by Lee Strauss
“Another woman on board?” Basil said. “Mrs. Fisher? Mrs. Griffiths, perhaps?”
“Or a smaller man,” Ginger said. “Mr. Fisher would also qualify as would Mr. Burgess and Mr. Whitley. ‘Mrs. Simms’ wore a thick veil and spoke with a rather low voice for a woman.”
“Our thief?” Basil said. “That would be a strange connection between the two cases.
“At any rate, I don’t think Mrs. Simms exists.”
“Then why the performance?” Basil asked. “And what happened to the cane?”
“I believe the cane was thrown out of the lavatory window,” Ginger said. “As for the performance, maybe ‘Mrs. Simms’ wanted to see if the robbery was a success, but when the train was stopped, she feared her alias would be discovered.”
“I’ll get some men to search the tracks for evidence.”
Constable Mulgrew approached. “We’ve got everyone out, except for you two and Miss Gold.”
“What about Inspector Sullivan?” Basil asked.
“He’s gone with the accused, sir. We have an extra motorcar if you’d rather travel separately from the other lot.
“That would be splendid,” Basil said.
Ginger bundled up in her fur-trimmed wool coat and fastened the over-sized buttons that ran fashionably at an angle. She pinned on her hat, wrapped her scarf snugly around her neck, and braced herself against the icy wind.
“I don’t know what we were thinking, going north in October for our honeymoon.” She glanced up at Basil.
Basil stretched an arm over her shoulders for warmth. “To think we could be sipping fruity cocktails on a beach in Savona.”
“Oh, mercy! Now I really regret it. For some reason, the picture of a castle on the hill and miles of craggy shore seemed so romantic. Now we’re spending our honeymoon in York, of all places.”
“With me,” Felicia broke in. “Now that my good friend has been apprehended, I really am going to play gooseberry.”
Ginger laughed as she slid into the back seat beside the solemn girl. “And a most lovely gooseberry you are!”
The busload of delayed first-class Flying Scotsman passengers entered the historic city of York after the last train had left the station. Basil was pleased with the misfortune of its occupants. It gave him more time to study the suspects—after all, any one of them could easily be mixed up in the murder given that the head had been deposited on board for a reason. It was up to him to discover what that reason was.
He and Ginger had opted to stay in the same hotel as the others though Sullivan had been kind enough to offer them something a little classier. Ginger had answered before he even had a chance, saying they must stay with the others. Her drive to solve this case was as strong as his was. She could’ve been moping about not having a proper start to their honeymoon, and the fact that she wasn’t made Basil love her even more. At least, they’d had two nights alone together in the bridal suite at Brown’s Hotel in London.
“I confess I was a mite worried that the train ride might feel rather anti-climatic,” Ginger said as they readied themselves in their room for dinner. “No need to fret about that now.”
“Indeed not.”
“I am sorry for Felicia. She’s so concerned about impinging on our time together, and now her close friend has been arrested. Her plans have been ruined.”
“Rather bad luck,” Basil said. “Maybe she’ll meet a gentleman in the hotel dining room that shall take her mind off things.”
“Aha!” Ginger tugged on his sleeve. “You are a hopeless romantic. I knew it!”
Basil grabbed her by the waist and pulled her close. “I am for you, my love.”
A knock on the door interrupted a rather delectable kiss. Basil stifled a groan.
“Ginger?” Felicia’s voice came from the passage. “Sorry to disturb you.”
“Not at all,” Ginger called out. She opened the door to Felicia’s solemn countenance.
“I’ll meet you downstairs,” Felicia said. “I just wanted to let you know.”
“Please would you find a table for us?” Ginger asked.
“Are you sure you want to sit with me? You must be just sick of my presence already.”
“Don’t be silly. It’s not like we’ll be alone in the dining room anyway.”
“We’re going to people watch,” Basil said to Felicia. “You enjoy that game, don’t you?”
“Well, yes.” Felicia allowed a smile. “I’m rather good at it too.”
“Fantastic,” Basil said. “You can play with us then. Maybe someone shall reveal a clue.”
