by Lee Strauss
“Dr. Watts ordered two cadavers which were delivered to the medical school last night, and this morning there were three in the freezer. One more than there should be. One that isn’t registered.”
“How odd.” Ginger wondered what this news could have to do with her.
“Ginger, I think I found your missing man.”
“My missing man?”
“Felicia’s friend, the actor.”
“Angus Green?” With all the kerfuffle over Mary Parker and Princess Sophia, Ginger had nearly forgotten about the missing man. “He’s dead?”
“Yes. He’s been murdered.”
Ginger grabbed at the string of beads around her neck.
Oh, mercy.
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Ginger Gold’s Journal
Sign up for Lee’s readers list and gain access to Ginger Gold’s private Journal. Find out about Ginger’s Life before the SS Rosa and how she became the woman she has. This is a fluid document that will cover her romance with her late husband Daniel, her time serving in the British secret service during World War One, and beyond. Includes a recipe for Dark Dutch Chocolate Cake!
It begins: July 31, 1912
How fabulous that I found this Journal today, hidden in the bottom of my wardrobe. Good old Pippins, our English butler in London, gave it to me as a parting gift when Father whisked me away on our American adventure so he could marry Sally. Pips said it was for me to record my new adventures. I’m ashamed I never even penned one word before today. I think I was just too sad.
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, The Rosa Reed 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 watch the ocean. She loves to drink caffè lattes and red wines in exotic places, and eat dark chocolate anywhere.
For more info on books by Lee Strauss and her social media links, visit leestraussbooks.com. To make sure you don’t miss the next new release, be sure to sign up for her readers’ list!
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www.leestraussbooks.com
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Acknowledgments
Much love to the growing list of fans who have fallen in love with Ginger Gold! You make all the “blood, sweat, and tears,” worthwhile.
Once again my editorial/publishing team pulled through: Angelika Offenwanger, Robbi Bryant, Heather Belleguelle, and Shadi Bleiken. Thank you! A special shout-out to Heather for helping me get to the end of this book with something worth publishing. Some books write themselves-this one wasn’t one of them!
I’d like to honour Heather’s mother, Daphne Finch, an early reader and a fan of the Ginger Gold Mystery Series who passed away during the writing of this book. She’d taken a cue from Ginger and had been heard saying, “Oh, mercy,” which I thought was wonderful.
As always, my heart belongs to my family—my husband Norm Strauss, and kids, Joel & Shadi, Levi, Jordan and Tasia. Special thanks and much love to my parents, Gene and Lucille Franke, and my circle, Donna, Shawn, Noreen and Lori. I’m so grateful for your prayers and practical support.
I must tip my hat to Lisa Lockwood for coming up with the name of Ginger’s shop, Feather’s & Flair, and to Mark and Coreen Biech for providing the Romanian name Andreea Balcescu.
My eternal gratitude to Jesus who keeps me sane.
Murder at Feathers & Flair
© 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: 978-1-988677-08-8
Summary
Please note: British spelling is used in this book.
Cadavers can be deadly . . .
Unregistered corpses are showing up amongst the cadavers in the mortuary of the London School of Medicine for Women. Unnatural deaths. Murders. The first known victim is recognised by Haley Higgins, a third-year pathology student. War-widow fashionista Ginger Gold feels a responsibility for the man's death and is determined to find his killer.
Her pursuit takes her into the dangerous realm of the famous Italian gangster Charles ''Derby'' Sabini. With the help of Haley and the handsome Chief Inspector Reed - an uneasy alliance - Ginger investigates shady dealings at the docks and at the racehorse stables. What does one have to do with the other, and how are they connected to the bodies piling up at the mortuary? Someone is working on the inside at the school, and Ginger has to find out who before she, or someone she loves, ends up lifeless on a ceramic mortuary slab.
* * *
I hope you enjoy Murder at the Mortuary. 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]
Chapter One
It was unclear how long Angus Green had been dead.
Ginger Gold studied the postmortem photos laid out on the top of her desk. Before his untimely death, Mr. Green had been a young man with a privileged upbringing. Felicia, Ginger’s sister-in-law, had met the chap while acting in the same stage play. It was Felicia who’d begged her to take on the missing person’s case. Ginger had agreed and failed.
