by Lee Strauss
The captain shot her a disapproving look over his shoulder but kept his stride. Realising the attention of the room was on her, Nancy waved her arms dramatically and pouted. “I’m so clumsy!”
The redheaded waiter rushed to sweep the glass and mop up.
“Such a waste,” Ginger said.
“Of time?” Haley said dryly.
“Of good champagne.”
Chapter Six
The next day as Ginger slept through breakfast, she admitted to herself that perhaps she’d had a little bit too much to drink the night before. Haley brought her coffee and dry toast, and by noon she was feeling well enough to take part in the luncheon.
When she got to the dining room, she casually glanced around and noticed a few familiar faces. Nancy Guilford made a personal appearance sitting with Patty Applebalm, who wore a gingham day dress and low-heeled oxfords, quite suitable for the time of day and her station. The actress, though, in Ginger’s opinion, was overdressed for luncheon. She wore a long frock with her trademark calf slits, and her face was laden with makeup. It was almost like she’d slept in her evening wear the night before and only recently woken. Perhaps she had. On closer inspection, the makeup did appear smudged. Patty reached over to wipe a spot of egg from the corner of Nancy’s mouth, an act of kindness Nancy didn’t appreciate, and she smacked away the older woman’s hand.
Mr. Basil Reed caught Ginger’s eye as she and Haley strode across the room. Haley noticed the exchange.
“He’s attractive,” she said as they selected a table.
Ginger sat gracefully in the seat opposite her. “He’s too old for me.”
Haley huffed. “Your father married a younger woman.”
“Look how that turned out.”
“It turned out well for her.”
“I suppose. But my father was rich. She’d never have married him otherwise.”
“Are you saying you’re not interested in Mr. Reed because he’s not rich enough? Surely he must have some money to afford first class.”
“Of course not. Mr. Reed’s financial status is of no concern to me. You know the reason I’m not interested.”
Mentioning the man’s name had conjured him. “Ladies, may I join you?”
Ginger blinked back a wave of embarrassment. Had Mr. Reed heard them talk about him? And worse, how had she grown so careless as to be caught out like that? She was normally very astute. She promptly recovered.
“Please do. In fact, we were just talking about you.”
Basil Reed occupied the chair nearest Ginger and raised a dark brow. “Is that so?”
“Yes, Miss Higgins was saying how she wished she had danced at the cocktail party.”
Haley shot her a dirty look.
Basil smiled at Haley. “I don’t believe we’ve been formally introduced.” He removed his hat and stretched out an arm. “I’m Basil Reed. And I apologise for being amiss last night. My manners were dreadful, but I confess, I don’t remember seeing you there.”
“Miss Higgins,” Haley said. “And please, don’t mind Mrs. Gold’s mistaken inference.”
“Miss Higgins is a nurse,” Ginger said. “She cared for my father before he passed away last year, and we became dear friends over that sad time.”
Basil Reed held Ginger’s gaze and added politely, “I’m sorry to hear about your father.”
Haley turned her attention to the day’s menu. “I hope you like onions, Mr. Reed,” she said. “The entrée is French onion soup.”
“One of my favourite soups, Miss Higgins.”
The food arrived courtesy of the redheaded waiter who had served Ginger before. He wore a name tag—Roy Hardy—and the buoyant smile of someone who loved their job.
“Thank you, Mr. Hardy,” Ginger said as the server placed the meal on the table.
“You’re welcome, Mrs. Gold. Enjoy.”
Ginger and Haley removed their gloves before beginning the entrée—which, along with slices of fresh-baked baguette, was simply delicious. They made light discussion with Mr. Reed about the differences between American and English social customs and the bright future ahead for both nations.
“Certainly, housewives have benefited from kitchen items like electric mixers for baking, and vacuum cleaners for simpler housework,” Ginger remarked.
Basil Reed looked at her as if he didn’t quite understand, and then said, “Oh, you mean Hoovers.”
“Tomato, tomahto,” Haley murmured between sips.
