SET FOR MURDER
A Showbiz Is Murder Mystery
JOLIE BEAUMONT
ASTER PRESS
First published 2017
Copyright © 2017 by Linda Feinberg
Cover photo: Copyright © rtguest/Shutterstock
All rights reserved.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Published by:
Aster Press
Kansas-Jerusalem
[email protected]
CONTENTS
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER 26
ABOUT ASTER PRESS
CHAPTER 1
“ISN’T IT HEAVENLY?” Penny Garnett was standing on the deck of an ocean liner sailing toward England. With a graceful flick of her hand, she swept back the strands of hair that had fallen over her eye. A professional dancer, she had a full repertoire of graceful gestures. But this was the first time she was using them on board a ship that was first class in every way.
The other half of the song and dance act, her brother Nick Garnett, nodded his head absentmindedly, while he tapped on the railing with his fingers.
“I just love the way the sun is tinting those clouds a dusky rose,” Penny continued.
“Uh hum,” Nick replied.
“And look at that mermaid playing in the waves. Isn’t she adorable?”
“Swell.”
Penny gave her brother a swift smack on the back with her pocketbook.
“Hey!”
“Sorry. My hand slipped. But don’t pay any attention to me, Nick. You go back to whatever it is you’ve been thinking about for the last eight hours and pretend I’m not here.”
Nick laughed and gave his younger sister a quick hug. “I guess I have been neglecting you. But I’ve been thinking about the show and—”
Penny put her finger to his lips. “And I thought we said we would forget about the show and enjoy ourselves. It isn’t every day we get to sail across the Atlantic and mingle with the rich and famous.”
The two glanced up and down the deck, which was lined with deck chairs. Most of them were empty.
“Where do you suppose everyone is?” asked Nick.
Penny looked at her wristwatch, which told her the time was 5:05. Since the watch was slow, she figured it was about twenty past the hour. “I don’t know about the men, but the women are probably changing for dinner.”
Nick glanced at his watch, which was always set to the correct time. “This early? Dinner isn’t until eight.”
“It’s opening night on the SS Good Ship Diamond Lollipops. I can assure you that every woman on board intends to make a grand entrance this evening.” Penny sighed as she thought about what was inside her own very modest jewel case. “I wish Baker had included a diamond tiara with our tickets. I’m going to feel very undressed tonight wearing just my garnet necklace from Woolworth’s.”
“Maybe you won’t feel the chill as much if you also put on a dress.”
“Oh, you know what I mean.”
“You don't need jewels, Penny. You’re the newest Broadway sensation, about to repeat her smash hit performance in London. Everyone will be looking at you, not at those ...”
A very chic looking blond-haired woman had come onto the deck and was making a slow promenade. As she passed by Penny and Nick, the woman nodded her head in their direction. She then adjusted her fur stole—the large diamond on her black-gloved finger glinted in the sun as she did so—and continued on her way.
“Do you think she’s that Polish Countess Tanka or Stefania or whatever her name is?” Penny whispered to Nick.
“Either that or she works at the perfume counter at Macy’s.” Nick pointed his nose up to the sky and then thumbed it, to show what he thought of stuck-up women.
Penny, however, continued to stare with fascination as the foreign-looking woman leaned against the rail in an elegant pose and gazed out to sea. “I wonder if that diamond on her finger is real.”
“It’s probably as real as her title.”
“Just because there's a Depression doesn’t mean no one has any money. Oh, look. There’s a man staring at the countess. I wonder who he is.”
“Her husband?”
“Don’t be so provincial, Nick. The way you talk, anyone would think we never left Kansas City.”
They watched as the man walked up to the countess and greeted her.
“All right,” said Nick. “He’s her former lover. After emptying his bank account, she’s run off with another man, and now he’s out for revenge. See that cigarette he’s offering her? Poisoned. One puff and she’s going to collapse, right before our eyes.”
Penny watched eagerly as the countess took the cigarette and put it to her lips. After the man lit it for her, the woman inhaled deeply and then slowly exhaled.
“Nope. She’s still standing,” said Penny. “It will be just our luck that he is her husband and absolutely nothing exciting is going to happen all week.”
“Luck, indeed. Then you’ll willingly rehearse that new number out of sheer boredom. How about it, Penny? I’ve got an idea for the—”
Penny shook her head. “I’m on vacation this week. The only work I intend to do while I’m on this ship is find me a nice duke.”
“To hang on your arm or your wall?”
“To marry! Oh, excuse me.”
Penny, who had turned to go, had inadvertently bumped into a woman who was walking down the deck, accompanied by her companion. Penny immediately typecast the straight-backed, Roman-nosed, and obviously wealthy woman as a dowager.
Mrs. Cora Hardwick, the dowager in question, was indeed a formidable doyenne of Philadelphia’s high society—and she knew it. She raised her lorgnette to her eyes and looked Penny up and down. When she finished her inspection, she folded the glasses and snapped them back into the long enameled handle that doubled as a case.
