by Lee Strauss
When Basil entered the kitchen, he looked remarkably better with fresh clothes and smooth, newly shaven skin. The table was set and breakfast waiting.
"You did this?" Basil asked. Ginger didn't know if she should feel slighted by this incredulousness, but then, a lady of her status rarely knew her way around a kitchen.
"I'm a woman of many talents."
Basil chuckled. "That you are, Lady Gold."
He approached her then, past the gas stove and around the round wooden kitchen table. The frying pan wasn't the only thing to heat up. The air in the room crackled and snapped. Basil touched her shoulder, and Ginger couldn't stop the involuntary shiver. She should've been looking up into his eyes, reading what was there. Longing? Sadness? Confusion? But all she could manage was to stare at her Italian designer shoes. Was that a scuff on the toe?
He closed the space between them. "Are you all right with this?"
Ginger tensed. She wanted it to be. She desperately wanted to go back in time to three days before, when she had thought Basil truly loved her. But now she couldn't get the image of Basil weeping over Emelia out of her head. "I'm . . . not sure."
Basil slumped, and he stepped back. "I understand. Now let's eat before this delectable meal gets cold."
Conversation quickly turned to the case. With their focus on that, and not on themselves, Ginger’s stomach finally agreed to open up to receive the work of her hands.
"What else did you learn from your evening exploits?" There was an edge to Basil's voice Ginger ignored.
"Well, you've met the club manager, Conway Sayer."
"So, not a likely suspect," Basil said as he cut into his kipper. "Not a romantic one, anyway."
"The barman is a bit of a hefty man. He's built more like a guard than a server. He has a leg injury of some sort—I'm assuming from the war. He made me uncomfortable." Ginger pressed a napkin against her lips. Butter was marvellous, but left its mark.
"More tea?" Basil asked, lifting the teapot.
"Please." Ginger added a little sugar and stirred. She filled Basil in on Nuala and Sorcha. "Quite honestly, they seemed a little dim-witted to pull something like this off. Though looks are often deceiving, and they did have access to Cindy's snake."
Ginger hesitated, and Basil noticed.
"Is there more?"
"There is a man, a frequent guest at the club. Apparently, Destiny was a favourite of his."
"Did you speak to this man?"
"Yes. Felicia and Haley were with me at his table."
Basil relaxed a little after that information was offered. "And?"
"Nothing of note. I was told by Cindy that he was a diplomat."
"What country?"
"America."
"What type of snake did you say it was?"
"Cindy says it's a wild scarlet."
Basil's dark brow shot up. "A breed found in America, I dare say."
They were interrupted by the telephone ringing from another room. Basil excused himself. Ginger stepped to the passageway and strained to hear Basil's side of the conversation, but he wasn't adding much to it. It ended quickly. "Thank you, Constable."
Ginger remained standing and waited. Basil returned shortly.
"Any news?" Ginger asked. The call was from a constable, and Ginger could only assume it was the police.
"I have a fellow keeping me posted."
"Apart from the superintendent's knowledge?"
Basil nodded and returned to the table. Ginger followed.
"Cynthia Webb, also known as Cindy, is the new prime suspect. They’ve got men trailing her. No suspicious activity so far.”
"Cindy has means and opportunity, but does she have a motive?" Ginger asked. "Besides a reasonable amount of competition.”
"No, not that we’ve ascertained. And if we wait for Superintendent Morris to investigate, they may never find one."
Chapter Eighteen
Ginger clung to her hat as she and Basil ran across the busy road, narrowly dodging a speeding lorry.
"Where does one go to enquire about exotic pets?" she asked when they were safely on the other side.
"I can only think of one place." Basil looked at her. "Would you allow me to drive?"
Ginger grinned. Basil's former confident self was peeking through. "If you like," she said, handing him the keys. "But I warn you, you'll be ruined for your Austin."
Basil grinned back. "I'll take my chances."
He steered them towards Hyde Park, and Ginger wondered for a moment if Basil was taking her home, but then he turned down Brompton Road in Knightsbridge.
