by Lee Strauss
“Mrs. Peck,” he said. “Please accompany me.”
Virginia Peck, with all the dignity the Peck name commanded, kept her head high and followed Basil into his office. Ginger didn’t wait to be invited to join them and stepped in behind her husband as if she had every right to do it. Mrs. Peck sat at the chair in front of Basil’s desk, and Ginger claimed the remaining empty one.
“I thought you’d be putting me behind bars, Chief Inspector,” Mrs. Peck said. “Or is this just a formality.”
Basil settled into his seat on the opposite side of the table. “Let’s have a chat first, shall we?”
“Very well.”
Basil exhaled as he leaned in. “We know about your familial relationship to Mr. Wilding.”
“Yes, he’s my son. I expected it might come to light as a result of your investigation.”
“Why didn’t you mention it before?” Ginger asked.
Mrs. Peck cast a tired look Ginger’s way. “I didn’t see the relevance at the time.”
Ginger nodded, then added, “A mother and child bond can be powerful, even if a lot of time and distance has separated them.”
“Surprisingly strong,” Mrs. Peck admitted.
“And that’s why you’re making a false claim to killing your husband,” Basil stated. “It’s foolishness on your part, Mrs. Peck. You can get charged for wasting police time, and it wouldn’t help your son’s case.”
“Except that it’s true,” Mrs. Peck insisted. “I did kill Reginald.”
“In that case,” Basil said, “what was your motive? You were well aware, more so than anyone, that your husband was terminally ill and didn’t have long to live.”
“I worried about his mental upheaval—his mood swings were unpredictable and his personality changes disturbing—that he might do something drastic in his last days and cut me out of his will. I’ve grown accustomed to a certain lifestyle—one I couldn’t maintain on my own without funding from my husband’s estate.”
“Yet, here you are, ready to walk away from all those comforts,” Ginger said.
“Cyril is the only thing that could drive me to it. I couldn’t bear to see him pay for a crime I’d committed. Any parent would be vile to do so.”
“We have evidence proving that Mr. Wilding purchased poison,” Basil said. “Why would he do that?”
Mrs. Peck hesitated, then answered, “Because I asked him to buy it.”
Cyril Wilding did say he bought it for someone, Ginger thought, and if true, covering for Mrs. Peck would be a good reason why he didn’t want to say for whom.
“What kind of poison did you ask him to buy?” Basil asked.
Mrs. Peck’s mouth opened, and when she failed to come up with an answer, she snapped her lips closed.
“Mrs. Peck,” Basil said with a sigh, “I can’t arrest you.”
“Why on earth not? I’m confessing!”
“But it’s a false confession.” Basil leaned over the table, fingers clasped, and stared back at Mrs. Peck with empathy in his eyes. “I’m truly sorry for all the grief you’ve encountered in these last days.”
“But Cyril is innocent.”
“If so, a jury shall come to that conclusion as well.”
Mrs. Peck left in a huff.
“Poor lady,” Ginger said. “First losing a husband, then a long-lost son so soon after just finding him again. Such a sad tale.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Ginger called in at Feathers & Flair after leaving Basil at Scotland Yard. With so much chaos and anxiety in the investigation, Ginger found the relative calm and order of her dress shop soothing.
Her peace of mind was soon disrupted by the entrance of the next potential customer. Ginger resisted gulping when she spotted her mother-in-law walking towards her. Instead, she forced a smile.
“Mrs. Reed,” Ginger said as the lady approached. “How wonderful to see you.”
“Hello, Ginger,” Mrs. Reed said coolly. She glanced slowly about the shop and took everything in.
Ginger refused to be disquieted.
“It’s nice,” Mrs. Reed finally said. “I’ve never been in before.”
“It is rather new.” Ginger had only opened the shop the previous autumn. “And you’ve been away.”
“Yes,” Mrs. Reed said, making a show of pulling off her gloves. “It’s quite astounding how much things can change whilst one is away.” Her gaze locked on Ginger. “Take you, for instance, and your marriage to my son.”