“Also the automobile industry,” Basil Reed added. “Thanks to, for the most part, your own Henry Ford.”
Haley nodded. “Good old Henry.”
“Who would’ve guessed that every home could soon be in possession of a radio,” Ginger said. “So essential for the growth of culture.”
“And the delivery of information,” Basil said. “Like politics.”
Ginger stared at him. “Indeed.”
The main course of moist baked halibut dressed in a creamy lemon and basil sauce with a side of buttery green beans arrived.
“Smells scrumptious!” Ginger said. “Monsieur Babineaux is a charm! The French seem to enter the world possessing exceptional culinary talent.”
Once they all sampled their first bites and made appropriate yet subtle noises of approval, Ginger turned to Basil Reed. “Mr. Reed, do tell us a bit about yourself. Were you born and raised in London?”
“Yes, madam.” He gestured with his left hand. “I know London inside and out.”
Ginger had noticed the plain gold band on the man’s ring finger the evening before. Had he, too, suffered the loss of a spouse?
“Is there a Mrs. Reed?”
A shadow crossed their companion’s face for an instant. “Yes.”
“She didn’t join you on your trip to America?” Haley said. “I hope she’s not in ill health.” Haley poised herself like she was just being a concerned nurse and doctor in training, but Ginger knew Haley’s curiosity was more personal.
Basil Reed hesitated. “Unfortunately, Mrs. Reed is visiting her sister in Paris.” He adeptly changed the subject. “Miss Higgins, what brings you to London?”
“I’m studying to become a medical doctor.”
“That’s quite, um, ambitious.”
Haley leaned back and crossed her arms. “For a woman?”
Ginger bit back a grin. Haley was about to launch into her views on feminism.
“Mr. Reed,” Haley continued with a clipped voice. “All women in America now have the right to vote, not just those who are over thirty, like in your country. American women are considered equals to their male counterparts. Any profession that a man may pursue is available to a woman, and if it is not, it damn well should be.”
Basil Reed sat back as if he’d been attacked by a gale wind. “My apologies, Miss Higgins. I never meant to offend. I’m sure ladies everywhere would appreciate having more female doctors about. And, of course, I support women’s right to vote. I do hope that the British Parliament will soon pass a law to match the forward thinking that is found in America.”
Basil Reed took a long sip of his coffee and shifted his focus to Ginger. “How about you? What brings you to London? Are you on holiday?” He glanced at her ring finger and threw the question back. “Without your husband?”
“Sadly, my husband passed in the war.”
Basil Reed twitched at his unintentional insensitivity. “My condolences.”
“It’s quite all right, Mr. Reed. My trip to London is more business than pleasure. I must attend to my father’s estate. It was serendipitous that Miss Higgins was heading there at the same time. Once the matter has been sorted, I’ll be returning to Boston.”
“Your father was English, then?”
“Oh, yes, through and through. Right up to teatime at four p.m. with crustless cucumber sandwiches and beans on his breakfast toast.”
“He sounds delightful.” Basil Reed considered her. “It makes sense now how an American woman could come across so English.�
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“Yes, I adore the benefits found in both cultures.”
“Righto. Well, I do hope that you enjoy London for as long as you might stay.”
The waiter returned to retrieve the dirty dishes, and Haley stood. “It’s been a pleasure, Mr. Reed,” she said, “but you must excuse me. I need to return to my books.”
Basil Reed looked perplexed as he watched her go. “Your friend’s the serious type, isn’t she?”
Ginger laughed. “You could say that.”
Haley wasn’t gone long before their attention was captured by a loud commotion coming from the kitchen.
“What do you suppose is going on in there?” Ginger said.
Basil Reed wiped his mouth with a cloth serviette. “Your guess is as good as mine.”
Babineaux rushed across the dining room to Mrs. Walsh’s table. He spoke too softly into her ear for Ginger to understand what he said, but the expression on Mrs. Walsh’s face was of shock and horror.
Nancy Guilford, whose gaze scanned the room nonstop—no doubt searching for the captain—approached Mrs. Walsh’s table unabashedly.
