by Lee Strauss
For Emelia to find comfort in the arms of other men.
"She always was a wild sort. Bucked against societal restraints. She had a strict upbringing. Her mother's efforts to control her were extreme, suffocating, really. I don't know why I thought I could tame her. I think she married me simply to get out from under her parents’ rule."
Ginger didn't know what to say to this. She sipped her coffee and muttered, "I see."
"I had no idea that she spent her free time at clubs—she was nothing more than an exhibitionist."
"Well, there is maybe something more to it than that.”
Basil’s head snapped up. “Like what?”
"With all the rules and expectations put on young ladies in proper society, a place like that allows one the freedom to be what one wants. It's why Felicia and her friends like to go there."
"To smoke and drink," Basil said, "but to take off your clothes? In front of a room full of leering men? I'm sorry, I can't accept that."
"No one's asking you to. Don't get me wrong. I don't think it's an ideal environment. It can certainly be dangerous. And for the record, I don’t enjoy making a spectacle of myself for the pleasure of lustful men. I find it belittling. I just don't think we can sit here and judge. There’s more to these girls’ stories than what meets the eye."
"I don't want you to go back there."
Ginger blinked thick lashes. "But the case?"
"We've already found out everything we're going to at the North Star."
"Oh, really?" Ginger sat back and folded her arms.
"Really."
"I don't agree. Conway Sayer is pilfering." Ginger filled him in on Conway's ledger. "I think Emelia found out."
"You nicked Conway Sayer's ledger?"
"I borrowed it."
Basil scowled at that, then leaned in. "Even if Emelia did discover this, you can't prove it."
"Not yet. That's why I have to go back. Besides, you asked me to help."
"I'm unasking you."
"Unasking is not a word."
"I'm asking you not to Ginger. It's getting dangerous. I couldn't live with myself if I lost you both."
Lost you both.
Basil's words stretched between them like a tightrope. Ginger remembered the circus act her father had taken her to see in Boston. Massive white tents topped with little flags, colourful signs, and unique-looking people inviting the crowds inside. Father had bought her salty popcorn and sweet toffee.
Zebras were treated like horses, and elephants did incredible tricks. She remembered one that balanced its front two legs on the top of wine bottles!
The high-wire walkers had made her little heart stop. The most beautiful woman she had ever seen balanced gracefully high above her head. The spectators held their breath as if by the pure power of their combined will they would propel the acrobat to safety.
Then she fell. Oxygen escaped the room, first with deafening silence and then deafening pandemonium, until the lady presented herself unharmed, bouncing to the ground from the net that had saved her life. The tension in the tent had turned from hard to soft, hot to cold. Screams to giddy laughter.
Just like this moment.
"You won't lose me," Ginger finally said. "I have my pistol, which I'll keep in my garter at all times. Besides," she added with a lightness she didn't feel. "You'll be there to protect me. I couldn't be safer."
Basil breathed heavily through his nose. "You are the most stubborn woman on the planet."
Ginger smiled and lifted her coffee cup. "Thank you. I think we should visit the Johnson Building. It's where the dancers live."
"All of them?"
"They get a bit of a deal since it's owned by the club owner." Ginger checked her slim, diamond-encrusted watch. "They'll be heading to the club soon. We'd have time to take a peek before I need to head over there."
Basil shook his head but didn't bother arguing. He paid the cashier before they left.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Across from the Johnson Building that afternoon, Ginger and Basil waited in Ginger's Crossley. Basil agreed on taking her motorcar since Ginger had her Antoinette wig and dance costume in her boot, and she'd only have enough time to snoop through the girls' flats before heading to the club. She didn't want to get on Conway's wrong side by being late.
"How are we going to get in without a key?" Basil asked.
Ginger tapped her hat. "I don't really need hat pins to keep this style in place, but one never knows when one will be in need of hat pins."
Nuala and Sorcha stepped out of the building. Automatically, Ginger and Basil slunk low in the leather seats. The dancers headed in the opposite direction from where Ginger had purposely parked.
