She was completely overdoing her angst, Ginger thought.
“Very funny, Felicia. Time is rather of the essence, but if you’d prefer I drop you off so you can wave down a taxicab or take the underground, I’d be happy to oblige.”
Ginger caught Felicia rolling her eyes, but the girl wisely kept her pouty mouth shut. They were nearly at the station anyway.
The big Roman pillars of the Euston Arch came into view and Ginger parked the Crossley on Drummond Street. She and Felicia, with Boss scampering behind, joined the crowds that entered the station through the stone pillars.
Alongside her Remington, Ginger also carried a pair of opera glasses. Perfect for bird watching or enjoying the Ascot races, today Ginger used them to scan the sea of faces in the great hall, searching for anyone who looked familiar. Not an easy task, considering most of the men wore overcoats in shades of brown or grey and similar-coloured trilby or bowler hats on their heads.
The blue police uniforms were a welcome contrast in the mix and soon Ginger found an officer of the law, stretching on his toes, peering through the crowd. Ginger zoomed in on his face and muttered aloud, “Constable Braxton.”
“Constable Braxton?” Felicia said, straining her long neck in an effort to see. “Where?”
“By the rear door going to the platforms.”
Felicia started in that direction, but Ginger grabbed her arm. “Wait. We mustn’t get in the way of law enforcement.”
“Yes, you’re right. What should we do then?”
“Act normally. Let’s go and buy a platform ticket.”
Ginger scooped Boss into her arms as they stood in the queue, and when they got to the clerk who stood at a counter on the other side of an opened glass window, Ginger stated her order. While the transaction was completed, she asked, “Have you seen a man in his early thirties with dark hair? He has one blue and one hazel eye. He might’ve been with a lady.”
The clerk’s eyebrows jumped. “Oh, I did see such a fellow. ’Ard to know which eye to look at. Bought tickets for ’isself and ’is wife, though she wasn’t with ’im at the time.”
“To Liverpool?”
“Yes, madam.”
“Which platform?”
“Three, madam.”
“Thank you,” Ginger said. She pocketed the tickets.
“Wife?” Felicia remarked.
“A ruse, I suspect.” Alan Lester knew the police would be looking for a brother and sister together. Ginger linked her arm with Felicia’s, the only sure way not to lose her in the masses. They passed through the platform barrier where passengers waited under the wrought-iron roof.
Suddenly, they were jostled about by the people around them, and Ginger nearly got an elbow to the ribs.
Someone shouted, “Stop, police!”
Ginger’s pulse kept rising. She knew the voice. She looked about for Basil’s form and found him, pushing his way through the crowd. A man Ginger could only assume was Alan Lester raced away ahead, roughly pushing passengers out of his way, and turned down Platform 3, where the Liverpool train stood, steam hissing from its engine.
Ginger followed through the tunnel that formed after Basil, keeping her eyes on his head, the shape of which she knew so well. Felicia fell behind, with a whimper.
Constable Braxton raced ahead, darting through the crowd, many of whom had stopped in their tracks, gawking.
Basil’s voice reached Ginger again, as he shouted for Mr. Lester to stop, though his efforts were proving to be in vain.
Ginger released Boss, letting him run. “Find Constable Braxton! And be careful!”
If only there were a way to catch up with Alan Lester, Ginger thought, but the crowds and her heels worked against her. Passengers were boarding the train, which, according to the large round clock hanging overhead, was about to leave in two minutes.
Ginger darted a glance through the windows of the train. The adjacent track was empty; a train had pulled out not five minutes earlier. The empty platform! Ginger turned around, pushing back against the flow of the crowd, and raced towards the head of the track.
"Ginger!" Felicia shouted as Ginger ran past the engine. "Where are you going?"
Ginger just flapped her hand in passing as she turned the corner to the next platform. No time to explain! She raced along the empty platform, trying to peer through the train windows, attempting to catch a glance of what was happening on Platform 3. There! That was Lester, still pushing through the crowds! Ginger put on a renewed burst of speed, and another quick glance told her she had outpaced him.
She stopped and squatted down at the edge of the platform. Shoes on or off? No, even though the heels were a hindrance, the rough stone of the track would be impossible to move on in bare feet. She jumped down onto the empty tracks, picked her way across the rails, then reached up as far as she could, just barely able to reach the door handle of the nearest carriage. She swung herself up onto the metal grid of the step, wincing as she heard the ripping sound of her skirt seam giving way, and pulled open the door. Two steps through the carriage to the other side, and there, a few yards beyond her on the platform, were Lester and Constable Braxton, who had just caught up with his quarry.
The officer lifted his truncheon, but it was quite obvious who’d been trained by the British military and who had not, and in an instant, Constable Braxton was caught in a headlock and at Mr. Lester’s mercy.
Mr. Lester shouted at Basil who was only a few steps away, “Stand back or I’ll break his neck!”
Basil lifted his arms in the air. “Easy, old chap,” he said. “We don’t want to hurt you.”
Alan Lester’s eyes darted rapidly side to side, as if he was trying to calculate a way out. Beads of sweat formed on his forehead and he tightened his hold on the constable. He snorted, then shouted, “Then get out of my way!”