“That wasn’t as sudden as it might appear,” Ginger said, feeling defensive. “We knew each other for a while before—”
“Before Emelia died, I know.” Mrs. Reed ran fingers through the silk scarves on display, her eyes glancing toward Madame Roux and the customer she was engaged with across the room.
“Ginger, darling, we’re related now, and I would like to get to know you better. Perhaps you could get away for a cup of tea?”
“I’d be happy to make some,” Ginger said. “My office is just around the corner, and we can be alone there.”
Ginger thought that if Felicia happened to be ensconced at the Lady Gold Investigations office an excuse to relieve her would be warranted, but the office was locked when they got there. Ginger produced a key and opened the door.
“What kind of office is this?”
“It’s my investigation office.” Ginger watched Mrs. Reed’s response as she offered her a chair. Surely, Basil had mentioned it?
“You’ll have to explain,” Mrs. Reed said, her brow furrowed. “What is it exactly that you do?”
“I help my clients find things,” Ginger said. “People, information, lost items. Now if you’ll excuse me for a moment, I’ll put the kettle on.”
Ginger willed the gas ring to hurry up and heat the kettle. The sooner she had the tea made, the sooner they could drink it and be finished with this uncomfortable attempt at faux mother-daughter intimacy.
She returned with a tray. “Milk, Mrs. Reed?”
“Yes, please.”
Ginger poured milk into each of their teacups then added the tea. Mrs. Reed helped herself to sugar and stirred.
“You’re quite unconventional,” Mrs. Reed said, “for an English lady, with your businesses and modern outlook. It’s your American influence, I’d say.”
Ginger didn’t bite. “You’re rather unconventional yourself. World traveller, adventurer.”
Mrs. Reed sipped her tea, paused to mentally assess it, and apparently finding it acceptable, said, “I suppose, in that way we’re alike.”
“I hope we’ll get on,” Ginger said sincerely.
“As do I. I hope we’re friendly enough to discuss a rather sensitive subject.”
Aha. The real reason for Mrs. Reed’s desire to cosy up. Ginger braced herself.
Mrs. Reed leaned in and lowered her voice as if that would reduce the measure of her impertinence. “Harry and I are hoping to be grandparents one day, Ginger. Basil is our only means.”
“I don’t believe that’s part of God’s plans for us,” Ginger said stiffly. In the five years she’d been married to Daniel, she’d never conceived, and it appeared the same pattern was shaping up with Basil.
Mrs. Reed straightened, her brightly painted lips working. “He must’ve known since you and your late husband never conceived.”
“I kept nothing from Basil. Apparently, the matter of having children or not didn’t weigh heavily with him, since it didn’t keep him from proposing.”
Mrs. Reed flicked her fingers. “Men don’t think with their heads when they’re in that state. If only I’d been here—”
“Then what?” Ginger demanded. She set her teacup down. “You’d have talked Basil out of getting married?”
Mrs. Reed’s lips twitched as she forced a smile. “It’s not that you’re not lovely, Ginger, and you’re perfectly acceptable wife material in every other way.”
Ginger blinked at the backhanded compliment.
Mrs. Reed misread Ginger’s
silence as capitulation. “We know about your intention to adopt, er, that boy,” she said.
Ginger’s heartbeat quickened, and she had to work to control her breath lest she betray the anger she felt. “Yes, the plans are in motion.”
Mrs. Reed clicked her tongue. “Such a big step. Mr. Reed and I really wish you’d spoken to us before taking steps to go forward.”
The forced smile on Ginger’s face tightened. For one thing, she and Basil had had no way of knowing when the Reeds planned to return to London, and secondly, she and Basil didn’t need their approval.
“Yes, well, we’re quite far into it now.” Ginger said. England’s new laws regarding adoption were still in process, but Ginger’s emotional commitment was unwavering.
“Such a shame.”
“Why do you say that?” Ginger asked, feeling exasperated.
“Mr. Reed and I are obligated now to write Basil out of the will.”
Ginger’s jaw dropped. “I can’t see what that has to do with anything.”
