by Lee Strauss
This old leather-bound journal takes me back to that emotional time. I had shed enough tears to fill the ocean and I remember telling Father dramatically that I was certain to cause flooding to match God’s. At eight years old I was well-trained in my biblical studies, though, in retro-spect, I would say that I had probably bordered on heresy with my little tantrum.
The first week of my “adventure” was spent with a tummy ache and a number of embarrassing sessions that involved a bucket and Father holding back my long hair so I wouldn’t soil it with vomit.
I certainly felt that I was being punished for some reason. Hartigan House—though large and sometimes lonely—was my home and Pips was my good friend. He often helped me to pass the time with games of I Spy and Xs and Os.
“Very good, Little Miss,” he’d say with a twinkle in his blue eyes when I won, which I did often. I suspect now that our good butler wasn’t beyond letting me win even when unmerited.
Father had got it into his silly head that I needed a mother, but I think the truth was he wanted a wife. Sally, a woman half my father’s age, turned out to be a sufficient wife in the end, but I could never claim her as a mother.
Well, Pips, I’m sure you’d be happy to know that things turned out all right here in America.
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About the Author
Lee Strauss is a USA TODAY bestselling author of The Ginger Gold Mysteries series, The Higgins & Hawke Mystery series (cozy historical mysteries), A Nursery Rhyme Mystery series (mystery suspense), The Perception series (young adult dystopian), The Light & Love series (sweet romance), The Clockwise Collection (YA time travel romance), and young adult historical fiction with over a million books read. She has titles published in German, Spanish and Korean, and a growing audio library.
When Lee’s not writing or reading she likes to cycle, hike, and play pickleball. She loves to drink caffè lattes and red wines in exotic places, and eat dark chocolate anywhere.
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Acknowledgments
Writing by nature is a solitary business — but thankfully publishing is not! Without the help of so many wonderful people, I wouldn’t be able to do the work I love.
My thanks go to Angelika Offenwanger for her early readthrough and making sure I got off on the right foot before too much blood had been shed; my editor Robbi Bryant for taking my words and making them shine, and for catching those problematic spots before they grew roots; my British beta/proofreader Heather Belleguelle for her super-keen eye, not only for typos, but for the small story details that make such a big difference, and for her insights on all things English - I’m so glad you reached out!
Steven Novak for rocking the cover once again!
A shout out to Debbie Sessions and her blog The Vintage Dancer for her resource and expertise on the styles of the 1920s.
I would’ve drowned and probably have died if it weren’t for Shadi Bleiken signing up as my administrator/assistant. Alone I was a sinking ship, but together we’re sailing the high seas. So thankful for you!
Special thank you to Lisa Lockwood for her suggestion of Feather and Flair for the name of Ginger’s dress shop.
None of this would be worth it without the love and support of my family and friends. Big hugs and kisses to you all, especially Norm Strauss, Joel & Shadi, Levi, Jordan & Diana, and Tasia Strauss, Gene and Lucille Franke, and my gals Lori Van Zyderveld, Donna Petch, Shawn Giesbrect, and Norine Stewart.
And as always, eternal gratitude to Jesus who continually shows me unconditional love and kindness.
Murder at Hartigan House
© 2017 Lee Strauss
Cover by Steven Novak
Illustrations by Tasia Strauss
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
This is a work of fiction. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
La Plume Press
3205-415 Commonwealth Road
Kelowna, BC, Canada
V4V 2M4
www.laplumepress.com
ISBN: 978-1-988677-02-6
Praise for Ginger Gold
“Clever and entertaining, you’ll love this charming Golden Age mystery series. And the fashion is to die for!” - Molly C. Quinn, actress, Castle
“Another deftly crafted mystery by the master of the genre…” Midwest Book Review
“I rank Lee Strauss as the best living cozy mystery writer. Her characters are believable but interesting, her stories are fun to follow and her use of language is superb. She makes the 1920s come alive in my imagination. I constantly read cozies and Lee’s Lady Gold Mysteries are the very best.” - LoriLynn, Amazon reviewer
Summary
Please note: British spelling is used in this book.
A poltergeist guilty of murder?
Ginger Gold receives a letter from her sister-in-law, Felicia, requesting Ginger come straightaway to her late husband’s family home, Bray Manor. Dowager Lady Gold, Ginger’s nervous grandmother through marriage, believes the old manor is haunted.
Ginger doesn’t believe in ghosts, but is haunted nevertheless by memories of her husband and the lure of his gravesite she just can’t bring herself to visit.
In order to keep Bray Manor afloat financially, Felicia and Ambrosia have opened the estate to the public for club meetings and special events. Knitters, stamp collectors and gardeners converge weekly—targets for the zeitgeist that seems to find amusement in hiding small things from their owners.
Bray Manor hosts a dance to raise money for maimed soldiers who struggle with peacetime after the Great War. Felicia invites her flapper friends and her new beau, Captain Smithwick, a man Ginger has met before and definitely doesn’t like.
