Lady Marmalade Cozy Murder Mysteries: Box Set (Books 1 - 3)

by Jason Blacker

  "I imagine then, Frances, that your husband went to Oxford?" asked Ajeet.

  Frances looked up at him and took a sip of water. The food was indeed mild, or moderate, depending on your palate's ability to handle Indian spice, but Frances found it quite enjoyable. She cleared her throat.

  "Yes, he did. Eric attended Oxford and studied law. That was back in 1897 if you can believe it."

  Frances smiled at the memory.

  "Shortly after that he served in the Boer War in 1902 and when he came back he went into his father's business."

  "Would it be impolite of me to ask what type of business?" asked Ajeet.

  "Not at all," said Frances. "Mostly land holdings, real estate with some commercial business on the side, manufacturing mostly. We own a bit of London. Much of Fleet Street actually amongst other properties, and a few newspapers too, including The Guardian, The Observer, The Daily Telegraph, The Financial Times and The Daily Mirror, in addition to quite a few regional papers."

  Ajeet nodded his head and turned his mouth and raised his eyebrows.

  "Good heavens, sounds like you're richer than the king."

  "Ajeet," said Amar, looking at his son with a frown on his face.

  "I'm sorry," said Ajeet. "I just got carried away."

  "That's okay, Ajeet, in truth we are richer than the King, though I don't usually like to brag and we live quite simply considering. Eric and I like it that way. I hope you'll be discreet with what I've shared with you today."

  Ajeet nodded.

  "Of course."

  Frances wasn't sure why she had shared such detail with the Bhandaris, these were obviously people who had as intimate friends the likes of Mohandas Gandhi and he would certainly not be impressed by wealth.

  Nevertheless, if Ajeet, or anyone else for that matter, was astute, all that Frances had shared was mostly in the public record if you knew how to look, and she hoped that opening up with them would accord her the same in return, especially in regards to this murder she was investigating.

  They continued to eat in silence for a while, each enjoying their allotted portion of food. Frances was quite surprised that the whole family was so slim, considering how much food had been prepared.

  "Please, Frances, have as much as you like," said Gita.

  "It was absolutely marvelous," said Frances, "I feel as stuffed as a Christmas turkey."

  They all laughed.

  "Did you cook all of this yourself?" asked Frances.

  Gita nodded and smiled.

  "My daughter helped a great deal," she said, looking over at Chandra.

  "She's fibbing, all I did was taste test really," said Chandra.

  "Well, to both of you, my sincerest gratitude and compliments."

  They both smiled broadly.

  "Perhaps we should move to the living room where it is more comfortable to sit. I know that you have come in regards to the terrible events from last night. Let us retire to the living room where we can help you in any way we can," said Amar.

  Amar got up from the table, and led the group into the living room. Alfred and Frances sat on a couch and Chandra and Ajeet sat on another couch. Amar took what appeared to be his own soft leather recliner, its brown skin looking like it had seen much use over the years. Sujay sat in another chair and there was a third left open for Gita, but she did not join them. Frances noticed that she was cleaning up the dining room table.

  In the middle of all of them stood a squat wooden table with a glass face. It was covered almost to the edges with a large rectangular white doily. There was nothing on top of the table. In fact, as Frances looked around, the whole area seemed clean and uncluttered. Against the far wall was a bookshelf that held many books, neatly and orderly. She wasn't certain, but she might even have guessed that they could be in alphabetical order. By author or title she couldn't be sure. Next to Amar was a round wooden table which held the wireless and nothing else.

  "How long have you lived here?" asked Frances, trying to make idle chit chat before getting to the meat of the matter. She was waiting for Gita to join them.

  "My children were born here," said Amar, proudly. "We came when we were just newly married, almost twenty five years ago."

  "And how do you know Mr. Gandhi?" asked Frances.

  "Mohandas has been a family friend for a long time. My father knew him from Porbandar where they grew up together. They were young friends. Mohandas has always kept in touch with him, my father, and that is how I have come to know him too."

