by Lee Strauss
Basil frowned. “The ladies seems to be a popular destination.”
“It’s quite natural, I assure you,” Mrs. Edwards said. “Especially if one had had a cup of tea beforehand.”
“Did you use the stairs that lead to the vestry?” Ginger asked. She hadn’t seen Mrs. Edwards come down that way.
“No. The ones that come out by the entrance. They’re closer to the organ loft.”
“Did you speak to your husband beforehand?” Basil asked.
“Actually, I didn’t. He was ranting as usual, going on about how he was going to remove me from my position as chief organist, but I just ignored him. He’s been threatening to dispose of me for years.”
“That must’ve made you angry?” Basil said. “Life shall be easier now without him around to constantly berate you.”
Esme Edwards narrowed her eyes and glared. “Like I said before, Chief Inspector, he supported me and Catherine. It shall not be easier. I didn’t kill my husband.”
“Miss Edwards,” Basil said, turning his gaze to the grieving sister. “I’m sorry for your loss. Can you bear to answer a couple of questions?”
Catherine Edwards sniffed. “Anything to help catch the person who did this.”
“Where were you when your brother fell?”
“I was in the ladies.”
“Did anyone see you?”
“I don’t think so.”
Basil glanced at Ginger, his eyes flashing disbelief. How many women did this ladies’ room accommodate, and how was it possible for none to see the others?
“Did you hear anyone else in the lavatory?” Ginger asked. “Voices?”
“I-I don’t recall.”
“Very well,” Basil said as he got to his feet. “That shall be all for now, but please don’t leave London without letting me know.”
Outside, as they walked back to their motorcars, Ginger said, “You were rather hard on poor Mrs. Edwards.”
“Spouses are often the perpetrators in domestic crimes.”
Ginger gaped. “This coming from you?” Basil had had the unfortunate experience of being a prime suspect in a similar situation.
“I said often, not always.” Basil reached for Ginger’s motorcar door and pulled it open. “So, tell me about Captain William Beale.”
Ginger huffed as she slid inside, pushing Boss back to his seat on the passenger side. “I shall not.”
Basil’s hazel eyes bore down on her. They were warm and interested. In her. He grinned crookedly in the way that made Ginger’s heart flutter and her knees turn to jelly. Blast that man!
“I think it’s only fair that I know whom I’m up against,” he said.
Ginger started the engine. “You’ve got a nerve, Inspector.” She closed her door, a mite harder than needed, and put the gear into reverse.
Chapter Thirteen
Feathers & Flair was Ginger’s Regent Street dress shop. It was uncommon for a lady to own her own business, and Ginger felt gratified at the example she set for the next generation of young women coming up behind her.
Like her stepsister, Louisa.
Ginger set Boss down on the glossy marble floor. “To the back, young man,” she instructed, then smiled as the little dog obediently crossed the marble floor to the red velvet curtains that separated the front of the shop from the back. He disappeared to where his second bed and food bowl were situated.
The white ceilings were high, with gold-painted mouldings trimming the walls and hollows from which the electric chandeliers were hung.
Madame Roux, the shop’s competent and dependable manager, approached with a look of relief on her face.
“Lady Gold. Have you come to fetch Miss Hartigan?”
“She’s only been here a couple of hours,” Ginger said with concern. Why was her manager so eager to be relieved of Louisa’s presence? “I’ve come to do some work,” she added. She felt that it was important that she put in an appearance at least a few days a week to oversee operations. “Where is my sister?”
The bell above the door rang, and a matronly-looking lady entered.
Madame Roux whispered to Ginger. “She’s in the back.” Then to the customer, “Hello, Lady Cunningham! How may I be of service today?”
Lady Cunningham proceeded to inform Madame Roux of a forthcoming christening—she couldn’t wear the same dress she’d worn to the last one.
Ginger smiled at the ease with which Madame Roux guided Lady Cunningham into choosing the perfect gown.
Louisa was in the back trying on dresses.
“Oh, Ginger,” she said, on seeing her. “These just came in from Paris.”