When the dance ends with the discovery of a body, Ambrosia is certain the poltergeist is to blame, but Ginger is quite sure the murderer is made of flesh and blood.
* * *
I hope you enjoy Murder at Bray Manor. This book has been edited and proofed, but typos are like little gremlins that like to sneak in when we’re not looking. If you spot a typo, please report it to: [email protected]
Ginger Gold Mysteries
(in order)
Murder on the SS Rosa
Murder at Hartigan House
Murder at Bray Manor
Murder at Feathers & Flair
Murder at the Mortuary
Murder at Kensington Gardens
Murder at St. George’s Church
Murder Aboard the Flying Scotsman
Murder at the Boat Club
Murder on Eaton Square
Murder on Fleet Street
Murder on Brighton Beach
Chapter One
Ginger Gold folded the letter she was reading and dropped it on the side table. “Haley, do you believe in ghosts?”
Haley Higgins, an American student at the London School of Medicine for Women, lounged on the settee in the sitting room of Hartigan House as she sipped an after-dinner sherry. She arched a dark brow. “Why? Have you received mail from beyond?”
Ginger sighed as she put her feet up on the ottoman. She’d removed her strappy shoes but resisted the urge to unsnap her stockings and revert to bare legs. The lace border of her turquoise chiffon tunic draped
casually over her knees. This recent frock acquisition from a well-known Parisian fashion house had thick embroidery along the bodice and a cluster of sequins that sparkled in the firelight.
Boss, her Boston terrier, curled up on her lap. She petted his soft black fur. “It’s a letter from Bray Manor—my sister-in-law, Felicia.”
“Still unhappy about living in the country?” Haley asked.
“Frightfully. And I can’t imagine Ambrosia moving from her family home. Even if Felicia was properly matched, Ambrosia would insist that the newlyweds lived there with her.”
Haley clicked her tongue, commiserating. “Poor Felicia. How is the good Dowager Lady Gold anyway?
Ginger pushed locks of her red bob behind her ears, picked up the letter, and read.
Dearest Ginger,
I hope this letter finds you well. News of your new shop is exciting, and I’m very keen on visiting it one day—hopefully soon!
I’m writing to you because I’m concerned about Grandmama. Her nerves since we last visited you have grown worse, to the point where she now believes Bray Manor to be haunted. I haven’t seen evidence of the supernatural, but Grandmama insists there is a poltergeist at work.
Oh Ginger, you promised to visit us and it’s already been weeks! Could I prevail upon you to come speedily? I’m at a loss as to how to comfort Grandmama, and since you are so clever at solving mysteries, perhaps you can figure this one out, too.
With sincerest affection,
Felicia
“A poltergeist?” Haley said. A dark stray curl escaped her faux bob and her lips pursed to the side of her mouth as she blew it off her cheek. “It sounds as if the elder Lady Gold is starting to lose her memory. It’s quite probable that she moves things and forgets that she’s done it. Her only conclusion is the interference of a mischievous apparition.”
Ginger yawned, covering the chasm with the back of her hand. Since opening her new dress shop—Feathers & Flair—her days had been long, busy, and exhausting.
“You’re probably right. Though, it’s quite unfair of me to expect Felicia to bear the burden of caring for Ambrosia alone. Felicia’s young and should be free to focus on her own life.”
“You make a good point, Lady Gold.”
Ginger had acquired her title through her marriage to the late Daniel, Lord Gold, Felicia’s brother and Ambrosia’s grandson. He was buried in the family cemetery behind Bray Manor. Ginger had yet to visit his grave since her return to London, but something knotted in her chest at the thought of it. She wasn’t quite yet ready to face the past.
Besides, a journey to Hertfordshire was the last thing Ginger needed at the moment. She had to fight against the irritation she felt at this new obligation.
“I just don’t know how I can leave Feathers & Flair right now,” she said. “It’s still in its infancy and needs constant attention.”
“Then don’t go.” Haley stretched, brushed down her tweed skirt that hung mid-calf, and moved to the fireplace to stoke the flames. “Surely, you can employ someone to check in on Ambrosia for you?”
“I suppose. It just seems so heartless, and I did promise to visit before winter sets in.”
“Then go.”
Ginger cast a glance of annoyance at her friend. “Everything is so black and white with you.”
Haley shrugged. “I’m a scientist.”
Their conversation was interrupted by the sound of the telephone bell in the hall.
“Who could be ringing at this hour?” Ginger said.
Haley checked her wristwatch. “It’s only nine o’clock.”
“Really?” Ginger responded with another yawn. “It feels much later.”
Pippins tapped on the door of the sitting room and stepped in. “Telephone for you, madam,” he said. He was tall and slim with a bald head and skin sagging as it does when one is in ones seventies. A loyal servant of the Hartigan family since Ginger was a child, she held the butler in high esteem and with much affection.
Ginger placed Boss on the floor. The dog stretched his hind legs then situated himself on the round Turkish rug in front of the fireplace and promptly went back to sleep.