“There can be no excuse for careless behavior.” With that, Mrs. Hardwick continued on her way, still followed by her companion.
“My, my, my,” said Nick, after the pair was out of earshot. “I don’t think you’ll be mingling much with her.”
Countess Stefania Scharwenka flung her cigarette into the sea. “Your English cigarettes are bitter, Inspector Travers. Like your words.”
Detective Inspector Guy Travers shrugged. He and the countess were old acquaintances, having begun their respective careers at about the same time. When he was a smart but impressionable young recruit at Scotland Yard, she was a beautiful and glamorous jewel thief. He had almost let her slip through his fingers over the Tremont Affair, where a priceless sapphire and diamond necklace went missing during a weekend at Lord Tremont’s country house in Kent. Fortunately, he had been only the junior man on the case and his superior officer had been immune to the countess’s considerable charms. Now, a de
cade later, he was much wiser. As for the countess, she was still beautiful. But he could see, with a twinge of regret, her day was starting to fade.
“I’m only giving you fair warning,” he said. “The Duchess of Tarrington is on board this ship and so are the Tarrington pearls. As I assume you know.”
“I assume everyone knows the duchess is sailing with us. It was mentioned in the ship’s newspaper, was it not? I read it while the stewardess unpacked my things. Your name, however, was not mentioned. Does that mean you have left Scotland Yard to act as private watchman for an insurance company?”
“No, I’m still with the Yard. Officially, I’ve been on holiday in New York. Unofficially, I’ve been asked to keep my eye on the duchess and her pearls, until she gets back to England.”
“Well, you may cast your official eye on someone else, Inspector Travers of Scotland Yard. I, too, am on holiday.”
Countess Scharwenka adjusted her fur stole with an air of defiance and strode through the door that led to the enclosed drawing room. The door slammed behind her with a loud bang.
Inspector Travers didn’t follow her. He had made his presence known to the one person on the ship most likely to cause trouble, and he hoped his warning had been enough. He therefore continued down the deck. When he reached the deck chairs occupied by two women, the elder of them wrapped in a heavy blanket, he made a slight bow in the direction of the blanketed figure. The younger woman was obviously of a lower class than her employer.
Mrs. Hardwick took out her ever-present lorgnette and inspected him. “Are we acquainted?”
“No, madam, I do not believe I have had the pleasure.”
“Then I’ll ask you to refrain from bobbing up and down when you see me.” Having dismissed the unwanted intruder, Mrs. Hardwick turned to her companion and said, “Watson, fetch me another blanket.”
While the companion, a sullen-looking woman no longer in the first flush of youth, hurried to do her employer’s bidding, Inspector Travers made a mental checkmark next to the names of Mrs. Cora Hardwick and Miss Mabel Watson. Before the night was through, he hoped to have familiarized himself with all of the first class passengers occupying cabins on the duchess’s corridor, Corridor B. These precautions were probably unnecessary; barring Countess Scharwenka, there appeared to be no one with a shady or unexplained past. But the Duke of Tarrington played bridge with the head of the Yard, and bridge partners could claim their privileges. Travers therefore continued on his way, to where a young couple was conversing.
They were a good-looking pair, and they clearly were not the honeymooning couple, Lady Margaret, the daughter of the Duke of Tarrington, and Mr. Peter Carroll of New York. If they had been newlyweds, they at least would have been arm in arm or gazing into each other’s eyes while they spoke. They certainly wouldn’t have been looking at him, as he approached, which this couple was doing with unabashed interest.
“Pleasant afternoon,” he said to them.
“Rather,” said Nick, trying out his still-new British accent.
“First time sailing across the pond?”
“Is it that obvious?” asked Penny.
“Most of the old-timers do tend to lie low on the first day, until they know who’s who. By the way, my name is Guy Travers.”
Nick shook the extended hand. “Nick Garnett. And this is my sister, Miss Penny Garnett.”
“Very pleased to meet you both. Let’s hope for a smooth sailing.”
Inspector Travers continued down the promenade, putting two more checkmarks on the passenger list stored in his brain. He had to admit, though, that this new addition to his roll call was a surprise. When he had learned during his briefing that there would be a show business duo on the ship, he had envisioned a more hardened and sophisticated pair. Those two were still fresh-faced kids. Unless they were putting on an act.
That’s enough, Inspector Travers, he thought to himself with amusement. At least wait until a crime has been committed before you start suspecting every passenger on this ship!
CHAPTER 2
NICK PUSHED HIS half-full glass to the left, and then he pushed it to the right. Usually, when he had free time, he used it to think up a new dance number. But tonight he was hungry and he wanted to already be inside the dining room, sinking his knife and fork into a thick and juicy steak. Instead, he was whiling away the time at a table in the bar, which was resplendent in its Art Deco décor—one of the vessel’s few and belated nods to more modern design styles—waiting for Penny to finish dressing.