"Of course!" Ginger said. "Harrods Animal Kingdom. I've heard of it, of course, but never made it past the ladies' clothing sections."
They passed a white-topped black Harrods lorry, and Ginger wondered if it might be holding an exotic animal that had made Harrods Animal Kingdom world famous. A baby elephant or cheetah, perhaps?
Harrods was a London jewel, a luxurious monument to mankind's desire to shop and live well. The building was breathtaking in its size alone, six storeys of grandeur covering several acres. It would take a week to visit every department.
The pavements were busy with shoppers coming and going, and getting a spot to park took ingenuity, having to outmanoeuvre red double-decker wooden buses, horses and carts, and pedestrians.
Inside was like entering a mystical world, one of fantasy and mythology. Crystal and gold, lights and shiny reflective surfaces. Colourful and artful displays of expensive and fashionable jewellery, clothing, and every kind of trinket imaginable.
They took the lift up to the fourth floor, and Ginger couldn't conceal her amazement at what she saw when the lift operator retracted the expandable metal door.
"Oh, mercy!"
When the press said Harrods Animal Kingdom rivalled London Zoo, they weren't far wrong, if the zoo only held exotic baby animals captive.
A baby elephant lifted his trunk and trumpeted into the air as Ginger approached.
Ginger felt like bursting with the pleasure of seeing such a magnificent animal up close. "What a beautiful creature!"
"Indeed," Basil said. "A shame it's not with its family in its natural habitat.”
Ginger had to agree with that sentiment but couldn't deny the thrill of being this close.
There were other exotic animals. Lion cubs and cheetah kittens, as adorable as their domesticated cousins yet so much more dramatic.
A salesman secured a collar to one of the lean cheetah kittens and handed the leash to its new owner. "He's so adorable!" The woman declared loudly. She wore a coat with a spotted fur collar and Ginger couldn't help but wonder what her new pet thought about that.
Ginger gaped at the other animals on display for sale to whoever had the means and courage to make a purchase: camels, anteaters, crocodiles.
"What happens when these pets get too large and strong to handle?" Ginger asked.
"Most end up in London Zoo," Basil said. "The more fortunate ones are returned to the wild."
They watched the lady walk out of Harrods with her cheetah on a leash. Ginger couldn't help but shake her head. The salesman, happy with having just made a sale, approached them with a big smile.
"Hello. I'm Mr. Long. Can I help you find something?"
"Do you sell snakes?"
"Of course. Are you looking for Indian, Australian, or African?"
"American. Have you sold any wild scarlet snakes recently?" Basil asked.
"Our sales and client information is strictly confidential."
Basil took out his identification card. "I'm Chief Inspector Reed. This is a murder inquiry."
"Murder?” The salesman’s adam’s apple bobbed. “Suffocation or bite?"
Basil grimaced. "Bite."
"I wish I could help, but we haven't sold any snakes for a few weeks. No wait, we did sell a wild scarlet." He frowned at them. "The scarlets aren't venomous, though."
"Did you sell it to a man or woman?" Basil asked.
"Does the name Cynthia Webb sound familiar?" Ginger asked.
"Yes, I believe that's her." Mr. Long's finger went to his chin as a new thought occurred to him. "The wild scarlet looks a lot like the coral snake. Same red, black and yellow markings, only in a different sequence. The Americans have a little riddle to help distinguish them. Red-touch-black, venom-lack; red-touch-yellow, kill a fellow."
"Is it possible that Miss Webb was sold the wrong snake?" Basil asked.
The man jerked back with a look of disbelief. "Never! We are very careful and professional here at Harrods Animal Kingdom. Such a thing would never happen."
Though Harrods Animal Kingdom was famous for its exotic animals, it was also the place to go for the more domesticated types and animal supplies. Ginger was surprised to see Jonathan Phillips in the bovine section. Grabbing Basil by the sleeve, she pulled him behind a large pillar before Mr. Phillips spotted them.