Ginger glanced around her father’s study. Her study n
ow. Somehow, Ginger doubted she’d ever get used to calling her father’s things her own. Like the furniture. She felt like a little girl sitting in Daddy’s huge chair, its springs worn by the weight of her father as he leaned back, propped his leather shoes up on the desktop, and tented his fingers on his chest. Like this, he pondered the deep mysteries of life.
Ginger brought her thoughts back to the mystery in front of her. Not that Ginger professed to be a private investigator, not officially at any rate. It was just something she often found herself doing—perhaps a residue from the secret service work she had done during the Great War. Some things were hard to unlearn.
Thinking about Felicia seemed to summon the younger woman’s presence because she sauntered into Ginger’s study uninvited and possessed an empty chair in front of the desk. Boss, Ginger’s black and white Boston terrier, lifted his head from his spot near the hearth to acknowledge her.
Felicia’s dark hair, shingled with the fringe pinned back, was in need of washing. Her normally rosy, youthful skin appeared drawn, and shadows were thick under her eyes. “Still nothing?” Unsmiling, Felicia crossed her arms and her legs and stared at Ginger.
Ginger sighed. “Some cases take longer to solve than others.”
“And some never get solved at all,” Felicia huffed.
“Unfortunately, that is correct.”
A stiff silence stretched between them like barbed-wire.
“I’m sorry I didn’t take you seriously when you first came to me,” Ginger offered.
“You shouldn’t have stopped looking for him.”
Ginger swallowed a thick lump. Felicia blamed her—which Ginger thought fair. After all, Ginger blamed herself too. Perhaps, if she hadn’t become obsessed with another case, Angus Green would still be alive.
“I know you’re angry with me,” Ginger said. “Though Haley says it’s quite possible that Angus was killed before you’d even learned he was missing.”
Haley Higgins, a dear friend and long-term guest at Ginger’s home, Hartigan House, was a student of forensic pathology at the medical school. She’d provided Ginger with copies of the photographs of Mr. Green’s body, now scattered over the top of the desk.
“Of course, she’d say that,” Felicia replied tersely. “She’s your friend. She’s defending you.” Without giving Ginger a chance to respond, Felicia sprang to her feet and stormed out of the study. Boss whimpered.
Ginger ran long manicured fingers through her red bob and inhaled. She hadn’t saved Angus Green’s life, but she could bring his killer to justice. She must bring his killer to justice. She stared at the photos again.
Angus Green on the theatre poster: alive, young, and virile.
Angus Green in the mortuary, lying flat out on a ceramic slab, ghostly white with a deep-red gunshot wound in the centre of his unblemished forehead. Though the photo was black and white, Ginger knew about the colouring of the body—she’d seen it for herself shortly after it was discovered.
London in 1924 wasn’t the Wild West. Ordinary citizens didn’t own a gun. Ginger, an exception to that rule, found great comfort in carrying her small, silver Remington derringer—a gift from her late husband.
Without the bullet that killed Mr. Green or its shell, it was impossible to determine what type of pistol had been used to carry out the execution. The copy of the postmortem report signed by Dr. Manu Gupta, interning doctor of forensic pathology, was well worn from frequent handling. Ginger reread it.
Dr. Gupta’s report was thorough in its measurements and weights of all the organs. Despite the bullet’s passage between the right and left lobes of the brain, and a corresponding exit wound on the back of Mr. Green’s skull, Angus Green had a healthy heart, lungs, kidneys, and spleen. Intestines and lower abdominal regions were average as well. Because the body had already been washed and embalmed before discovery, there was no residue of gunpowder, though the impression of the wound pointed to close range.
Abrasions on the wrist indicated that Angus Green’s hands had been tied. Haley, who had assisted Dr. Gupta, had found trace amounts of dark soil under the fingernails. Peculiar since Angus Green had been the posh type of gentleman who kept his nails clean and neatly trimmed.
Lab reports had yet to come in for the soil sample, however, toxicology reports confirmed the presence of cocaine in Mr. Green’s blood. It appeared that Angus Green’s manner of amusement went beyond the stage. Ginger leaned back, and the old chair nearly gave way on her.
“Deuced chair!” Ginger grabbed her chest. “Nearly gave me a heart attack.”
Boss yipped and dashed across the room at the sound of his mistress’ distress.
“Oh, Bossy.” Ginger scooped him into her arms. “I’m all right, but I appreciate your valour all the same.”