“Who is it, Pips?” Ginger asked, using her pet name for him.
“Miss Felicia Gold, madam.”
A pang of concern spread across Ginger’s chest. First a letter and now a telephone call? She hurried to the hall and placed the receiver of the candlestick phone to her ear. “Felicia?”
“Oh, Ginger.” Felicia’s voice sounded thin and worried through the wire. “I’m afraid.”
“Why? What’s happened?”
“I thought Grandmama was losing her mind with her tales of moving objects, but now I’ve seen it for myself. The coat rack has moved, and I know Grandmama didn’t do it because it’s too heavy for her—and none of the servants admits moving it either.”
“Oh, mercy,” Ginger muttered. “Don’t panic, Felicia. I’m sure there’s a perfectly reasonable explanation.”
“I don’t mean to cause trouble, but would you come? Tonight?”
“Tonight? That’s awfully short notice.”
“Tomorrow then? Please, Ginger, I don’t know what to do, and Grandmama is just beside herself with nerves.”
“Very well,” Ginger said, resigned. “I’ll come tomorrow.”
“Thank you, Ginger! I don’t think I’ll sleep a wink until you get here.”
Haley sat upright when Ginger returned to the sitting room. “Is everything all right?”
“I don’t suppose you’d like to join me on a short holiday to Hertfordshire.”
“When?”
“Tomorrow.”
“Oh, dear.”
“Felicia is losing her head and I promised to come straightaway.”
“It is soon the weekend,” Haley said, “and as it happens, I don’t have any classes tomorrow.”
“So you’ll come?”
“Only if we take the train.”
“I’m not a bad driver!”
“I’m sorry, Ginger, you know I get ill when you drive, and I don’t think I’ll ever get used to traffic running on the left-hand side of the road.”
“Fine,” Ginger huffed, annoyed that Haley didn’t trust her driving abilities. “We’ll take the train.” She was too exhausted to concentrate on the road for that long anyway. She might even be able to sleep a little on the way there. The rhythmic churning of the train wheels as the steam engine pushed on could make one quite drowsy.
Ginger patted her thigh and called to her pet. “Hey Bossy,” she said as she scrubbed behind his pointy ears. “How would you like to go ghost hunting?”
Chapter Two
Ginger hurried down the wide staircase, circled from the second-floor where the bedrooms were to the marble floor of the entrance hall. Her newly painted fingernail trailed along the banister. She should have asked her maid, Lizzie, to wake her up earlier. As it was, she had dressed quickly in a white Habutai silk blouse, with its fashionable flat collar, tucked into a low-waist velour skirt with a hem at mid-calf. She usually wore something with more flair for the shop, but this outfit suited the train ride scheduled for later that morning. She had chosen a mushroom-shaped hat trimmed with black glycerine feather pompoms. Her shoes, black T-straps.
She nearly lost her footing on the emerald staircase runner and clung to the banister, preventing a turned ankle.
Lizzie, with Boss at her heels, had entered the hall in time to see Ginger slip.
“Are you all right, madam?”
“I’m fine.” Ginger studied her nails, relieved to see she hadn’t damaged her work. Lizzie usually painted them for her, but she’d been walking Boss—a new morning ritual.
Ginger smoothed out her skirt and turned on one heel to look behind her. “Are my seams straight?”
Lizzie drew closer, the nose on her youthful pixie face wrinkling as she squinted and examined the back of Ginger’s legs.
“The right one’s a bit crooked.”
G
inger nodded, giving her maid permission to rectify the wayward hose. She hoped she hadn’t forgotten to attach one of the garter straps in her hurry. She pressed a palm against the four points around her thigh until she was satisfied they were all properly fastened.
Lizzie went to work, and Ginger felt the maid’s adept fingers pushing the seam until it ran up the centre of the back of the leg.
“There you are, madam.”
“Thank you, Lizzie. You’re a brick. Now can you do me a favour and pack a suitcase for me?”
“You’re going away?”
“Just to Hertfordshire. I plan to catch the last train home tomorrow evening, but do be sure to include a little of everything, just in case. My Schiaparelli evening dress, the silver Vionnet, and my new Kate Reily.”
“Yes, madam.”
“And throw in several headbands. I’ve already packed my hats. The boxes are stacked by the dressing table.” For such a short trip, Ginger would only take along a few hats. Hat boxes were cumbersome to travel with, especially when one wasn’t taking one’s own motorcar. Headbands did well in a pinch.
“Yes, madam,” Lizzie said. Her eyes strayed to the dog sitting obediently at her side. “Will Boss be going with you?”
Ginger perceived the attachment that had grown between Lizzie and Boss over the last couple of months. “I’m sorry to separate the two of you,” she said sincerely, “but it’s only for a couple of days.”
Ginger called for Boss to follow her into the kitchen. A trip to the countryside would be good for the dog and, though she was grateful to Lizzie for minding Boss, Ginger thought the time away would do to remind him that she was his mistress.