  "That is interesting. I sometimes marvel at how small the world is," said Frances.

  Amar nodded.

  "Unfortunately, everybody needs Mohandas now, so much so that we get very little time to see him. He writes once or twice a year, but selfishly, I would like to enjoy more of his time. That's not going to be possible with this conference. Tonight for example, he'll be at a banquet with some of the leaders of the government. And now with this terrible incident at his lecture last night, I fear that I will see less of him."

  Amar chuckled ruefully, though you could tell that there was part of him genuinely saddened by this inability to see more of his friend than he'd like.

  "I can understand that," said Frances. "Mr. Gandhi seems like a wonderful man. Caring and considerate and friendly. It is no surprise to me that he is being eagerly pursued by all parties. And sadly, there is still only twenty four hours in each day for all of us."

  Amar nodded.

  "What can you do. It is an honor and privilege nevertheless, that he stays here in our home. I cannot ask for more than that."

  Gita came into the living room carrying a tray with tea, teacups, cream and sugar and a small plate of biscuits. She lay it down in the middle of the table.

  "This is tea grown in the area where we are from," she said.

  "And where is that, not Porbandar, I didn't think they grew tea there?" asked Frances.

  Gita nodded.

  "You are right. This tea is from Nilgiri in Kerala. Nilgiri is the blue mountains close to where we are from. When Amar's father finished his training and education he moved his family to Thiruvananthapuram which is the capital city in Kerala. That is where we met."

  "Fascinating. I'd love to try some of this tea," said Frances.

  "It should be ready," said Gita. "I had it steeping for a few minutes already in the kitchen."

  She poured a cup for Lady Marmalade and then for Alfred, her husband and everyone else. There was just enough for a cup for everyone. Frances poured cream and sugar in it, stirred it and tasted it. Gita looked at her for a response.

  "It's very good," said Frances. "It has a floral scent and taste to it that is quite unusual."

  Alfred nodded his appreciation as well. Gita smiled and nodded her head and then took her seat. Alfred took a biscuit from the plate and dunked it into his tea.

  "Let us get down to business," said Amar. "You have been very patient with us, Frances. Now, how can we help you?"

  Frances set her teacup down on the table in front of her and looked over at Amar and then to Sujay.

  "I had come hoping to see Sujay or Mohandas. As you know, one of Mr. Gandhi's colleagues was shot dead last night after the lecture, and I'm helping the police determine who did it."

  "Have they been able to come up with some suspects?" asked Sujay.

  Frances shook her head.

  "Not yet, but these things often take time. We have found several tickets from last night's event that were scattered around the general area where Mohandas was fielding questions, so we will know definitively who some of the audience was who were gathered around him."

  "And how may we help?" asked Sujay.

  "I wanted to get any more information from you about who you might think would want to harm Mohandas."

  Amar looked up with a furrowed and worried brow.

  "I thought the police felt the target was Ravi Meda?" asked Amar.

  "Yes, that's what the police think at the moment. Personally, I think the bul
lets were meant for Mohandas."

  "Really?"

  Frances nodded.

  "But why?" asked Amar.

  It seems to me that Mohandas is a more likely target for a variety of reasons. He has a very high public profile and it seems from what Sujay has told me that he has received death threats in the past."

  Amar turned and looked at Sujay.

  "You have not said such things to me," he said.

  Sujay looked down for a moment, and nodded his head slowly.

  "Mohandas does not want to worry his close friends with this information. He did not want me telling you. He does not feel that it is important, only that it will get in the way of his important work."

  "Well, if Mohandas doesn't think they are all that serious, then perhaps they aren't," said Amar, looking back at Lady Marmalade.

  "I think, and I don't know Mohandas as well as the rest of you, that he is driven by his goal of Indian independence. I don't think he would want anything to derail that mission, especially death threats."

  Amar sipped on his tea and leaned in to take a biscuit. He chewed it thoughtfully for a moment.

  "I will defer to your expertise then," he said.

