by Lee Strauss
“There is no relationship between myself and Miss Guilford,” MacIntosh said. “She’s a passenger on the Rosa, and I, as a senior crew member of the ship, go out of my way to spend time with all the passengers. We want happy and satisfied customers.”
“Miss Guilford looked very happy and satisfied to me,” Ginger said. “Oops.” Her hand flew to her lips as she confronted Basil Reed’s displeasure with a faux look of apology.
MacIntosh stood and tugged on his white blazer. “What exactly do you mean by that, Mrs. Gold?”
Chief Inspector Reed tapped Ginger’s arm before she could answer, guiding her towards the door. “Thank you for your time, Officer MacIntosh,” he said stiffly. “I’ll find you if I have any further questions.”
Back on deck, Basil Reed pierced Ginger with an intense glare. “I thought you said you were going to let me do all the talking.”
“Did you see his face?” Ginger said. “He was rattled by my question. He knows he was caught in a lie, and he tried to cover it up.”
Chief Inspector Reed harrumphed, his frustration with Ginger ebbing. “He did seem quite shaken at your question, or rather, your outrageous accusation.”
“Perhaps the actress and MacIntosh worked together,” Ginger said.
“Why would you suggest that?’
“Well, MacIntosh and Captain Walsh were at odds over something. Maybe it wasn’t money, but rather power. Perhaps MacIntosh was tired of playing second fiddle and didn’t want to wait for the captain to retire.”
“It’s an interesting hypothesis.”
“Or perhaps the motive has to do with... the alluring complexities of women.”
“Do you think MacIntosh and Miss Guilford were, um, involved?”
Ginger arched a brow. “Miss Guilford is quite captivating, is she not?”
The chief inspector swallowed. “I hadn’t noticed. However, if they colluded together, what would you say was Miss Guilford’s motive?”
“She was tired of sharing the captain with his wife,” Ginger said. “It’s the classic mistress/wife tension. The man promises the girlfriend he’ll leave the wife, but year after year goes by, and he never does.”
“Why not just break it off with the captain? Killing him seems somewhat extreme.”
Ginger propped a hand on her waist. “Have you never heard of a woman scorned?”
Basil Reed frowned. “I’m the first to admit that the complexities of the female population are a mystery.”
Chapter Sixteen
Ginger couldn’t keep from repeatedly glancing at the chief inspector who sat by himself on the other side of the breakfast room.
“Just admit it,” Haley said with a grin. “You find him intriguing.”
“I’ll admit to no such thing!” Ginger sipped her coffee and deflected. “I wasn’t looking at him. I merely caught sight of my new friend, Roy Hardy.”
Haley glanced over her shoulder to confirm that the redheaded waiter was indeed working in the area where Chief Inspector Reed was busy reading a newspaper.
Ginger cast Haley a defiant look, then added, “I promised him I’d help him out with his heart’s desire, but this murder case has preoccupied my thoughts and I haven’t come up with a single idea.”
Haley held out both of her palms, alternately raising and lowering them like a scale. “Murder, romance. Both not your business, I might add.”
“Pfft.” Ginger’s eyes betrayed her and sought out the chief inspector. He happened to glance up at the exact moment, and their gaze locked for a split second before she quickly looked away. She felt appalled. She was caught staring. What was the matter with her? Her skills since the war had slipped in dramatic measures! That was what five years of leisure would do, she supposed.
“What do you make of that baby photo?” Haley said. She, at least, could keep her mind steady on the case.
“I can’t be certain it belonged to the woman Scout witnessed throwing the heavy item overboard,” Ginger said with a sigh. “It could be merely coincidental that the child’s name matched the captain’s.”
“Joseph is a common name.” Haley held her near-empty coffee cup high and took the final sip. “And as far as we know, none of our suspects are parents.”
“Perhaps it’s a photo of a nephew.”
“Or was dropped accidentally by someone else entirely and your little friend was mistaken about it coming from the mystery woman.”