“You’ll let me help with the investigation?” Felicia said, her mood now brightened.
“You can help by observing,” Ginger said. “It’s an important detective skill.”
Basil felt a sense of satisfaction in having turned the mood around. He liked Felicia, and for the most part, enjoyed her company. However, there was enough rain coming down that they didn’t need a cloud hovering over their table at the restaurant as well.
Chapter Eighteen
Founded by the Romans, York was a walled city encircling York Castle. It became a significant trading centre due, in large part, to the River Ouse, which ran through it. The headquarters of the North Eastern Railway were situated there along with—much to Ginger and Felicia’s delight—two major chocolate manufacturers.
Basil was just glad to be off the train. Too much time in cramped quarters made him feel as if he were wearing a suit a size too small.
As Basil had hoped, the suspects had gathered in the hotel restaurant for a late dinner as well. Mr. and Mrs. Fisher sat by the window. Wearing his customary scowl, Mr. Doring sat alone in the bar area. Mrs. Griffiths, also alone, was seated in one of the corners with her back to the wall. Ginger wondered why she hadn’t gone home, but then again, the spry elderly lady was probably too curious to leave the drama just yet. Mrs. Griffith’s brow shot up when her gaze latched on to Basil’s, a sign of solidarity as if to say she was on the lookout for the perpetrator too.
Absent, of course, was Lady Pennington. Basil had been informed by Constable Mulgrew that she had taken up Sullivan’s offer to stay at the Grand Hotel and Spa about a mile away.
“Isn’t this quaint,” Ginger said, as they were seated.
“I hope the weather breaks tomorrow,” Felicia said. “Then we can meander through all the narrow medieval passages—”
“Snickelways,” Ginger said, interrupting. “That’s what they’re called, aren’t they? Simply charming little pathways.”
“Yes,” Felicia replied. “I’ve heard they’ve turned some of the old butchers shops into dazzling fashion and jewellery shops. We simply must take a gander.”
A waiter appeared at their table with a notepad in hand. “Sir, ladies, would you like something to drink?”
“I’d like a daiquiri,” Felicia said. “It’s an American cocktail.” At Ginger’s look of surprise, she added, “I’ve heard you mention it.”
“I thought Americans didn’t imbibe,” the waiter said.
“It’s against the law to drink,” Ginger said. “But, believe me, Americans are still imbibing.”
“Cocktails are served in the cocktail lounge,” the waiter said rather snootily.
“Oh,” Felicia pouted. “I’ll have a glass of chardonnay then. And be quick about it as I’ve had a very trying day.”
Ginger nodded at Basil, and he said, “Please make it a bottle.”
The waiter spun on his heel and returned to the bar.
“We want to make his job easy, Felicia,” Ginger said. “He’ll be more inclined to cooperate should we want to ask questions.”
“Of course, you’re right,” Felicia muttered. “I hope I didn’t bungle it up. I’ll be extremely kind and friendly when he returns.”
When the waiter returned with a chilled bottle and three wine glasses on the tray, Felicia was all smiles and fluttering eyelashes. “Forgive me for earlier,” she said. “My very close friend was rec
ently arrested. It’s so upsetting.”
The waiter stared back. “Were you on that train where a robbery was daringly prevented? It’s in the evening papers.”
Daringly prevented? What exactly had the rags written, Basil wondered. He waited to see if the waiter would bring up the murder and was satisfied when the man didn’t. It could be disastrous for the investigation if word got out too soon.
They placed their meal order: medallions of beef bordelaise for Ginger; roast lamb with mint sauce for Felicia; and mutton in cream sauce with rosemary-covered baked potatoes for Basil.
The waiter’s expression was stony, but Basil got the feeling that steak and kidney pie was more to the liking of what the average customer ordered there. He wouldn’t doubt if the kitchen in the back simply rang up the kitchen at the Grand Hotel and placed the order. The menu prices would support that.
“So, Felicia,” Basil said wanting to humour her, “What are your impressions of the characters in the room?”
“Well—” Felicia’s eyes scanned the dimly lit restaurant. “Mr. Doring likes his own company. He hasn’t lifted his eyes from his drink since we arrived.”