Basil shot her a questioning look.
"It's John Phillips, the diplomat."
Basil's gaze grew dark and narrow with distaste. Ginger could only imagine he was picturing his wife with the American.
Mr. Phillips exchanged cash with the cashier.
"What's he buying?" Basil asked.
Ginger squinted at the square, green tin, feeling perplexed. "It looks like bag balm."
Basil stiffened. "A bomb?"
"Not bomb, balm. It's a salve for softening the udder of a cow."
Ginger was familiar with the product as it was often used in Boston, and she'd even seen it in use in France during the war.
"What on earth would an American diplomat living in London need udder salve for?" Basil said.
Ginger shrugged. "Good question. Maybe he has friends on a farm?"
Ginger and Basil casually followed the mysterious diplomat past the monkeys and kittens to the lift lobby. With heads lowered and eyes averted, they crowded inside the gilded lift keeping to the opposite end from Mr. Phillips’ position as it slowly lowered to the main floor. In other circumstances, Ginger would’ve stopped to admire the frocks and shoes on display in the ladies wear department, but today she didn’t dare let her eyes stray from Mr. Phillips’ back.
Outside, Jonathon Phillips flagged down a black taxicab. Ginger and Basil hurried to follow him, Basil continuing to commandeer Ginger's Crossley.
"He turned onto Knightsbridge," Ginger said, willing Basil to catch up.
"I see him," Basil said.
They followed the taxicab through Belgravia flanked on either side by three- and four-storey façades of red brick and white stone, circling around Belgrave Square Park to Grosvenor Gardens.
"Isn't this where the American Embassy is located?" Ginger asked.
Basil nodded. He slowed to a stop behind two motorcars and a view-obscuring bus. "Can you see him?"
Ginger craned her neck and stuck her head out of the window as far as she could.
"He's getting out."
The traffic moved forward in time for them to watch Mr. Phillips enter the American Embassy.
"I guess he's telling the truth about that," Ginger said.
Chapter Nineteen
Basil had tried to talk Ginger out of dancing that night at the North Star for her job as Antoinette. She was confident the killer was linked to the club somehow, so she couldn't risk getting sacked by not showing up. Getting inside and behind the scenes was too great an asset to ignore.
Haley and Felicia insisted on coming, which Ginger didn't mind. But so did Basil. This Ginger minded. However, if she was defying Superintendent Morris and investigating on her own, she couldn't very well keep Basil from doing the same.
"What are you going to do, Antoinette?" Sorcha asked. "Conway doesn't like us to do the same thing twice in a row."
"Can I borrow from the costume rack?" Ginger asked.
Cindy nodded. "Feel free."
Ginger thumbed through the outfits and found something that would work for a Heidi-type character. There was even a dark curly wig, but Ginger had to make sure she was well hidden behind the dressing screen when she removed her blonde one. Once she had dressed in the altered Swiss outfit—much shorter than normal and landing shockingly at mid-thigh, she startled her colleagues by breaking out into a convincing yodel. The girls nodded with approval.
Ginger eyed the snake cage tucked behind Cindy. It was covered so she couldn't test out Mr. Long's riddle.
"I'm looking for a new flat," Ginger announced. "Where do you girls live?"
"We're in the Johnson building," Nuala said into the mirror. "Just around the corner."
"All of you?"
Sorcha answered. "The club owner owns it too. Talk to Conway."
Conway brought them a simple meal of hot steak and kidney pie. "I'm docking your pay," he said without feeling.
Sorcha muttered, "Eejit."
Ginger was starving. She dug into her meat pie and ran a new dance routine through her mind until she was certain of how her act would go. She could feel the energy from the main room fill the building as the numbers grew. Conway gave them a thirty-minute warning to get ready.
They fussed with hair and makeup in the mirrors, double-checked their costumes.
"Are you dancing with Jake again?" Ginger asked, hoping to get a quick glimpse of the reptile.
"You heard Sorcha. Conway doesn't like us to do the same act twice in a row."
