “The final decision is not mine, though it is common for the first officer to replace the captain if he’s suddenly indisposed, and so long as there’s no other officer with more seniority who wants this post.”
“And is there anybody else that you know of who would want this post?”
MacIntosh stiffened. “I wouldn’t know that, sir.”
“Did you and the captain get on?”
“If you mean did we drink beer together in our free time, no, but onboard, we were both professionals.”
“What were you and the captain quarrelling about on the bridge?” Ginger asked, earning a scowl from the chief inspector.
“I don’t know what you mean?”
“I saw you, you know I did.”
“Oh, that? Just a silly disagreement.”
“Over what, precisely?” Chief Inspector Reed asked with interest.
MacIntosh let out a short breath. “Walsh owed me money and refused to pay. He didn’t take it kindly when I threatened to go public.”
That lined up with Elise Walsh’s blackmailing story, Ginger thought. The captain was struggling to pay up.
“What exactly is your relationship with Miss Nancy Guilford?” she asked.
Chief Inspector Reed shot her a warning glance, but nodded to MacIntosh. “Answer the question.”