“Why are you trying them on? They should be recorded in our books and taken upstairs.”
The second floor was where the factory dresses were displayed.
Louisa twirled in front of the mirror. “Dora is taking care of that.”
“It’s Dorothy,” Ginger and Emma said together. Emma Miller was Ginger’s junior seamstress. She leaned over the Singer sewing machine and madly rocked the floor pedal with her foot.
“Louisa, please put on your own clothes and then help Dorothy by taking the rest of the frocks upstairs.”
Louisa huffed. “Fine. If you insist. But I refuse to call beautiful dresses frocks. It sounds so frumpy.”
Louisa disappeared into the changing cubicle.
Ginger shrugged apologetically at Emma who’d stopped sewing at Louisa’s affront. “I think she’s homesick,” Ginger provided, lamely.
Over the next few hours, Ginger assisted Madame Roux with customers, oversaw Dorothy and Louisa’s progress upstairs, and did a bit of bookwork at the front desk.
The telephone rang—a gorgeous cream and gold machine with a modern bar-shaped handset with the receiver at one end, the transmitter at the other, and attached to a curly cord— and Madame Roux answered. She held her palm over the mouthpiece and whispered to Ginger, “Chief Inspector Reed for you, Lady Gold.”
Ginger let out a short breath. Why would the inspector call here? He must have more information about the Theo Edwards’ case, evidently.
Ginger claimed the handset and waited for Madame Roux to move politely out of hearing range.
“Hello, Inspector.”
“Lady Gold. I’m sorry to ring you at your shop. Your butler, Pippins, told me I might find you there.”
“It’s quite all right. Do you have news?”
“I do, and I’m afraid it’s not pleasant. I’ve just arrested Mrs. Edwards for the alleged murder of her husband.”
“On what evidence?”
“It turns out that Mr. Edwards had purchased life insurance. It appears that he was a progressive thinker.”
“That doesn’t mean—”
“It was at Superintendent Morris’ insistence.”
Ginger snorted. She and the superintendent didn’t see eye to eye on many things.
“Well, I appreciate you letting me know,” Ginger said.
“Any reason to talk to you is a good one,” Basil said. Ginger could hear the smile in his voice, and she pinched her lips together in annoyance.
“Would you have dinner with me tonight?”
Ginger held the handset away from her ear and stared at it. Basil Reed was persistent if nothing else.
Returning the receiver to her ear, she said stiffly, “I’m afraid I’m otherwise engaged. Good day, Inspector Reed.” She hung up quickly because being rude was better than being weak, and there was something deep inside urging her to say yes.
“You must’ve heard about Oliver and Mary’s wedding postponement,” Louisa was saying to Dorothy when Ginger checked in on the second level. “The poor bride-to-be. Can you imagine a body dropping two nights before your wedding? I mean holy mackerel!”
Ginger glanced at Dorothy who kept her gaze on the floor. Dorothy had had hopes of being a minister’s wife, Oliver’s specifically, but he had chosen Mary over her.
Madame Roux’s voice echoed up the stairs. “Lady Gold. Another telephone call
for you.”
Who could it be this time? Basil again?
It was the police but not Basil, and she barely contained her amazement. Esme Edwards was requesting that Ginger visit her at the Scotland Yard holding cell.
“Yes, of course,” she responded to the constable. “I’m on my way.”
“Madame Roux,” Ginger said as she gathered her silk brocaded Bohemian jacket and smoothed out the fringe. “I’ll leave things in your competent hands.”
“And Miss Hartigan?” Madame Roux asked with a slight plea.
“She can remain until the end of the day.”
Louisa appeared at the bottom of the stairs making Ginger’s announcement convenient. “I’ll see you back at the house, Louisa.”
“You’re leaving?”
“Yes. The four of you can manage quite well without me.”
“But, how am I to get home?”
“You must take a taxicab. And please don’t forget to bring Boss!”