“Exactly. It might be a distraction rather than a clue.”
Haley rose. “I’ll leave you to your meddling, Mrs. Gold. Do find me if you discover anything juicy. And please, refrain from getting yourself killed.”
“I’ll do my best.”
Ginger adjusted her cloche—a felt bell-shaped hat with virtually no rim—and donned her gloves. She wasn’t quite ready to go, and she waved Roy Hardy over.
“More coffee, please.”
“Yes, madam.”
The waiter returned in short order and refilled Ginger’s cup. She took the opportunity to engage him, whispering conspiratorially. “I’ve hired a lad from steerage to walk my dog, Boss. He’s been instructed to meet Miss Chloe in front of my room at ten thirty—the boy has a pocket watch and is uncommonly timely. Go to number 45 under the pretence of delivering a bottle of wine at my request. However, I’ll not be there, so give the bottle to Miss Chloe to place in my room.”
Roy Hardy smiled. “Yes, madam.”
“There is something imperative that you must do when you get there.”
The waiter’s expression grew serious. “Anything.”
“You must introduce yourself to Miss Chloe.”
Roy Hardy’s face blanched and then reddened. “Madam? I don’t...”
“Those are my terms. You’ve already engaged in conversation. Simply add these words, ‘We’ve not been formally introduced. I’m Roy Hardy.’ Can you do that?”
The waiter threw his shoulders back in determination. “Yes, madam.”
“Good. Make it a fine French cabernet sauvignon, will you?”
Ginger’s focus returned to the chief inspector, and this time she didn’t glance away when he caught her looking. He folded his paper, tucked it under his arm, placed his bowler hat on his head, and walked towards her.
“Good morning, Mrs. Gold,” he said when he reached her.
She smiled up at him. “Good morning, Chief Inspector.”
He pointed to Haley’s vacated chair. “May I?”
“Of course.”
“Sleep well?” he asked politely.
“I did. You?”
“Like a log. I think it’s the fresh sea air.”
“The case doesn’t keep you awake? I confess to finding it difficult to shut off my mind.”
“Not at all. Rather, a good night’s rest often is the key to solving a case. It’s amazing what puzzles unlock the next morning over a good cup of coffee.”
Ginger raised her cup. “And the coffee here is quite good.”
“I agree.”
She cocked her head coyly. “So, did you unlock the case?”
“Since you’re so keen, perhaps I should ask you the same question?”
“I’ve been thinking about Miss Guilford. What if her motive isn’t love or spite, but money? Perhaps the captain left something to her in his will? Maybe he broke things off with her, and she wanted to make sure that he didn’t change the will when he returned to London.”
Chief Inspector Reed inclined his head. “You are full of ideas, Mrs. Gold.”
“I do read a lot of detective novels.”
Her admission didn’t get a nod of approval from the chief inspector.
“Yes, well, I see you’ve put some thought into this.”
“It’s obviously either Miss Guilford and Officer MacIntosh, or Mrs. Walsh and Babineaux.”
“You are rather sure of yourself,” Basil Reed said.
“I could be wrong on the matchup,” Ginger added, “but I’m confident it’s a team.”
&nb
sp; “One strong man could’ve carried this crime out on his own.”
“Even a strong man would have had trouble lugging a dead body from the captain's bedroom down several decks to the ship’s pantry.”
Chief Inspector Reed paused for a beat as he studied her. “How do you know the captain was killed in his bedroom?”
“Oh,” Ginger said calmly, as if her trespass was of no consequence. “Miss Higgins and I visited with Mrs. Walsh to extend our condolences and to offer our assistance. Mrs. Walsh mentioned the captain’s adjoining stateroom. When Mrs. Walsh was indisposed”—Ginger made it sound like Mrs. Walsh had just stepped out to powder her nose—“Miss Higgins and I took a peek in the captain’s room. We saw a bloodstain on the carpet.”