At last, he heard a rustling movement at the door and he looked up. And whistled.
“You look swell, Penny.”
“Do you really like the dress?”
She removed the short cape and turned so Nick could see the dress from every angle. It had taken her almost a full hour to decide which evening gown to wear. She supposed that because she was in show business, people were expecting to see her dressed in glamorous sequins or clinging satins or bold colors that attracted the eye. Penny had examples of each of these packed in her trunks, but in the end she decided to defy expectations and exhibit subtle chic—although there had been nothing subtle about the price tag on the dress she was now wearing.
But she had thrown her usual financial caution to the wind and purchased the dress. She loved the way the emerald-colored creation showed off the lines of her perfectly-proportioned body, kept in splendid tone by hours of rehearsing and performing—and did it without being overly revealing. Ornamentation was provided by a tiered scallop design, with each scallop hemmed by fringe that moved subtly with her every step. The gown also moved well when she danced, and she did intend to dance while on the ship.
“It looks almost as good as the dinner menu,” said Nick. “Come on. I’m starved.”
Since Penny was hungry too, she took her brother’s arm without comment and they hurried down the corridor to the dining room. Before they came to the room’s glass-paneled door, they instinctively stopped, took a deep breath, and prepared for their “entrance.”
The maître d’ at the door gave the pair an appraising look, after which a slight smile appeared on his face. “Lady Margaret?” he said to Penny.
“We’re Mr. Garnett and Miss Garnett,” Nick corrected him.
The maître d’ stiffened slightly; he was more irritated than embarrassed by his mistake, as though the two Garnetts had caused the confusion and not he. After signaling to a young steward, he said, “Mr. Nicholas and Miss Penelope Garnett. Table Eleven.”
The steward showed them to their table. A young waiter instantly appeared with dinner rolls, and disappeared just as quickly. The wine steward also called to take their order, followed by a different steward who brought them their appetizers.
“I could get used to this,” said Nick, eyeing the generous helping of smoked salmon and caviar on his plate.
“This is how the dining room in my duke’s ancestral home is going to look,” Penny replied, looking around the Edwardian-style dining room with approval. “Of course, instead of all these separate tables there will be just one long table, of polished oak or whatever kind of wood dukes use for their furniture. And it will have all this nice wood paneling on the walls, with maybe a few pictures of the duke’s ancestors, and—”
Penny was interrupted by the arrival of the third person who had been assigned to their table. While the young steward noiselessly vanished, the new arrival looked nervously from Penny to Nick.
“I hope I’m not intruding. I had requested a private table, but there wasn’t one available.”
“Not at all,” said Nick, who had risen. “I’m Nick Garnett, and this is my sister, Miss Penny Garnett.”
“Very pleased to meet you, Miss Garnett. And I’m very relieved I haven’t intruded upon a table for newlyweds.”
“Unless you’re a duke,” said Nick, settling back in his chair, “you should be safe from wedding bells for the duration of the voyage.”
Penny gave her brother a swift kick und
er the table, while she smiled at the new arrival. “You’re an American, aren’t you? Like us.”
“Indianapolis, Indiana.”
“Kansas City, Missouri,” said Penny. “You know, Mister ...”
“Ayres. Bert Ayres.”
“You look very familiar, Mr. Ayres. Doesn’t he look familiar, Nick?”
The smile on Bert Ayres’s face became a little stiffer. “People often tell me that. I have one of those unremarkable faces that seem to remind everyone of anybody but me.”
It was true. Everything about BertAyres seemed to be average: average build and height, average brown hair and eyes, average effects of approaching middle age upon his face and paunch. In short, he looked like the typical business traveler from the United States—a class that had once been common on ocean liners, but had shrunk considerably as the Depression dug in for an extended run.
Nick, who had noticed the other man’s discomfort, endeavored to change the topic by saying, “Is Mrs. Ayres not feeling well?”
Instead of smoothing the tension, the question had the opposite effect upon Ayres, who said brusquely, “What does Mrs. Ayres have to do with you?”
“Nothing. I only ...” Nick gestured toward the empty fourth place.
Bert noticeably relaxed. “Oh. This isn’t a pleasure trip. I’m traveling alone to England, on business.”
“Now I know who you are!” Penny exclaimed. “Honey and Ayres, Ballroom Dancers Extraordinaires.”
Bert Ayres’s mouth dropped open with astonishment.
“You’ll have to excuse my sister, Mr. Ayres,” said Nick. “She’s not used to drinking so much wine.”
“But—”
Nick hissed into her ear, “Drop it. Maybe he doesn’t want to be reminded he was in show business.”
“What’s wrong with being in show business?” Penny hissed back. “We’re in show business and we don’t try to hide it.”
“It’s all right, you two,” said Bert. “Now that you’ve found me out, I plead guilty to the crime. But how on earth did you recognize me? I haven’t played Kansas City since 1922.”
Set For Murder (Showbiz Is Murder Book 1) Page 1