  Frances nodded and smiled at him.

  "If I might ask, Frances," said Sujay, "and I believe that the target of the shooter might have been Mohandas, but it seems that the bullets hit Ravi squarely, which would suggest that maybe they were meant for him after all?"

  "I know, but there could be any number of reasons why the shooter didn't manage to hit Mohandas. The gun might have jumped awkwardly in his hand causing him to miss his mark. He might be a new shooter and thus inexperienced. He might have been jostled or it might have been as simple as him mistaking Ravi for Mohandas if he was a hired gun."

  Sujay furrowed his brow.

  "You think it might have been a hired gunman?" asked Amar.

  Frances shrugged and looked down at her teacup.

  "Not particularly, but one must always keep in mind several possibilities until one is more certain of the motive."

  Frances picked up her tea and took another sip and then placed the teacup back down on its saucer on the table.

  "But Mohandas is such a sweet man. A gentle man. Why would anyone want to hurt him?" asked Gita, looking at Frances. Frances looked over at Sujay.

  "I think Sujay has some of those answers, and that's why I wanted to speak with you today, Sujay. These letters that Mohandas has received, what reasons do they give for threatening his life."

  "There are three main groups who seem particularly upset at Gandhi for one reason or another," said Sujay. "The first, and perhaps surprisingly, are amongst certain Hindu factions. They believe that Gandhi is kowtowing to other groups and they're especially upset by his dogmatic approach to non-violence which they feel will leave Hindus weak."

  Sujay took out a piece of paper from his pocket. It looked like a telegram.

  "I received this telegram earlier today, after I had requested the names of the most recent writers of the death threats against Mohandas."

  Sujay opened it up.

  "There is a Hindu faction that has been particularly vocal in their opposition to Mohandas. They are led by Nathuram Vinayakrao Godse."

  Frances listened intently.

  "None of his names begin with the letter P," she said.

  Sujay nodded.

  "That is true, but very often we go by nicknames. I do not know his nickname but it might be worth looking into. The second group is a group of Sikhs who feel that Mohandas is not giving their religion or culture enough recognition or attention. The main advocate amongst them is Pitambar Singh. He has written of his displeasure with Mohandas before."

  "There's a name that starts with P," said Frances.

  "Why is that important?" asked Amar.

  "Sorry, I thought you might have known. Ravi's last words to Sujay, Mohandas and I were 'Indian…p', and we're not quite sure what that meant, though I think we all agree that he was either trying to say 'Indian person' or 'Indian' and then trying to say the first name of the shooter."

  "But how do you know that these men were at the lecture last night?" asked Amar.

  "We don't. But if they were, then we have something to go on. If they weren't then we have three names that we can omit."

  Sujay waited, looking from Amar to Frances and back again. Amar nodded his head but didn't say anything further.

  "What was the third group?" asked Frances.

  "There are some Muslims who are upset with Gandhi too. They have written of their displeasure more than once. Their basic dissatisfaction with Mohandas is that they do not believe he represents their ideas with sufficient, how shall I put this, vigor."

  Frances nodded and kept her gaze on Sujay as he looked down at the telegram in his hand.

  "The last letter, and I think all of them from the Muslim contingent were written by Parvez Dada."

  "Hmm," said Lady Marmalade, "another man with a first name beginning with the letter P."

  "If I might, my Lady. It seems strange to me that all these men would write letters and sign their names to them if they were really planning on killing Mr. Gandhi. I wouldn't have thought that very wise," said Alfred.

  Frances looked at Alfred and then down at her teacup and picked it up and took a long sip. She held the teacup in both hands and turned to him again.

  "You're quite right, but then I have often found crime to be quite unreasonable and unwise. You'd be surprised at how often a criminal will forget about some incriminating piece of evidence they had left weeks or months, sometimes even years before. And thank the Lord for that too. It makes my job, and dare I say the policemen's job that much easier."