Picking open the door to a flat was one thing, but the entrance door to the building was quite another. Ginger and Basil loitered by the front door, and before long a resident left, and Basil caught the door just before it latched closed. The building needed paint and smelled slightly of mould and lingering cigarette smoke. In the lobby, Ginger checked the copper-plated post boxes, but none were listed with the names Nuala and Sorcha—obviously fake names. Only last names were listed on the boxes, so it was impossible to tell male residents from female. However, she spotted the name C. Webb on one post box.
"Cindy's in two o nine. Can't tell with the others." She searched for B. Foster but came up empty. "They said Billy Foster was in this building, but I don't see his name? Do you?"
Basil shook his head. “A. Chatwyn, S. Haley, W. Phillips, J. Stanley, B. Hackman.”
Ginger and Basil headed up to the next floor, and as providence would have it, the caretaker was leaving with a bag of rubbish in hand.
"Excuse us, sir," Ginger said. "We've promised our friends we'd come and visit today, but they neglected to give us their flat number. They're flatmates, one brunette and one blonde."
"Yes, I know them," he said. "Nice girls. Room two o six."
Fortunately, the man hadn't seen Nuala and Sorcha leave. Ginger smiled and said, "Thank you, kindly."
They waited until the passageway was quiet.
"Which one first?" Ginger asked.
Basil pointed. "Two o six is right here."
Ginger glanced to her right and saw the numbers on the door. Even though she was wearing gloves, she refrained from touching the railing. The caretaker might tend to the rubbish, but from the sticky look of the banisters, he didn't care about much else.
The cry of a baby filtered out from the flat next door, but the passageway was empty. Ginger used her hat pins to disengage the lock mechanism and slipped inside.
"This is breaking and entering," Basil said unable to hide his note of disapproval.
Ginger shot him a look. "Are you going to call the police?"
Basil snorted and followed her inside.
The flat looked like a bomb had gone off. Clothes flung everywhere, a stained sofa and a scratched-up matching chair. An overfull ashtray littered the table along with dirty glasses and bottles of beer. A small dish on the floor in the corner appeared to be the dried remnants of cat food. The kitchen tap dripped every three seconds.
"That would drive me crazy," Basil said.
"This mess would drive me crazy," Ginger said. "How do they manage to find anything?
Basil disappeared into the shared bedroom while Ginger opened kitchen drawers. At least the ones that weren't already balancing half-open. They searched for something that might link either woman to Emelia Reed and Cindy's snake.
Ginger spotted a photo leaning against the windowsill. She picked it up to take a closer look. It was a blurry image of a woman and a man sitting close to each other. The light-haired woman was Sorcha, but Ginger had to squint to make out the man. Billy Foster?
Ginger jumped when a dish fell into the sink, and her hand sprang to her heart. The owner of the cat food bowl meowed and narrowed accusing yellow eyes.
Basil raced into the kitchen. "Are you all right?"
"It's just the cat. C
ame up out of nowhere." Ginger handed Basil the photograph. "Cindy said Sorcha was soft on Billy Foster who was . . ." Ginger hesitated. Talking about Emelia's reckless and disloyal lifestyle with Basil would never be easy. Billy and Destiny had . . . "
"It's fine, Ginger. I get it."
"Right. Well, perhaps Sorcha's obsession drove her to kill off her competition? I suspect Sorcha is more intelligent than she leads everyone to believe."
"Women usually are," Basil muttered.
Ginger ignored the comment. "But, would Sorcha dare to handle Cindy's snake?"
Leaving everything just as they found it, they locked 206 behind them and quietly entered 209.
The layout of Cynthia Webb's flat was a mirror image of Nuala's and Sorcha's, and unlike the flatmates, Cindy liked to keep her environment tidy and organised. There was little in the way of furniture, just a small table, two chairs, and in the bedroom, a mattress on the floor.
