Murder on Eaton Square

by Lee Strauss

  Murder on Eaton Square

  a Ginger Gold Mystery # 10

  Lee Strauss

  Contents

  Summary

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Ginger Gold’s Journal

  About the Author

  Books by Lee Strauss

  The Case of the Vanishing Boy - chapter 1

  Acknowledgments

  Summary

  Murder’s Bad Karma. . .

  Life couldn’t be better on Eaton Square Gardens where the most prestigious families lived, until one of their own dies and it’s murder.

  Ginger and Basil are on the case, but it’s not a simple glass of bubbly fizz. The more the clues present themselves, the trickier the puzzle gets, and Ginger feels she’s on a wild goose chase.

  But as someone close to the victim so aptly quips, “One shouldn’t commit murder. It’s bad karma.”

  Reaping what one sows is hardly a great cup of tea.

  Chapter One

  Mrs. Ginger Reed, alias Lady Gold, had reserved a box at the London Playhouse Theatre for her family, who now, mingling with anticipation and glasses of champagne in hand, waited for the signal that the production of Shakespeare’s Romeo & Juliet was about to begin.

  “I never grow tired of living in London!” Felicia Gold said. Felicia, Ginger’s exuberant and très modern former sister-in-law, was the sister of Ginger’s late husband, Daniel, Lord Gold, and what Ginger’s American counterparts would now, in the year 1925, call a super-flapper. Indeed, Felicia looked the epitome of the icon in a beaded, sleeveless frock with a lantern fringe that barely landed mid-shin. Her glossy auburn bob was pressed down with a glittering headband to which a large feather was attached. “My darling, Ginger,” Felicia went on. “Thank you from the bottom of my heart for rescuing me from dull country living!”

  “I quite miss the quiet of the country,” said Ginger’s former grandmother, the Dowager Lady Gold. “Young people at least had manners and knew their place in proper society.” She scowled at Felicia’s outfit and the bare skin shown, but refrained from speaking out her displeasure at Felicia’s flagrant display in the presence of strangers who could possibly overhear. Ambrosia had tried to enter the twentieth century by having her long hair cut into a short shingle, but her spirit hadn’t quite made it over. “My heart is rather broken over the loss of Bray Manor.”

  “Oh bosh, Grandmama,” Felicia said, brightly. “I fear that your loss is my gain.”

  Ginger pulled on her husband’s arm, subtly separating the two Gold ladies. Chief Inspector Basil Reed’s mouth twitched, and his handsome hazel eyes glinted in amusement. Ginger was glad to see Basil found the situation humorous.

  “I don’t think I’ve had a chance to say it before now,” he said, “but you are a sight of loveliness.”

  Ginger felt the weight of the tiara she wore on her head—red hair in a stylish marcelled bob—which went perfectly with her sequin-covered gown.

  “Thank you, love,” Ginger said, but before she could return the compliment, their attention was captured by the group occupying the box next to them.

  “I wish I’d stayed at home.” The voice belonged to a gruff-sounding gentleman in a wheelchair. “I can’t stand theatre.”

  “Why did you come then?” An attractive woman in her forties shot the man a disparaging look.

  “Because you’d never let me hear the end of it if I didn’t. You and your endless social engagements! You’re going to put me in the grave before God is through with me.”

  Basil whispered into Ginger’s ear. “That’s Mr. Reginald Peck and his second wife, Mrs. Virginia Peck.”

  “Of Eaton Square?” Ginger said. “We’re attending a gala at their house tomorrow evening.”

  “Which would explain Mr. Peck’s complaint.”

  “And the others with them?”

  “They are his children by his first wife. The young man dressed in that fine suit is his son, Matthew, and the young lady is his daughter, Mrs. Deirdre Northcott.”

  The two siblings were dressed as one might do for a night at the theatre, similarly to their father and stepmother, in a fine suit and a gorgeous evening gown.

  “Who’s the other fellow?” A third man was dressed as if he were a visiting dignitary from India, in a brown satin pyjama-style kurta. However, the pale tones of his skin and hair belied Indian ethnicity.

  “That is the son-in-law, Alistair Northcott.”

  “How eclectic,” Ginger said. “I suppose we shouldn’t be rude and not greet them. I would like the hosts to recognise me when we show up at their gala.”

  Basil led Ginger by her elbow to the end of their box that joined with the Peck family’s. Virginia Peck spotted them and made strides to greet them. Ginger, an expert in all the top fashion designers, recognised the Elsa Schiaparelli gown immediately.

  “Good evening,” Mrs. Peck said. “It’s Mr. Basil Reed, is it not?”

  “Indeed,” Basil said.

  Before Basil could introduce Ginger, Mrs. Peck continued, “I’ve met your parents, Mr. Reed. They share mutual friends with my husband, Reginald.” Her eyes darted to the man in the wheelchair, positioned at the opposite end to where Mrs. Peck had sat. Mr. Matthew Peck and Mr. and Mrs. Northcott sat in the chairs between them.