Chief Inspector Reed leaned back and uttered a sigh. “I’m not sure if I should be impressed or distressed by your interference into this investigation.”
“Impressed, absolutely! And rest assured we never touched anything. We left everything as it was. We understand how modern forensics work. Were you able to collect fingerprints?”
“As a matter of fact, yes. However, since I lack an investigative team, I had to dust for prints myself. Unfortunately, I won’t get data on them until after I return to the Yard.”
“Have you identified the murder weapon?”
The chief inspector cleared this throat. “As of yet, it hasn’t been located.”
“I have a witness who observed a woman throw a heavy item overboard. It was about the size of a candleholder.”
“You have a witness? Do tell!”
“Chief Inspector, I can’t give my confidential informers away.”
Basil Reed grunted in exasperation. “What makes you think the murder weapon was a candleholder?”
“One was missing in the captain’s room. Surely you noticed that?”
“I did. I just didn’t expect you to.”
Ginger glared at him. “I’m not a silly, empty-minded woman, Basil Reed. I have a degree!”
Chief Inspector Reed’s jaw slackened. “My apologies,” he said. He had the decency to look sufficiently contrite. “I didn’t mean to offend. Young girls these days seem unable to take anything seriously, it’s just all parties and fun. I shouldn’t have judged you.”
Ginger allowed for a small smile. “Apology accepted. But I’ll have you know I’m not that young. I’m twenty-nine.” Actually, she had turned thirty the month previous, but she couldn’t quite make herself admit to it.
The chief inspector who was a good decade her senior, only nodded. “So, did your witness identify the woman?”
“Alas, her back was to him and she wore a large hat. And the sun was in his eyes.”
“Convenient.”
“I trust him implicitly.”
Basil Reed crossed his legs and held a finger to his chin. “Just because a woman throws an item overboard, doesn’t mean it’s linked to this case.”
“I agree,” Ginger said. “Only, the murder weapon is still missing, so until it’s found, we can’t dismiss it.”
“Fine. It only means a woman could be involved, which we’ve already concluded was a possibility.”
“It points to the woman being responsible for bludgeoning the captain. Her accomplice may just have been recruited to help dispose of the body.”
“Which takes us back to your theory of a perpetrator team.”
“Yes.”
“Okay, Chief Inspector Gold,” Basil Reed said with a sly grin. “What would you do next?”
Ginger smiled brightly. “I’d interview the cook.”
Chapter Seventeen
The kitchen was busy, and Babineaux straightened in surprise at the sight of Ginger and the chief inspector walking into what he considered to be his personal domain. He collected himself and tossed a towel into one of the big stainless-steel sinks. “Chief Inspector, Meesus Gold, how can I help?”
“I can see how busy you are. Sorry to disturb you,” Chief Inspector Reed said. “I would like to ask you a few questions if you could spare a few minutes.”
“Of course. My office eez private and more comfortable.” Babineaux spoke to his kitchen crew in French, giving them instructions and telling them he’d be away momentarily. Then, in English, he asked Ginger and the chief inspector, “Can I offer you coffee or a tea?”
Both Ginger and the chief inspector declined. Babineaux poured himself a cup of coffee, drinking it black.
The chief inspector took a seat at the desk opposite Babineaux. Ginger claimed the empty chair next to the chief inspector.
“I can assume the reasons as to why you are here, Chief Inspector,” Babineaux said. “But if I may, why in the company of Mrs. Gold?”
Even though the question was directed at the chief inspector, Ginger took the liberty of answering. “To observe as a witness, should there be a need for this conversation to come up in court.” Her response surprised both the cook and the chief inspector, but neither said anything to refute her.
“You discovered the body”—Basil Reed made a point of staring into his notebook—“at 8:00 a.m. yesterday morning.”
“Yes, sir. I was thinking about the menu and eet occurred to me that maybe the strawberries were fini.”
“I see,” Basil Reed said. “What attracted you to the pickle barrel?”