  Alfred nodded and tipped the rest of the tea into his mouth. He had been cradling the teacup all the while. He then put the empty cup and saucer on the table in front of them, and looked over at Frances.

  "Yes, I suppose that would be quite possible," he said.

  "You see, Alfred," said Frances, "very often crime is committed in the heat of the moment with the pulsing of passion coursing through the veins. Quite literally criminals have often lost their minds briefly during the committing of such acts. Reasonable and reasoning men don't commit crimes. Crimes are usually the last resort of an unreasonable or impassioned mind."

  Alfred nodded.

  "Quite. I guess it is difficult for me to imagine losing my faculties to such a degree."

  "And that is exactly why catching them is sometimes harder than we imagine. Because we don't believe the depths of irrationality or anger or even hatred that some men, and dare I say women, will go to when caught up in the heat of criminal madness."

  Frances turned to look at Sujay.

  "I wonder if you've been able to determine the names of those two poor men who were murdered at Dharasana?" she asked him.

  Sujay smiled a big, broad smile and his white teeth were as white and straight as a new parliament building.

  "I did," he said. "I thought you might be interested in that, as we had spoken about it last night. I asked for that information from our people in New Delhi."

  Sujay looked back down at his telegram.

  "The two men who died from their injuries as the salt works were Chetan Panchal and Ajit Pai."

  Frances nodded and pursed her lips.

  "That makes four names staring with P."

  "But those men are dead," said Amar.

  "Yes, Amar, I know that, but the rest of their families are not. Sujay, do you know if either of these men had brothers or sons who would be old enough to commit such a crime?" asked Frances.

  Sujay shook his head.

  "I'm afraid I do not have the information, Frances," he said. "But I will request it for you."

  Frances nodded and drank the rest of her tea.

  "How safe do you think Mohandas is now that there's already been one attempt on his life?" asked Chandra, looking genuinely worried.

  Frances looked at her and smiled. />
  "I think he is probably safer than he was before the attempt on his life, if it was in fact an attempt on his life as I suspect."

  "How can that be?" asked Ajeet. "Surely they now know they didn't get him so they'll want to finish the job."

  Frances shook her head and put her empty teacup back down on the table.

  "No, I don't think so. You see, they had their one opportunity and they messed it up. There is too much focus on Mohandas now. The papers will be writing about this for the rest of the week, if not for as long as he's here in London, and the police will be investigating thoroughly. No, if I were the shooter I'd be hunkering down and trying to keep a very low profile."

  Ajeet nodded.

  "That is not to say that Mohandas shouldn't take extra precautions, but I truly believe that it would be very unlikely for anyone to try another attempt within the next few weeks."

  Frances looked at Sujay.

  "You will ensure that there is extra security for Mohandas, won't you?"

  "I will try my best. Mohandas has already declined an offer from Scotland Yard for a policeman to follow him around, and Ravi and I were not security men for Mohandas, he doesn't believe in that. He thinks it will send the wrong message."

  "I understand, but please do try and get him an extra body just to watch over him," said Frances.

  Sujay nodded and smiled. Frances stood up and Alfred followed.

  "You have all been very kind to me this afternoon by inviting me into your home for such a wonderful meal. I only wish it was under happier circumstances," said Frances.

  Amar, Sujay and Ajeet stood up. Amar offered Frances his hand which she shook. She did the same with Sujay and Ajeet, as did Alfred.

  "It is our pleasure. I hope you will get the man who did this to Ravi, regardless of whether it was meant for Mohandas or not, Ravi deserves justice," said Amar.

  Frances nodded and smiled and said her final goodbyes, then she and Alfred left the Bhandaris' home and walked to the car. Faces reappeared peeking from behind curtains and around the corners of windows as she and Alfred left for home.

  THIRTEEN

  Chapter 13

  AT just after four p.m. with her belly still comfortably full from the delicious Bhandari food, Frances and Alfred pulled up in front of Scotland Yard. It was a quiet Tuesday afternoon and as they entered the old gray government building there was not much going on inside.