  “I hear they’re back in the city,” Mrs. Peck said. “Such adventurers!”

  “Indeed, they are,” Basil said.

  “I quite envy them.”

  “Yes,” Basil shifted and changed the subject. “May I introduce my wife, Ginger Reed?”

  Mrs. Peck finally looked Ginger in the eye and offered a tired smile. “Forgive me. I do get carried away at times. How do you do?”

  “Very well, thank you,” Ginger said. “We received an invitation to your gala and I saw I had a unique opportunity to make your acquaintance beforehand.”

  “I host the gala every year to raise funds for our injured servicemen. Our own Matthew was injured in the fighting. She cast a glance at her stepson and lowered her voice. “He’s never been quite the same since returning, I’m afraid. But let’s not be solemn on such a fabulous evening. I’m delighted you can make it tomorrow, and I look forward to seeing you again.”

  The lights dimmed signalling the production was about to begin.

  “Enjoy the show, Mrs. Peck,” Basil said.

  “Likewise.”

  Once they were seated, Ginger spoke softly, “She seems lovely, though I get the feeling she’s not very happy.”

  “I don’t think Reginald Peck is the easiest fellow to live with. He’s had ongoing health problems. I’m dreadfully sorry to see he’s ended up in a wheelchair.”

  “A house on Eaton Square—he must be a very wealthy man.”

  “Oh yes. He built his wealth buying and selling property and is apparently quite
savvy with the stock market.”

  The curtains parted, and Ginger, along with a myriad of other spectators, lifted a small set of viewing glasses to her eyes. It just so happened that the angle allowed her a quick study of the intriguing family in the box next door. Everyone’s eyes were on the stage except for Mr. Matthew Peck’s. He was most definitely glaring at his brother-in-law—or was he staring at his father? Mr. Reginald Peck and Mr. Northcott were seated side by side. At any rate, if looks could kill. Ginger shivered and focused on the action on stage, quite determined to mind her own business.

  Chapter Two

  Taking a few minutes to gather her pink summer Kashalyne coat, which was trimmed smartly with red silk ribbon, and her simple, red satin cloche hat, Ginger called for her Boston terrier, Boss, and headed to the garage in the back garden of Hartigan House where her ’24 Crossley was parked. It was a fairly new acquisition, and Ginger felt proud to be the owner. The glossy white exterior and complementary dark red leather interior, along with the polished mahogany dashboard, had a sophistication about it. She reversed out of the garage and puttered down the narrow lane.

  Arriving at her office on Watson Street, Ginger parked with one tyre tight to the kerb, climbed out of the Crossley, and hurried along the pavement. Boss trotted at her heels. Seeing the new sign above the door—Lady Gold Investigations—gave Ginger a silent thrill. And with it only being just around the corner from her dress shop, Feathers & Flair, the convenience couldn’t be denied.

  It was always a toss-up as to which business she should check in with first. When a new shipment of fabrics or frocks was due, the fashion shop was the obvious choice, but the investigations office held the promise of intrigue. Had someone come in with a tantalising problem? Was Felicia sitting on the edge of her seat waiting for Ginger to arrive so she could tell her about the mysterious potential client?

  Since no delivery was scheduled for the dress shop, and her parking spot was next to the investigation office, her decision was simple. She descended the steps into the shallow well that led to the office entrance and proceeded through the small waiting room.

  A light-toned bell rang as she turned the brass knob and pushed the wooden door open. Felicia jumped to her feet, and Ginger prepared herself for a new case.

  Once the previous tenant had vacated, Ginger’s hired decorators had done an excellent job creating a perfect office space suitable for an investigator. Uncluttered, yet classy, the walls were papered in a bright beige and gold design resembling interlocking fans, a red rug warmed the wooden floor, and the windows, now cleaned, allowed a good amount of natural light in. Ginger’s walnut desk sat prominently to one side with wine-coloured leather chairs for clients facing it and a wicker dog bed for Boss tucked out of sight behind it. Felicia’s desk sat at a right angle to Ginger’s so they could easily converse. A small kitchen, the lavatory, and a darkroom were hidden away down a corridor.

  Felicia snapped to attention at Ginger’s arrival. “Oh, thank goodness you’re here!”

  “What is it? Has someone come in with a plea?”

  “No. That’s the problem. I’m bored silly.”

  Disappointed, Ginger sighed softly. “I thought you were working on your book.” Felicia had recently sold a mystery novel to a London publisher and was now wrestling through the second volume.

  “I am. At least I’m trying.” Felicia let out a soulful moan. “I just can’t see past this white page! I’m so close to the ending, but something in my mind is blocked.”

  “Perhaps you need a change of scenery and a bit of fresh air,” Ginger said. “Why don’t you see if the girls need help at the shop?”

  Felicia stuck out her lower lip in protest, but before she could say anything, the telephone rang. She answered with a look of hope in her eyes.

  “Lady Gold Investigations.” Felicia’s eyes darted to Ginger. “Yes? I’m afraid Lady Gold isn’t available. Might I take a message?”