“Yes,” Ginger added. “He’s nervous about something, yet finds comfort from his perch on that stool.”
“It could be that he’s been seriously rattled and just needs a drink,” Basil said. “Most people would be with the shock of the discovery of a dismembered head.”
“Mr. and Mrs. Fisher have a marriage of convenience,” Ginger said. “They seem perfectly content to sit together without speaking.”
“Yes, but did it start that way?” Felicia asked. “They appear to be in their fifties, wouldn’t you say? After thirty years of marriage, I doubt there’s anything left to talk about.”
“Unless a theft and a murder happened on your journey,” Ginger said. “Surely, that’s a reason to talk.”
“Good point,” Felicia said. “Perhaps the habit of keeping to oneself is simply too ingrained.”
Basil smiled as the sisters debated the character of strangers. He agreed with their assessment of the Fishers. If they were involved in either crime in any way, it was possible that they weren’t even married. In fact, there was a look of similarity about them. Something was rather fishy about the Fishers.
“Do you think the Fishers might be siblings,” he said, “and not a married couple?”
Ginger stared at the strange duo. “There’s something in the eyes. They could be cousins. It’s not so uncommon for cousins to wed.”
“She would be Miss rather than Mrs.,” Felicia said, “if they weren’t married.”
“Not necessarily,” Ginger said. “Many ladies of a certain age take on the title of Missus, especially if they work in service. Our own Mrs. Beasley is an example.”
The meals arrived and after a round of bon appétit! they began to eat. The mutton wasn’t the best Basil had ever had, but it wasn’t the worst either. Ginger and Felicia muttered similar sentiments.
“Mrs. Griffiths is a strange one,” Felicia said after a few bites of lamb. “She’s like a hawk, eyes everywhere.”
“She seems to be fascinated with our table,” Ginger said.
“More amused than distressed by the events of the day,” Basil added. “She said she was from York. I wonder what brings her to this restaurant tonight.”
“She probably spends a good amount of time at home alone and bored,” Felicia offered. “One can’t blame her for finding relief in this kind of diversion. I’d do the same thing if I were her.”
Ginger sipped her chardonnay then added, “She’s the curious type, the kind who wouldn’t want to miss anything scandalous.”
“What are your plans now?” Basil asked Felicia.
“I suppose I’ll return to London. Once Grandmother gets wind of this, she’ll be arranging for a telegraph to be sent and demanding my return anyway.”
Basil smirked. The Dowager Lady Gold was a force to be reckoned with to be sure—and the only lady Felicia had ever known as a mother figure. They had a complicated relationship, one that Basil never hoped to figure out.
“There’s not much for you here now that Irene’s been arrested,” Ginger added.
“I should go to her,” Felicia said. “She’s my friend.”
“She and Mr. Pierce shall likely be out on bail soon,” Basil said.
Felicia dabbed her mouth with her cloth napkin. “Perhaps I’ll stay awhile then.”
“Do you think that’s a good idea?” Ginger’s beautiful brow furrowed in worry. “I know she’s a friend, but she did commit a serious crime. You wouldn’t want to get implicated in any way.”
“I shan’t!” Felicia said with a laugh. “One of Scotland Yard’s chief inspectors is practically my brother-in-law!”
Chapter Nineteen
The next morning, Ginger and Basil took a taxicab to the York Police station in search of Inspector Sullivan. They were directed to a small office behind the reception area and found the scruffy gentleman there. It was the first time Ginger had seen the man without a hat and she noticed a rather large balding spot on the top of his head.
“Yes, hello,” Inspector Sullivan said. “I expected that you would show up here today.” He reached for a cigarette case, offered it to Basil and Ginger who both shook their heads, before taking a cigarette for himself and lighting it.
Basil pulled out a chair for Ginger and took a second one for himself. “Is there anything new to report?”
“I’ve sent out men to scour the railway line again this morning. Could be they missed something yesterday. It was getting dark and hard to see by the time they got out there.” He let out a billow of smoke from the side of his mouth. “I don’t expect they’ll find anything, but I like to be thorough.”