“We can’t do that, now,” Basil soothed. “You know that. Just come quietly, and I’ll make sure the judge knows you cooperated.”
“No judge cares a fig about me! I have to look after myself.”
“What about Ruby?”
Both Basil and Alan Lester jerked at the sound of Ginger’s voice. She’d climbed down onto the platform without being noticed and had her fingers wrapped around the Remington, nicely nestled away in her coat pocket.
“Why did you do it?” Basil asked.
Mr. Lester narrowed his eyes at Basil, but actually relaxed his hold on Constable Braxton. The poor officer gulped a breath. Mr. Lester offered his explanation. “The man was a liar, a thief, and a brute. He hit my sister and tried to keep her from her family. We hadn’t seen her since they got married nine years ago. When I heard he was actually bringing her back to England, I knew I had to take my chance. I did it for Ruby.”
“As a family member, you were aware of your brother-in-law’s reaction to peanuts?”
“Yes. It wasn’t well known. I’d brought back a jar of peanut butter from my last visit. I travelled all the way to New York to see my sister and Doyle barely gave us a minute to be alone together. He stole Ruby from me. Somehow she’d got a chance to send me a letter without Doyle intercepting her efforts, letting me know they were coming. I decided there and then I would do whatever it took to free my sister.”
“So you added a bit of peanut oil to your portion of brandy butter,” Ginger said.
“The hand is quicker than the eye,” Mr. Lester said. “You couldn’t tell the difference with brandy butter already oily.” He scowled. “You were supposed to think Doyle had choked.”
It would’ve worked, Ginger thought, if not for modern forensic science coming into play. And Boss’ keen sense of smell.
Speaking of Boss, where had he gone? Ginger glanced about for her pet while carefully keeping her target in sight.
Basil’s questioning kept Alan Lester focused on him, and away from where Ginger was positioned. She slipped behind the man, unnoticed by him.
“It’s over, Mr. Lester,” Ginger said as she pressed the nose of her pistol against his
back. “Let the constable go.”
“Just shoot me!” Mr. Lester said. His hold on Constable Braxton tightened and the officer squirmed, making choking sounds.
Ginger applied more pressure between the man’s shoulder blades. “Let him go.”
“Shoot me!”
“I can’t do that, Mr. Lester, without the possibility of hurting Constable Braxton too.”
Sweat dripped from Mr. Lester’s temple. He was a wild man in a jungle, with the beasts pressing in and no flaming torch to hold them back.
Suddenly Boss latched on to the hem of Mr. Lester’s coat, and with a determined growl, began to tug, pulling the man off balance just enough for Constable Braxton to break loose from the chokehold.
Basil reached them, his handcuffs ready. “Mr. Alan Lester,” he said, “you’re under arrest for the murder of Arnold Doyle.”
12
The mood at Hartigan House had shifted remarkably by the time New Year’s Eve arrived, the dreadful affair of a week ago nearly forgotten. Everyone was preparing, in their own way, to bring in a brand-new year.
Ginger sat before her dressing table mirror putting on the finishing touches of her make-up. Smoky eyeshadow blended with blue brushed towards thinly plucked and arched brows. Several coats of mascara thickened her dark lashes, framing bright green eyes. An evening like this merited the dark red lipstick she applied, producing the desired bow shape made famous by the American film star Clara Bow.
Boss, ever watchful, whimpered his appreciation.
“I’m sorry you can’t come tonight,” Ginger said to his reflection in her mirror. “Dreadfully unfair, I know, but no dogs are allowed at the ball. I’ll make sure Scout gives you an extra treat.” Ginger scrubbed her pet behind his pointy ears and kissed his head. “Goodness knows you deserve it.”
Ginger’s old journal caught her eye. Perhaps it was the whimsy that comes with the approach of a new year—all the hopes and dreams ignited that will either rise or fall over the course of the next twelve months—or perhaps it was the nature of the festive season to recall days of old. She was reminded of the line spoken by the Ghost of Christmas Past to Ebenezer Scrooge, “These are but shadows of things that have been”.
She began reading about the Christmas from so long ago.
Father and I helped in the kitchen while Sally and Louisa “helped” serve coffee and cut cake after the meal was over. Mostly they just hovered, grimacing with disapproval.
Reading about her father, so very much alive, made Ginger’s heart ache. Her mother had died shortly after Ginger’s birth, and for most of her life her father had been her whole world. Ginger would always miss him.
The guests weren’t eager to return to the cold and many of them lingered about the fire as they sipped hot coffee. I recognised the lady from the street I’d seen on the ride over. Up close she looked frail, with bony fingers and dark circles around her eyes. Even though the blaze in the hearth and the numerous bodies had warmed up the room, she’d never taken her winter coat off. I was alarmed to find her shivering and it became clear to me that her coat was threadbare and could in no way ward off the biting Boston wind and cold.
Immediately I went to the back room where the staff kept their things, retrieved my fur-trimmed coat, and hurried back to the hall. At first I couldn’t spot the woman, and my heart sank, but then a larger figure moved aside and she was there.