"I don't see any reptiles," Ginger said. A cardboard box rested on the ground beside the bed. Ginger lifted the flaps. "This is interesting." She raised a glass jar. "Jeune et Belle face cream. I saw Sorcha using this at the club." Ginger replaced the jar and did a quick count. "There's a dozen jars in this box."
Basil stood in front of the wardrobe. "There's another three boxes in here."
"What is she doing with it, I wonder?" Ginger said. She sniffed the cream before twisting the lid back on. It smelled like Emelia, but she didn't say it out loud.
Back in the kitchen, Basil opened the door of the ice box. It was small but large enough to hold a bottle of milk and a couple of dead mice. "Snake food," Basil said. Ginger felt slightly nauseous at the sight.
Near the entrance, an empty reptile cage attracted a small swarm of black flies.
"If Cindy had another poisonous snake," Basil said, "she may have disposed of it already."
"We could check the bins out the back."
Basil agreed it would be the appropriate thing to do, and a precise but unpleasant search produced only what one would expect. No dead snakes.
"I'm going to go back to the club from here as Antoinette," Ginger announced when they were back in her Crossley.
"I'll go with you."
"You can't come in. It's too early."
"I just want to make sure you get inside all right."
Ginger relented. "Why don't you drive, and I'll get ready." She handed Basil the keys. He started the motorcar and pulled into the traffic while Ginger pinned her hair back and donned the Antoinette wig. She could dress in her costume at the club.
"I'll take a taxicab back to Mayfair," Basil said after parking the Crossley. "I'll meet you here tonight."
Ginger smiled back at Basil's grim countenance. "It's a plan." However, she encountered a snag at the back entrance. Conway Sayer had been watching for her.
"Take the night off," he said gruffly. "I don't need you."
"But with Cindy gone?" Ginger sputtered with her French accent.
"I'm trying out new girls tonight. Come back tomorrow."
"But, Mr. Sayer—"
"Tomorrow." He shut the door in her face.
Thankfully, Basil had yet to flag down a taxicab, and he looked at Ginger in surprise when she, with her blonde wig, approached.
"Apparently, it's my day off," she said. "I'm not sure if I've been sacked or not."
"A fly in the ointment."
Ginger worked her lips in thought. "I think I know a way to remove it."
Chapter Twenty-Three
Ginger heard someone walking down the passageway at Hartigan House, and when she peeked out, she was glad to see Haley. She waved Haley into her bedroom.
"What do you think?" Ginger said, patting at her new dark hair do, shorter than how she normally wore it. "Lizzie procured me the wig."
"Who are you now?" Haley asked, her dark eyes flashing with amusement.
"Georgia."
"Your given name?"
Because Ginger had been born with a mass of ginger-coloured hair, Ginger’s mother had given baby Georgia the nickname.
"Georgia hardly gets used," Ginger said. "I thought it was time I took it out for a spin."
"Dare I ask, Georgia, to what end?" Haley said.
"I'm going out on a date."
Haley ducked her chin. "As Georgia?"
"Yes, well, it's Basil taking me."
Haley’s dark brow arched high, a signature look when she found something unusual, amusing, or questionable. "And he wants to call you Georgia now?"
"No, that's my cover."
"Wait. Basil's taking you out to the North Star Club?"
Ginger nodded. She slipped into a dark grey sleeveless dress exquisitely embroidered with shiny silver thread. A six-inch fringe in the style of lampshade trim hung below the under slip, allowing for tantalising glimpses of her stockinged legs from the knee.
Haley's forehead wrinkled with confusion. "But, they know you there as Antoinette?"
"It's Antoinette's night off. Would you mind buttoning me up?"
"You're not making any sense." Haley deftly worked the buttons, and Ginger selected a pair of black satin André Perugia shoes.
"I am." Ginger added a jewelled headpiece with a string of rhinestones that looped along her forehead with a fluffy red feather at her temple. "Conway Sayer won't pay any attention to 'Georgia.'" She twirled, and the fringe of her dress billowed. "Dressed like this, I'll blend in with all the other flapper girls."
Haley tucked her curls into her faux bob. "I'm coming."
"But Basil . . ."