“If something should happen to Basil, our estate can’t be left to a street urchin. The idea of it is ridiculous.”
“But, you yourself adopted a needy child, Anna,” Ginger said. If Anna Reed was determined to talk about Ginger’s personal life to such a degree, she would put things on an equal footing by using her Christian name.
Anna pinched her lips, then pressed on. “Yes, but we had Basil to hand our fortune to. Elias would’ve been adequately cared for, certainly, but our natural heir would inherit the family fortune. And, without an heir, we shall pass our assets on to Mr. Reed’s brother’s children. We can’t risk our estate being handed down to that boy, even if we’re not alive to see it.”
“But you can do the same thing as you planned to do before,” Ginger said, thoroughly alarmed. “And bypass Basil’s adopted son?”
Mrs. Reed clicked her tongue. “What would people think of us then?”
“What will they think of you now?”
Mrs. Reed stood and smoothed out her frock. “Obviously, no one would know besides us, now, Ginger. Please, if you love Basil, do consider dropping the adoption for his sake.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
If she loved Basil?
How dare Anna Reed insinuate otherwise. How dare she!
By the time Ginger returned to Hartigan House, she’d reined in her emotions. People with high social standing had a different way of viewing the world. Everything was a possession to be managed, organised, and invested—even one’s children and future grandchildren. She couldn’t blame Anna for being the person she was. The question was, how could Ginger live with such backward thinking? And even more importantly, what did Basil really think?
Ginger parked the Crossley in the garage, took a moment to check the bumper—oh mercy, a definite dent. She’d bumped against a lamppost as she’d sped away from her shop, which meant another trip to the garage. They were sure to tire of her, though she was good for business, she supposed.
Scout played with Boss in the back garden, and the sight of them lifted Ginger’s spirits. Matters of the heart were beyond the control of people like Henry and Anna Reed. She stopped to pat Scout on the head and give Boss a scrub behind the ears.
“You lot are having fun,” Ginger said.
“Boss is really clever, Missus Mum. I’ve taught him to play hide and seek. Just watch.” Scout turned his attention to Boss. “Sit, boy. Now, wait.” Boss stayed on his haunches as instructed, but the excited dog simply could not control the shimmying of his tail stump.
“Wait. Wait. Wait,” Scout said as his voice grew quieter with his distance. He squatted behind a patio chair near the French door of the morning room then called out, “Come and find me, Boss.”
Boss made a show of searching every nook and cranny, but Ginger was certain her intelligent pet knew exactly where Scout was. Ginger laughed. It was part of the game.
Moments later, Boss came across Scout’s hiding place.
“You found me!” Scout stood and made his declaration once more. “See, he’s really clever!”
“He is,” Ginger said, her smile even brighter. “And so are you for teaching him such a complicated game.”
Inside, Ginger found Basil waiting for her in the sitting room.
“Your mother came to see me at Feathers & Flair today,” Ginger said.
Basil held out a glass of brandy. “You could use this, then, I gather.”
“Yes, thank you, love.” Ginger settled onto the settee beside him, knocked off her shoes, and curled up. “It’s been a long day, and your mother wasn’t exactly the icing on the cake.”
“I hope she didn’t unsettle you too much.”
“She’s not very happy about Scout. She says they’ll cut you out of their will.” Ginger watched Basil’s countenance carefully. The corner of his eye twitched, something he did when he was trying to keep his expression emotionally blank. When he didn’t respond, she continued, “They wouldn’t really go through with it, do you think?”
Basil swallowed a rather large gulp of brandy. “You never can tell with my parents. They don’t exactly play by the rules.”
“And yet, they want you to.”
“It’s not fair, I know.”
“So, what are we to do?”
Basil took another sip from his brandy glass then said, “Did she say why she didn’t want us to adopt Scout?”
“She doesn’t want their money to get into his hands.” Ginger eyed Basil narrowly. “But you knew that already.”
“Yes, I had a visit from my parents today, as well.”
“And what did you tell them.”