  The man’s voice was loud enough for Ginger to hear but not enough to understand what he was saying.

  “I’m sure she can help you with that, sir. I’ll jot down your name and telephone number if you recite it now.”

  Ginger watched as Felicia scribbled the information on a blank pad.

  Felicia’s grey eyes flashed as she lowered the receiver and ended the call. “It’s a case. A simple surveillance. The sister claims to have got a job, and the brother, a Mr. Soames, wants to make sure she’s going to work like she says. I think he suspects her of a romantic assignation.”

  “Oh dear.”

  “Please, Ginger, let me do it,” the enthusiasm in Felicia’s voice was palpable. “I can ask around and then bring you the information. I’ll be discreet, I promise. Besides, I need real-life experiences to stir up fresh inspiration for my book.”

  “Do you think you can rein in your excitement?” Ginger said with a note of seriousness. “The key to successful sleuthing is to not draw attention to one’s self.”

  Felicia’s shoulders went limp, and her facial expression bland.

  “I don’t mean to disappoint—”

  “Ah-ah!” Felicia said. “You were immediately fooled. I can control my exuberance when the situation calls for it. Let me prove it to you.”

  “Very well,” Ginger said. It wasn’t as if Felicia could mess it up too terribly. At worst, they’d lose a client Ginger didn’t truly want anyway.

  Felicia hopped on the toes of her T-strap shoes, then immediately subdued herself. “Don’t forget that I’m an actress, Ginger. I shall become a detective to challenge Sherlock Holmes. A chameleon, I tell you.”

  Ginger waved her fingers. “Off you go, then.”

  “Oh, can I borrow the Crossley?”

  Ginger snorted at her sister-in-law’s audacity. “I think you can solve this case quite well taking a bus or the underground.”

  Felicia was too delighted about her first lead investigation to be put off by Ginger’s pronouncement for long. She grabbed her handbag and paused at the mirror by the door to don her hat. It was a new blue cloche with a simple but stylish broad black leather band. “A taxicab it is!” she announced, before disappearing.

  Chapter Three

  Ginger had little reason for envy, but a house in Eaton Square would be frightfully divine. The white stone Victorian buildings were statuesque in appearance, slender and tall, and five storeys in total. Three floors of glamorous living sat above the cellar level where the servants worked, and were topped with an attic, which housed the sleeping quarters for the same.

  Pristine gardens ran the length of the townhouses and mirrored the Buckingham Palace Gardens only a short walk away.

  “Winston Churchill lives here,” Basil said when they arrived later that evening at the gala hosted by the esteemed Peck family. “And Mr. Baldwin’s home is on Eaton Square as well, when he’s not living in Downing Street.”

  Ginger was duly impressed that the Pecks had both the chancellor of the exchequer and the prime minister as neighbours.

  The interior of the Pecks’ house captured Ginger’s imagination. It seemed money was no object as every single piece of furniture and art were of the best quality from the very top artists and designers. It was all rather tropical, as there appeared to be more flower arrangements than guests, who were numerous.

  “It must’ve cost a fortune to import all these flower arrangements.” Ginger held on to Basil’s arm.

  “You’d be surprised to hear that Mr. Reginald Peck has rather green fingers,” Basil returned. “In fact, he had a conservatory built on the rooftop, quite extraordinary, since no one on Eaton Square had ever done such a thing. Rather scandalous when it was being built and the news made several of the rags, though that was quite a few years ago now. Quite forgotten by most.”

  Wearing a ball gown of gold lace over a gold lamé slip dress, Ginger caught the eye of more than one envious woman or appreciative man. It had a daringly low, square-cut neckline, and a long decorative hem that landed just below t
he knee. A matching scarf wrapped around her neck and hung long over her right shoulder. The metallic fibres glistened under the electric lamps, and Ginger couldn’t help feeling illuminated. One simply could not overdress for such an event as this. Basil, of course, looked ravishing in his black evening suit and top hat with a contrasting white silk waistcoat and bow tie.

  “If only Hartigan House had been built in Belgravia,” Ginger said after a sip of champagne.

  Basil patted her gloved hand and consoled her. “South Kensington is a splendid place to live, as well.”

  “But just imagine running into His Majesty whilst riding past Buckingham Palace. Or Queen Mary. I hear she loves to ride.”

  “All royals ride, my dear,” Basil said. “Equestrian arts are highly esteemed among the elite.” He smiled at her and added, “As you know.”

  Ginger knew Basil was referring to her spectacular gelding, Goldmine, and his own exceptional Arabian, Sir Blackwell.

  “We are not elite,” Ginger said. “At least, I’m not.” Anymore. Ginger had given up her role as a baroness and her official title of “Lady Gold” when she married Basil Reed. Before her marriage to Daniel Gold, Ginger had been a commoner, albeit from fortunate circumstances. Basil could boast of being the son of an “Honourable”. Which reminded Ginger.

  “Basil, have your parents confirmed that they’re coming for dinner tomorrow?”