“What’s the matter, puddin’?” she asked with her nasal voice. “Has something happened?”
Mrs. Walsh turned away, and much to Miss Guilford’s chagrin, Babineaux took the actress’s elbow and guided her back to her own table.
“Please excuse me,” Ginger said, leaving to see to Mrs. Walsh before Mr. Reed could say anything to stop her. She had a sinking feeling in her stomach as she approached the woman.
“Is something wrong, Mrs. Walsh? Anything I can help you with?”
Mrs. Walsh covered her mouth with her fingers, pushed away from her table, and rushed out of the room. Ginger stared after her.
Babineaux returned and said with a thick French accent, “Eet’s terrible, madame.”
“What’s happened, Monsieur Babineaux?”
Babineaux’s voice wavered. “I am so sorry to have to tell you that Captain Walsh ees dead.”
Chapter Seven
Ginger sensed Basil Reed approaching from behind.
“I’m Chief Inspector Reed from the London Crime Investigations Division. Is there a matter here that I can assist with?”
Ginger swivelled on her heels and raised a questioning brow. “Mr. Reed, such a secret to keep up your sleeve.”
“I do apologise, Mrs. Gold, but my occupation seemed irrelevant until now.”
“I suppose I’ll have to get used to calling you Chief Inspector.”
“Is there a problem at hand?” Basil Reed repeated. The query was a courtesy. Chief Inspector Reed stared at Ginger and Babineaux in turn with a look of determination. He wore his title with authority, and there was no question that he intended to take charge of the situation.
“Mon Dieu,” Babineaux said. He spoke into the chief inspector’s ear and Chief Inspector Reed frowned.
“Please lead me to the scene.”
When it became apparent that Ginger was following, Chief Inspector Reed stopped her. “Mrs. Gold, I do believe this is a matter for the police, and I imagine, quite delicate.”
“I’m not as sensitive as I may appear, Chief Inspector,” Ginger returned. “Captain Walsh was a family friend. I insist that you allow me to accompany you.”
The chief inspector stared at Ginger with a flash of perplexity, as if he wasn’t entirely certain as to what to do with Ginger’s adamant outburst, but he apparently came to the conclusion that it wasn’t a good time or place to argue. As they followed Babineaux through the kitchen, Ginger pulled Roy Hardy aside.
“Please summon Miss Higgins in Room 45 and tell her to come to the restaurant. Tell her to ask for me. It’s of the utmost importance.” She slipped five shillings into the waiter’s hand, and he took off at a jog.
Ginger ensured that members of the kitchen staff saw her traipse after the cook, and caught up to Chief Inspector Reed and Babineaux just as they started to descend a long, circular staircase and into the belly of the ship.
“Where are we going, Mr. Babineaux?” the chief inspector asked.
“New supplies were loaded up in Boston. I always oversee the menus and monitor that we have enough of what ees needed each day. There ees a dry pantry and a cool pantry, with ice,” he added with a tinge of pride in his voice.
Ginger thought that made good sense and knew how much their cook back in Boston appreciated their new refrigerator.
Babineaux yanked on a heavy wooden door, and they were hit with a waft of cold air. A contrast to Ginger’s warm skin, the chill caused her to shiver. The walls were lined with shelving, half-empty now due to the fact they were beyond the midpoint of their voyage. The interior smelled musty, of old vegetables, and slightly sour, like brine. A row of large oak barrels stood along the back wall.
“Mrs. Gold?” Haley’s voice echoed down the stairwell.
“Down here, Miss Higgins,” Ginger said.
Haley appeared and tried to make sense of the situation. “What, dare I ask, is going on?”
“Our poor captain has been killed,” Ginger said. “Monsieur Babineaux just made the grisly discovery.”
“His body was found down here?” Haley asked.
Babineaux answered, “Yes, meess.”
Haley frowned. “How odd.”
“Mrs. Gold,” Chief Inspector Reed said. “I must object!”