“I didn’t have a chance to tell them anything. They were quite busy doing all the talking.”
Ginger faced him and made him look her in the eye. “What did they say?”
“Much the same as the message you got, I imagine.” He placed a palm on Ginger’s arm and conjured a grin. “Let’s not worry about them, right now. If we’re lucky, they’ll go on another long trip soon.”
Ginger appreciated Basil’s attempt at humour, but couldn’t help feeling rankled by his parents’ intrusion into their lives in this manner.
Boss nosed his way into the room, and immediately claimed a space by Ginger’s feet, and she appreciated the distraction. She toed her pet playfully. He licked her foot in response, and she couldn’t help but giggle. “That tickles.”
Ready to play, Boss flipped onto his back, but Ginger noticed that, despite Basil’s casual demeanour, the subject of Scout was a sticky one, and perhaps it would be wise to leave further discussion until the morning, after they’d both had a good night’s sleep and a strong cup of coffee.
“What did you think about that performance by Virginia Peck?” she said, changing the subject.
“I’m perplexed why she would do something so drastic as to confess to a murder she didn’t commit. She must know she could hang for it.”
“It’s quite natural for a parent to want to rescue their child,” Ginger said.
“Or she may only hope to create a question in the minds of the jury.”
“Reasonable doubt?”
“Our case against Wilding isn’t strong,” Basil said. “If Virginia Peck’s counsel could convince half the members of the jury that they might have the wrong man, the conviction would be overturned.”
“And they’d both be acquitted,” Ginger said, understanding. Unconsciously, she twisted the red curl that rested on her cheek with her finger. “There’s nothing you can do about it, darling,” Ginger said. “You did your job, now it’s the court’s turn to do theirs.”
“Unless—”
Ginger knew what Basil was going to say, because she was thinking it herself. She finished his sentence, “Mrs. Peck is telling the truth.”
“And I just arrested an innocent man.”
The telephone rang, and Ginger could hear Pippins’ reserved voice answer the call. She expected the knock on the sitting room door when it came
.
“Sorry to interrupt, but the telephone is for you, sir.”
Basil excused himself, and Ginger finished the last of her brandy. Something told her to put on her shoes. No one rang for Basil at night if it wasn’t a matter of urgency.
Unless it was one of Basil’s parents? Perhaps they’d come to their senses and had rung to apologise. One could hope.
But that hope was dashed when Basil returned with a hard look of consternation on his face.
“What is it, darling?”
“I’ve got another body,” Basil said.
Oh mercy.
“Where?”
“Eaton Square again. It’s Virginia Peck.”
Chapter Thirty
Ginger hadn’t expected to be back at the Peck residence so soon, and certainly not under these grim circumstances.
Sergeant Scott and Constable Braxton were already present when Basil and Ginger arrived. Dr. Gupta got there a few minutes later.
The body of Virginia Peck was found in her bedroom in a red velvet high-backed chair. Sergeant Scott had the Yard’s French Furet camera aimed at the crime scene and took photographs that filled the air with flash-pan smoke whilst Constable Braxton tagged evidence. With his thumb and forefinger, Dr. Gupta opened the lids of the corpse’s eyes, then tested the dexterity of the jaw and limbs.
“Hello again, Dr. Gupta,” Ginger said.
“Good evening, Mrs. Reed. Chief Inspector.”
“Dr. Gupta,” Basil said. “What do we have here?”
“Rigour has yet to set in. She’s been dead less than four hours. No apparent wounding.”
On a tray was a pot of tea, and a newly opened packet of tea. A teacup, half empty, sat on a matching saucer.
“Poison again?” Basil asked.
The pathologist mumbled, “Quite possibly.”
“Strychnine?” Ginger said, thinking of the rat poison Mr. Wilding had purchased.
Dr. Gupta stared up at Ginger, but his eyes were unfocused as he considered her question. “With strychnine, I’d expect to see evidence of reflexive convulsions, which I don’t see here.”
“Any idea of what the poison might be?” Basil asked. “Have you heard from the laboratory yet?”