Chapter Fourteen
Ginger supposed it would’ve taken less time to use the tube to get from Regent Street to Scotland Yard along the Victoria Embankment. Oxford Circus station was only a five-minute walk from Feathers & Flair. Of course, a taxicab was always an option too. However, Ginger preferred her Crossley, even though she still found driving on the left somewhat taxing. She’d learned to drive in Boston and her natural instinct was to stay on the right. But Ginger wasn’t the kind who backed away from a challenge.
She mused about those particular tests as she navigated around populated wooden buses, horse-drawn carriages, and pedestrians who seemed to have a death wish. Her father had forced her very first life challenge upon her when he took her away from London, and everything and everyone she’d known, to move to Boston. That trial had been doubled with the introduction of her new stepmother, to whom she’d never felt really close. Of course, Louisa’s birth was a blessing, but she had a difficult temperament. Then there was Father’s illness and his passing away, and the most significant life test of them all—the Great War and losing her husband, Daniel.
A series of horns blasting in her direction brought her out of her reverie. Already she was at Trafalgar Square and made the difficult negotiation onto Whitehall and then into the parking area behind Scotland Yard.
Not surprisingly, Basil was there, presumably waiting for her. His Savile Row suit fitted him perfectly as he stood straight and tall, staring at her. His hair was trimmed neatly and oiled, causing the grey at his temples to shine. The lines around his warm hazel eyes deepened as he smiled.
“Hello, Chief Inspector Reed,” Ginger said as she approached him. She prided herself on sounding in control of her emotions, entirely professional, and not at all attracted.
“Good day, Lady Gold,” Basil returned. They were in the company of other officers and civilians, so, therefore, used their proper names.
“I understand Mrs. Edwards would like to see me.”
“Yes. I was surprised she didn’t ask for her solicitor. Would you know why that is?”
“I can honestly say I do not,” Ginger said. “Where is she?”
Basil led her to an interview room guarded by a young constable. Basil paused before opening the door. “Since you are not a solicitor and have no obligation for confidentiality, I shall require that you assist police efforts with anything she may bring to light.”
“I thought she was already under arrest.”
“Yes, but a jury shall decide her guilt. All evidence must be brought forward to prove her guilt or innocence.”
“I understand.”
Mrs. Edwards sat at a small table, hands threaded together on her lap. She scowled at Basil who had opened the door for Ginger.
Ginger sat on the chair facing the tense lady. When Basil left, closing the door firmly behind him, she said, “I understand you wanted to see me.”
“It might be a mistake, seeing that you’re in cahoots with the likes of him.”
“I’m not sure what your intentions are.”
“You’re a private detective, aren’t you?”
“I have been known to investigate for people who, for various reasons, don’t want the police involved, or conversely, think I could assist the police.”
Mrs. Edwards sighed long and hard. “I want to hire you.”
“I see. To do what, exactly?”
“Find out who killed my husband.”
“Are you saying you didn’t kill him?”
Esme slapped the table. “I certainly did not. It’s not like I hadn’t dreamed about it, but I’m no killer, Lady Gold. See, I wouldn’t mind hanging if I did it, but I don’t mean to hang for someone else’s crime. Lose my head without so much as a thank you?” She scoffed with indignation.
“Why do you think someone would want to kill Mr. Edwards?” Ginger asked.
“He was a louse. A philanderer.” She nodded her head slowly and with meaning. “Liked the younger ones.”
“Do you mean Miss Bertram and Miss Howard?”
“Them and others. I stopped keeping track.”
“Why is that?”
“It’s not like I could stop him. Besides, it kept him out of my bed.”
“Who else knows about Mr. Edwards’ proclivities?”
“His pro-what?”
“Your husband’s extramarital affairs?”
“Oh, I don’t know. He worked hard to keep it secret. The church, of course, frowns on such things, and he did love directing the choir.”
“Mrs. Edwards, I need you to tell me exactly what happened the night your husband fell.”
Esme Edwards’ eyebrows formed a V. “You were there. You know what happened. Besides, I already told you and that inspector what I know.”