“Nurse Higgins served in the war,” Ginger said with a dismissive wave. “I’m quite certain she’s seen far worse than she’ll see today. Her medical experience might come in handy, might it not?”
Haley didn’t wait for Basil Reed to answer and asked Ginger, “Why is he here?”
“Because, Miss Higgins, our dear Mr. Reed is also known in London as Chief Inspector Reed.”
Haley stared at Basil Reed. “Indeed?”
“Yes, indeed,” Chief Inspector Reed said, losing patience. “Now, Mr. Babineaux, if you’d be so kind as to lead us to the body.”
Ginger began to wonder about that as well. She’d scoured the cold room, the shelving and floor, and failed to spot the captain.
The cook stopped at an especially large barrel with the lid resting crookedly. That could account for the strong scent of brine.
“Please explain,” the chief inspector said.
Babineaux cleared his throat. “This ees a pickle barrel. Eet’s almost empty, but I wanted to rescue the stragglers before opening the next one.”
Ginger pulled a face. “Don’t tell me the captain is in that barrel.”
Babineaux’s chin fell to his chest. “I’m afraid so.”
Chief Inspector Reed looked back at Ginger and Haley. “Do you still want to stay?”
Ginger nodded. She served in France during the war. Her stomach was strong.
“If you don’t mind, sir,” Haley said with renewed deference to Chief Inspector Reed. “I would appreciate the opportunity to assist with the examination.”
“That would be up to the ship’s doctor,” Chief Inspector Reed said. “As for me, I have no issue with it.”
Babineaux removed the lid, allowing first the chief inspector and then Ginger and Haley to peer in. Ginger grimaced at the sight of the bloated, pale body of her father’s friend. Oh, mercy.
Chief Inspector Reed checked his wristwatch. “Thirty-two hours before we dock. It’s not much time. Unless we find out who the killer is before then, no one will be disembarking when we get to Liverpool.”
Chapter Eight
Ginger was morbidly fascinated by the corpse laid out on the makeshift table that had been brought into the cold pantry by two strong sailors.
The ship’s physician, “Ol’ Doc Johnson,” was a man nearing his seventies with wisps of grey hair around his ears and sloping shoulders. He seemed flustered by the dramatic events.
“We’ve never had a murder onboard the Rosa before.” A gnarled hand shook as he rubbed white whiskers on his chin. “Mainly headaches and colds and, of course, seasickness. Oh, there was that one bout of infl
uenza, mind you, a particularly nasty business, but never a murder, no, never.”
“It’s kind of you to allow me to assist with the examination,” Haley said. “It will help me as I further my studies.” The old doc nodded, his face flushing crimson with apparent relief.
Ginger briefly considered returning to her room to retrieve a shawl in deference to the cold of the pantry, but the adrenaline burst she experienced as a result of this shocking event kept her sufficiently warm.
Introduction to medical jurisprudence was a subject of study for Ginger when she attended college. But that was over a decade ago and the field had certainly developed since. Once again, she found herself envying Haley, but resigned to her lot in life, finding some comfort in the idea that she could learn vicariously through her friend.
The cold pantry now virtually reeked of brine and something worse. Ginger held a cotton handkerchief to her nose. Chief Officer MacIntosh was informed of the captain’s death and oversaw the undignified process of removing Captain Walsh’s folded-up body, stiff with rigor mortis, from the barrel. The procedure took three seamen, a crowbar, and a mop.
Now the captain’s nude body was curled up like an oversized fetus under a crisp sheet. His once-handsome face was bloated and a ghastly white, his lips a dreadful shade of blue.
Haley examined the corpse with professional efficiency, checking the fingernails, scalp, and skin surface for bruising.
“Well?” Ginger inquired.
Chief Inspector Reed cleared his throat as if to remind her who was in charge.
“There are two contusions on the back of his skull, a small one and a deeper one,” Haley said. “However, the fluid released from his lungs smells strongly of brine, suggesting the cause of death as drowning rather than blunt force trauma, but an official autopsy would confirm.”