"Don't worry. I won't be your third wheel. I'll bring Felicia, and we'll take a taxicab."
Ginger grinned. She would feel better if they were there to watch her back.
"Fabulous."
Basil picked her up in his Austin 7. He looked très debonair in his tailored suit and trilby hat.
"I could've met you there," Ginger said, pushing aside the emotions that stirred at the sight of him. "Haley and Felicia are coming later by taxicab."
Basil opened the passenger door. "It's my pleasure to pick you up, Ginger," he said, holding her gloved hand as she relaxed into the seat. "This way I get some time alone with you."
Ginger valued the time alone as well, but the distance passed by in silence. It was like they were strangers, meeting for the first time.
"It's a nice evening," Ginger offered. "I love the smell of spring in the air."
"Yes," Basil said.
"What do you think of my new look?" Ginger asked. "You didn't say."
"I'm assuming it's so your pals at the club don't recognise you as Antoinette."
"Yes, but do you like it?"
"Yes. Although, I prefer your natural hair colour."
"I'm going as 'Georgia' should anyone ask."
Basil merely nodded. Ginger waited for him to say more, engage in a bout of flirtatious banter, verbal acrobatics they were both skilled at.
"I heard from my man at the Yard," Basil said. "Cynthia Webb's been released due to lack of evidence."
"That doesn't mean she's not guilty."
"Agreed."
A long pause thickened between them.
"When is the funeral?" Ginger finally said. She thought she might as well ask. Emelia was present with them again, anyway. She could almost feel her displeased spirit.
Basil changed gears. "I don't know. The inquest is tomorrow."
"Would you like me to come with you?"
"I think it would be best if I go alone."
"Oh."
"It's just that her parents will be there."
"I understand." And she did, yet somehow, she still felt discarded. "You have your in-laws to think about."
Basil glanced at her sideways. "We don't always have to talk about her."
"It seems to be the only thing to talk about."
Basil sighed. "Maybe you're right. Until this case is solved."
Ginger swallowed. What if it was never solved?
Basil led her to t
he darkest corner table in the back of the room. Conway Sayer never gave her a second glance, but Billy wasn't so easily fooled. Ginger felt his eyes on her as her fringed hem shimmied against her knees. She'd barely been seated when Billy came to the table himself to ask for their drinks order.
"Antoinette?" Billy said with a smirk, "or are you using another alias tonight?"
"Billy!" Ginger said, now with an American accent. "You are a brute!" She pulled out an ivory cigarette holder and shot a look at Basil. He recovered from his moment of shock—Ginger had never lit up in his presence before—and produced a cigarette and lighter.
Billy chuckled. "You're American."
"Yup. Just having a bit of fun while I'm visiting London." She looked up at him from under heavily mascaraed eyelashes. "I trust you won't give me away."
"Not my business. Can I get the two of you something to drink? Whiskys again?"
Ginger pulled on her cigarette and blew smoke out from the side of her mouth. She'd smoked in France as part of a cover once, but that had been a long time ago. She was thankful she didn't erupt in a fit of coughing. "Gin and tonic," she said. She hated being predictable.
"I'll have that too," Basil added.
Haley and Felicia arrived and claimed a table in the middle of the room. If they saw Ginger there they didn't make a show of it. Ginger was impressed at the intuitive judge of character and situation they each seemed to have.
A couple made an entrance, a young girl on the arm of a man twice her age. She was rosy-cheeked with dark shadow and heavy mascara on eager eyes. She looked familiar but so altered, Ginger had to do a second take.
"Oh, mercy."
Basil followed her gaze. "What is it? Do you know them?"
"I don't know him. Her I know. It's Dorothy West! My shop assistant."
"You seem surprised."
"I am. My goodness, talk about a double life."
"I take it she's much different from the lady I'm looking at now."
"Dorothy is self-conscious and self-deprecating. Innocent and demure. She's soft on the vicar, for pity's sake."
Basil snorted. "I doubt that she's innocent. The question is, did she know Emelia?"