“It would help me to hear it again from your point of view.”
“Well, all right then.” Mrs. Edwards leaned back and folded her arms. “I was playing the organ for the choir, and Theo kept turning around to scowl at me. He thought he was something when he directed the choir, like he had control or something. I mean, he’s just getting a few people to sing, for crying out loud.”
“And?” Ginger prompted.
“He was giving me these dirty looks, and it made me angry, so I just pounded on the keys and the foot pedals even harder, just to spite him. I know it sounded like monkeys fighting in the jungle, but I didn’t care. He stopped the singing and called for a break. He was up those steps before I could move my skirts and get away.”
“Then what happened?”
“We had words, I can tell you. Nasty ones. And then I went down the stairs to use the ladies. But I swear he was alive when I left him, Lady Gold. I swear.”
Haley had a summer internship working in the mortuary at the Heart Hospital in Marylebone. The staff was familiar with Ginger as she often visited Haley there, especially when on a case. She made her way down to the cellar where the well-lit mortuary was located and tapped on the door to announce her presence,
“Hi, there,” Haley said. “What brings you here? Besides my broad, beautiful face.”
“Your broad, beautiful face is reason enough,” Ginger said cheerily. “Don’t you agree, Dr. Gupta?”
Dr. Manu Gupta grinned. He’d recently brought a bride back from India whom Ginger and Haley both agreed was simply adorable. It made being friends with the handsome doctor easier, having become equally acquainted with his new wife.
“Please finish up here, Miss Higgins,” Dr. Gupta said. “I’ll be in my office doing the paperwork.”
“Actually, I have news,” Ginger said as she watched Haley cover a corpse with a sheet and push the trolley into one of the cold cabinets. “Mrs. Edwards has been arrested on suspicion of murdering her husband.”
“That was quick,” Haley said. “I like the nice and tidy ones.”
“Except that Mrs. Edwards denies it—adamantly. She’s hired me to investigate.”
Haley’s dark brow reached for the ceiling. “Is that so. Do you believe her?”
> “I think I do.”
Haley locked the cabinet and filed the key in the pocket of her tweed skirt. “What did she tell you?”
Ginger related the conversation she’d had in the interview room at Scotland Yard.
“Not exactly a grieving widow,” Haley said. “And with good reason, it seems. I can confirm that Theo Edwards had engaged in an intimate act earlier that day, but I’m afraid I couldn’t tell you with whom.”
“Someone present at Thursday night’s choir rehearsal is our murderer.” Ginger twisted a short strand of red hair around her finger. “I wish there were a way to tell if it was premeditated or an impulse killing. I did notice the door to the balcony near the vestry had recently been oiled. I’ll have to have a word with Mr. Simpson about that.”
“Have you narrowed down a list of suspects at all?” Haley asked.
Ginger motioned to a blackboard that hung on one wall. “May I?”
“By all means.”
Ginger listed the names of all the people at the rehearsal who were without alibis on the night in question. “There’s Miss Howard. She admitted to being in love with Theo Edwards.”
Haley leaned against a table and folded her arms. “Perhaps she was the victim’s assignation?”
Ginger tapped the tip of her chalk piece beside Marjorie Bertram’s name. “Miss Bertram admitted that Mr. Edwards had been making romantic advances toward her, and though she tried to contain her emotions, became visibly upset about that.”
She underlined Catherine Edwards. “Miss Edwards, the victim’s sister. She seemed devoted to her brother, but perhaps she held a grievance.”
Haley pushed a flyaway curl off her face. “Maybe she didn’t like his affairs with the younger women.”
“That’s something to consider,” Ginger agreed. “Miss Edwards doesn’t appear overly fond of her sister-in-law, but that doesn’t mean she’d condoned adultery.”
The last name on the list was Cecil Piper.
“Mr. Piper is our least likely suspect,” Ginger said.
“Those are the ones that often end up being guilty,” Haley said.
“True. He didn’t care for the way Mr. Edwards treated his wife. He might’ve struck out to protect her honour.”