I approached her and introduced myself.
“Hello, I’m Miss Ginger Hartigan.”
“Ma’am. My name’s Mrs. Gladys Parker.”
“Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Parker. I hope I’m not being too forward, but I wondered if you’d like this?”
I held up my coat.
Mrs. Parker stared back with bewilderment. “What’cha mean?”
“It’s a Christmas present. For you,” I added.
Mrs. Parker eyed my jacket with longing. I wondered when the last time was that she’d felt truly warm.
“Please, try it on,” I coaxed. Without removing her own outer wear, Mrs. Parker extended a thin arm, but before she could shrug the coat on, Sally rudely interrupted.
“Ginger Hartigan! What on earth are you doing?”
I stared at my stepmother with steely reserve. “I’m going to give this lady my coat.”
“Well, stop it this instant. It’s brand new from Filenes!”
I answered defiantly, “I’ll just get another one.”
“She’s right,” Mrs. Parker said as she pushed the coat my way. “I couldn’t accept your charity.”
Sally scoffed. “Of course you could. Isn’t that the way of your type? Living on the handouts of others.”
It was my turn to protest. “Sally!”
“Well, it’s true,” Sally said, unruffled. “You can’t just give every impoverished person the coat off your back.”
“I’m not giving it to everyone. I’m giving it to Mrs. Parker.” I pressed the coat back into Gladys Parker’s arms.
Sally’s stubbornness had no bounds. “She’s just going to turn around and sell it.”
I could be just as obstinate. “It’s now hers to do with as she pleases.”
“This is ridiculous. I’m telling your father this instant.” Sally strode across the hall in her pompous style and I watched as she spoke rapidly with my father, her eyes blazing with indignation.
Mrs. Parker’s dark eyes studied me with admiration. “I’da got slapped upside my head if I’d ever spoke to my ma like that, God bless her soul.”
“Thankfully, that lady’s not my mother.”
Mrs. Parker held my jacket out to me. “You should take this back.”
“No,” I insisted. “I’ve given it to you. It’s yours to enjoy however you wish.”
“I can’t thank you enough, miss. I promise to do good to someone hurting more than me, as soon as the opportunity arises, miss.” I smiled as I watched her put the coat on and fiddle with the large buttons.
“It’s so fancy!” she proclaimed with a childlike glee. For the first time that evening I saw her smile. She was wise enough to leave before Sally came back with my father in tow. I let out a defeated sigh at the sight of them strolling slowly toward me.
“Ginger,” my father began, “am I to understand you’ve given away your new winter coat?”
“Yes, Father.”
“Even though it’s new from Filenes?”
“Yes, Father.”
“And that the recipient might sell it for food or lodging and not even wear it at all?”
“Yes, Father.”
His face broke into a grand smile. “Oh, Ginger, my love. I’m so proud of you.”
“George!” Sally sputtered, obviously expecting a different response. “What is she supposed to wear home?”
“I believe there’s an extra horse blanket in the carriage.”
Sally’s eyelashes fluttered in disbelief. “You’re really going to let your daughter wear a horse blanket? In public?”
“Of course not. She will have my coat and I will wear the horse blanket.”
“George, you can be so infuriating!”
“Perhaps,” Father said genially. “Our good Saviour had even less on the night he was born. I will survive it.”
My heart burst with love for my father in that moment. I threw myself into his arms and hugged him tightly. I really couldn’t imagine life without him.
Oh, Father, Ginger thought as she wiped a stray tear. Christmas was such a beautiful time of year, but it could also be heart-wrenching.
She returned the journal to the drawer and closed it just as Basil entered, wearing smart evening wear with a crisp white shirt and black satin top hat. Ginger was certain she’d be the envy of all the ladies at the ball.
Basil seemed equally enamoured with Ginger’s ivory satin and lace gown with an abundance of sequins that sparkled in the light. On her red bob she wore a glittering tiara that had a thin strand of exquisite jewels that rested delicately across her forehead.
&nb
sp; “You are ravishingly beautiful, love.” He ran a finger tenderly along her cheek. “I daresay I’ll have to be on my guard tonight or some rogue scallywag will attempt to steal you away.”
Ginger laughed as she linked her arm with his. “Let’s go to the Ritz.”
Dying to start from the beginning?
The first book in the acclaimed Ginger Gold Mystery series.
Murder’s a pain in the bow!
It's 1923 and bright young thing Ginger Gold makes a cross-Atlantic journey from Boston to London, England. When the ship's captain is found dead in a most intriguing fashion, Ginger is only too happy to lend her assistance to the handsome Chief Inspector Basil Reed.
This fun, jazz-age whodunit has readers saying "Lady Gold is a charming heroine" and "can't stop reading!"
Murder on the SS Rosa will have you laughing, crying, and guessing until the last page.
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More from Lee Strauss
On AMAZON
GINGER GOLD MYSTERY SERIES (cozy 1920s historical)
Cozy. Charming. Filled with Bright Young Things. This Jazz Age murder mystery will entertain and delight you with its 1920s flair and pizzazz!
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
Six Merry Little Murders Page 8