A rising cacophony of voices from the main area of the club filtered into backstage. Ginger could sense the energy fill the place as more drinks were consumed and anticipation for the dancers increased.
Nuala and Sorcha prepared to go on first, but before the first note was played by the pianist, a commotion interrupted Conway Sayer's carefully planned out agenda. Superintendent Morris' bear-like growl overwhelmed the rest of the voices.
"I'm looking for Miss Cynthia Webb," he bellowed. His heavy footsteps echoed across the stage, and it would only be seconds before he got to the girls. Cindy's eyes were wide with fright, and she dashed for the back door. Ginger pretended to jump out of her way, but instead pushed a prop in front of the dancer, slowing her enough that Superintendent Morris' men reached her before she could get away.
"Miss Webb," Superintendent Morris said. "You need to come with us."
"Why? I didn't do nothing!"
Sorcha and Nuala froze to the spot, jaws unhinged as they watched Cindy being handcuffed. Ginger stepped back and kept her face turned. Having Superintendent Morris recognize her right now would be disastrous.
"You're under arrest, Miss Webb," Superintendent Morris said, "on suspicion of murdering Mrs. Emelia Reed."
"The snake sir?" his sergeant said.
"Yes. We need your snake, Miss Webb."
"It's in the dressing room," Ginger mumbled, keeping her French accent intact.
Cindy glared at her with a look of betrayal.
Superintendent Morris and his men took Cindy and her snake out of the back entrance. Conway took centre stage to calm the crowd and told them the dancers just needed to regroup and would be out shortly, and to avail themselves of the bar.
Nuala and Sorcha were clearly shaken, or at least made a good show of appearing shaken. Conway had even brought them each a shot of whisky to calm their nerves.
"It's coming off your pay," he said.
"Do you think she did it?" Ginger prodded once Conway had left them alone. "Do you think Cindy keeled Destiny?"
Sorcha gulped back her shot of whisky. "Cindy didn't like Destiny and didn't hide the fact."
"Why?" Ginger tilted toward the duo with a look of curiosity and a love of gossip. "What did Destiny do to her?"
"Stole Mr. Phillips, is what she did,” Sorcha said. "Before Destiny came along, he showered all his attention on Cindy."
Had Cynthia Webb killed Emelia out of jealousy?
Nuala slammed her shot glass down. "I don't know if Cindy killed Destiny or not, but at l
east this will take her down a peg or two. So full of herself, talking down to us all the time like she's the Queen's lady."
Destiny hadn't been the only one at odds with Cindy. Nuala seemed the type who'd set a fellow competitor up for a crime she didn't commit.
Conway returned, clapping his hands. "Chop, chop. Time to get on with the show."
When the curtain finally opened, Nuala stood centre stage hidden behind two huge fans made of fluffy pink feathers. Matching plumes sprouted from the white cap on her head and off the backside of her white costume. Pink-coloured stockings completed her bird-look.
She kept her back from the crowd, hiding her "tail." She saved that feature for the "bird and hunter" portion of the routine. Nuala tantalized the audience who showed their appreciation with hoots and cheers.
Part way through Sorcha tiptoed in, crouched low, with a wooden prop shaped like a rifle. Nuala scampered about like a frightened fowl, losing tail feathers as she went and by the end, neither girl wore much.
Despite the bawdiness, Ginger smiled. The girls were talented.
The curtain closed, and the girls giggled as they ran off. Ginger took her position. The curtain opened as her name was announced. "Our French darling, Antoinette!"
Ginger swept her way to the middle of the stage, smiling to the crowd. Immediately, she found Haley and Felicia sitting front and centre, Mr. Phillips sitting like a peacock in between two hens. They weren't who she was looking for.
Then she saw him, sitting alone at a table at the back. His eyes looked black in the dim lighting of the club, troubled and disapproving. Even though Ginger knew he'd be there, that he was seeing her wearing nothing more than that of a cheap doxy, made her flush with embarrassment.