“I suspect they’ll find a black cane with the rubber tip missing,” Ginger said.
Inspector Sullivan blew smoke from the side of his mouth. “Is that so?”
“We have reason to believe the mourning passenger who called herself Mrs. Simms was someone else in disguise.”
“That would explain why she disappeared into thin air,” Inspector Sullivan said. “But what happened to her clothes? All black you say?”
Ginger nodded, “Yes, widow’s wear. The person must’ve carried on an empty handbag or holdall. He or she could’ve simply removed the black clothing, having their day clothes already on underneath.”
The inspector conceded. “I’ll make sure the men keep their eyes open for a cane.”
“Make sure they wear gloves,” Ginger said. “Finger prints.”
Inspector Sullivan glared at her as he tapped ash into a tray. “I know how to do my job, Mrs. Reed.”
“My wife means no offence,” Basil said. “She just wants what we all do - to solve this case.”
Ginger smiled at her husband appreciatively.
Inspector Sullivan shrugged.
Basil continued, “I’d like to visit the victim’s house today, along with the post office where the mail bag came from—”
“It’s forty miles to Doncaster.”
“Yes, I’m aware of that,” Basil said. “I’d also like to speak with the unlucky bloke who got knocked out at the drop off point.”
“Doncaster Hospital. Nine stitches, the poor chap.” Inspector Sullivan squashed his cigarette butt until the red ember died to grey. “I sent a man to make those rounds. Hospital last night, post office this morning.”
“And?”
“Not anything of note. Perhaps you’ll have better luck.” To Ginger he said, “Your sister, she’s gone back to London?”
“I wish that were the case,” Ginger said. “No, she insisted on going to Miss Dansby’s house and offering her support. They are childhood friends.”
“I remember that fact now.” He leaned in over his desk. “Just how close are they, would you say? Close enough that Miss Dansby would confide in her? I hate to say it, but we’ll have to investigate Miss Gold, as a matter of form.”
Ginger was indignant. “I can assure you she had nothing to do with the theft of Lady Pennington’s jewels.”
“All the same. I know how the ladies like to talk. I’m sure she must know something.”
Ginger pursed her lips as she silently kicked herself. She should’ve insisted that Felicia got on the train to London right after breakfast.
Basil took her hand. “It’s only a matter of form.”
“Of course.”
“I don’t have to remind you, Chief Inspector Reed, to keep an open mind. Or should I speak to the chief constable.”
“I can assure you, Inspector Sullivan,” Basil said stiffly, “that I shall continue to operate with the utmost professionalism. Now, if you’ve nothing else, Mrs. Reed and I shall begin our enquires.”
“Certainly,” Inspector Sullivan said, leaning back in his wooden office chair. “It is mighty unusual for a police officer to take his wife along on his interviews.”
“True,” Basil said. “But my wife isn’t a run-of-the-mill wife.”
Ginger jutted her chin into the air. “I’m a private detective.”
“Yes,” Inspector Sullivan said dismissively. “You mentioned that on the train.”
Chapter 21
“I don’t remember Inspector Sullivan being so rude and condescending,” Ginger complained, feeling quite annoyed as they left the police station. “He was like a different person.”
“I doubt he got much sleep last night,” Basil said.
“I noticed the dark circles around his eyes too,” Ginger said. “Still, it’s no excuse for boorish behaviour.”
“Indeed,” Basil agreed.
“I won’t let the man get under my skin,” Ginger said, realising that Inspector Sullivan’s behaviour had already provoked her. She took in a slow breath and released it. “Where do you want to begin?”
“Doncaster,” Basil said. “There has to be evidence about the murder somewhere in that area.”
Basil hired a motorcar. (Ginger could hear Haley’s voice in her head. “You hire people and rent things!” They often laughed at the differences between British and American culture.) It was painted a glossy black, it had a high box-like carriage and a long bonnet fronted with round, headlamps that looked like enormous insect eyes. The tyres were inflated with exposed spokes. A spare rested on the driver’s side running board. Boss had the entire back seat to himself but was eager to stick his nose out of the window. Ginger opened it an inch to accommodate him.