The telephone—newly installed, black with a modern square design—rang in deep repetitive tones. Ginger placed Boss on the floor and pushed the offending chair aside.
Ginger answered, “Mallowan 1355.”
“Lady Gold?” The caller was female with a French accent.
“Hello, Madame Roux. Is everything all right?” Madame Roux managed Ginger’s Regent Street dress shop, Feathers & Flair.
“Oui, oui. I am only ringing to inform you that the shipment of fabric from India has arrived. Should I get Emma to sort it, or would you like to have a look at it first?”
Emma Miller was Ginger’s in-house designer, and Ginger had every confidence in her. “Tell Emma to go ahead.”
“She’ll be pleased, madam. She’s eager to start sewing.”
After saying goodbye, Ginger took another long look at the photos on the desk before heading to the passageway and calling for her longtime butler. “Pippins?”
The ability of Clive Pippins to materialise when beckoned never ceased to amaze Ginger. The kindly man, a septuagenarian with hunched shoulders and translucent skin, had a surprising amount of energy and enthusiasm for life. His eyes remained clear and as blue as cornflowers. They twinkled when his gaze landed on Ginger.
“Madam?”
“Pips, do me a terrific favour and shop for a new office chair for me, please. Father’s old chair practically sent me flying.”
“Certainly, madam. Is there anything else?”
“Yes. Ask Clement to prepare to drive me to the medical school. I shall be ready to leave in thirty minutes. And let Lizzie know she’ll be looking after Boss.” Lizzie was Ginger’s young maid and an enthusiastic companion of the little Boston terrier.
Ginger checked the time. She had to hurry if she didn’t want to be late for the class on trace evidence. She had long since envied Haley for being able to continue her education—an option that had closed for Ginger when she got married—but the administration didn’t see a problem with her sitting in, especially once she’d become a financial benefactor of the institution. In fact, Ginger had organised a much-anticipated charity gala for the school that was to take place at the weekend.
The class on trace evidence was held in a medium-sized room with white walls and wooden floors. Situated in the middle was an oak table that sat twelve. A third of the seats were taken, since, according to Haley, only a handful of the senior students was interested in forensic pathology as a career choice. Most of the students were concerned about the living and how to keep them alive. Like Haley, Ginger found forensic science tremendously exciting. She spotted Haley and slipped into the empty seat beside her.
“You made it,” Haley said, her American accent coming through.
“Clement drove,” Ginger responded by way of explanation. She found the middle-aged man to be an excruciatingly slow and cautious driver, no doubt due to the fact he was inexperienced at driving in the city. He’d only just begun to get the hang of Ginger’s old 1913 Daimler before it was damaged in a motorcar crash. She couldn’t expect too much from the timid man. A gardener by vocation, he’d come with Ginger’s grandmother-in-law when she moved in.
Ginger had expected Dr. Watts—the chief pathologi
st and college administrator—to teach the class, but instead of the stocky, white-haired man, a younger and slimmer gentleman strode confidently to the front of the room near the end of the table.
“Good afternoon,” the man said with a strong Irish lilt. “For those of you who don’t know, I’m Dr. Sean Brennan. Since you now know my name, and I’ve not had the same privilege, please introduce yourselves.”
Polite introductions followed:
“Florence Jennings.” A no-nonsense type wearing a bland day dress and round spectacles spoke her name softly.
“Matilda Hanson,” said a pretty girl with a heart-shaped face and a pouty Clara Bow mouth. In fact, she resembled the famous Hollywood actress with her short brunette curls and her dark, soulful eyes. An unlikely candidate for pathology at first glance, if someone were to judge by looks alone
Next, a middle-aged woman with a stern stare said, “Agatha McPherson.”
“Haley Higgins.”
“Lady Georgia Gold.”
As if startled by Ginger’s title, Dr. Brennan blinked with a jerk of his head.
Had he heard of her somehow? Ginger wondered.
“Jolly good,” he said, smiling. “Let’s crack on, then. I’m thrilled about the advancements in modern forensic science, a valuable study for medical doctors and crime investigators alike. For example, the recent advances in blood grouping not only assists doctors in making a proper diagnosis and giving proper treatment, but our friends at Scotland Yard can use blood analysis to solve crimes. As forensic pathologists, you will work closely with the police. Today, we’re going to talk about trace evidence, and how the smallest thing can be a big clue.”