“I’ve already told you all of this, Chief Inspector,” Babineaux said, looking uncomfortable.
“Please humour me. A lot was going on at that time, and I want to make sure that I jotted down my facts straight.”
Babineaux’s shoulders seemed to relax a little. “I was about to retrieve the last pickles in the barrel, when I noticed a sticky patch on the floor. The kitchen and pantry are always kept in teep-top order. I was about to gather a mop when I saw the lid on the barrel was ajar.”
“Tell us about your relationship with Mrs. Walsh,” Ginger asked.
Babineaux jerked, spilling his coffee. Chief Inspector Reed pursed his lips as if he was holding in his annoyance, then nodded to the cook, indicating he’d like an answer.
Babineaux mopped up his spill with the hem of his apron. “Mrs. Walsh and I are acquainted because she eez the wife of the captain. She frequently travels with her husband to America. All of the kitchen staff know her. In fact, she enjoys cooking and likes to lend a hand on occasion.”
“And Captain Walsh was all right with this arrangement?”
The cook grunted. “To be quite honest, Captain Walsh wasn’t the most attentive husband. At least not until this trip.”
“Why do you say that?”
“It was the first time the captain noticed his wife een the kitchen. He shouted at her and ordered her out. He said the wife of a ship’s captain shouldn’t associate with the likes of us.” Babineaux could no longer hide the disdain in his voice.
“You didn’t like the captain, did you?” The chief inspector said.
“Matters not if I liked the man or not. I deed my job.”
“It does where the captain's wife is concerned,” Chief Inspector Reed said. The cook flushed red and began to babble. “Meesus Walsh deserved better than heem . . . Captain Walsh was good at his job, but as a husband—merde.” His gaze cut to Ginger. “Excuse my French, madame.”
“And if the captain was to suddenly disappear?” Chief Inspector Reed said. “Surely it would free your ‘friend’ from what you view as mistreatment.”
“I do view it as mistreatment!”
Haley would like this guy, Ginger thought.
Babineaux blundered on. “I deedn’t keel the captain if that ees what you are implying.”
“Not even for love?” Ginger said. Her question caught the cook off guard. He was mid-sip of his coffee, and he spat it out, hitting the chief inspector in the face. Ginger blinked in disgust as spittle landed on her dress.
“Excusez-moi!” Babineaux called for help from the kitchen, and a sailor scurried over with a towel. He awkwardly attempted to pat the coffee off the chief inspector. Basil Reed s
natched the towel from the sailor’s hand and dabbed at the coffee on his suit and his face. He gave the cloth to Ginger. She pouted, wondering if her Canton crepe was now ruined.
“Eet just went down the wrong way,” Babineaux explained. “I do apologise.”
“It’s quite all right, ol’ chap,” The chief inspector said, standing. “If I have any more questions, I will find you.”
Out of earshot of the kitchen staff, Ginger leaned in to the chief inspector and said, “That was very suspicious, wouldn’t you say?”
Chapter Eighteen
Ginger’s pulse leapt at the thought of the upcoming ballroom dance. She loved dancing almost as much as she loved fashion. She flipped through her gowns and placed them on her bed one by one.
Haley’s head bobbed up from her books. “What are you doing?”
“I can never decide exactly what to wear,” Ginger said.
“Can’t you examine your wardrobe without undoing all the work we went through to hang them up?”
Ginger’s attention moved from the dresses to Haley’s face. Her friend hadn’t sounded angry or frustrated, and Ginger was satisfied that she was merely interested in Ginger’s modus operandi.
“I need to see them in the light,” Ginger said. She rested a long, painted fingernail on her chin. “I’m waiting for one to call out to me.”
“Now I’m worried.”
Ginger shot Haley a look. “I’m not going crazy. At least not yet.”
“Noted.”
“It’s just that these dresses are all so gorgeous: I almost feel like I would be cheating one by selecting the other. You must help me decide.”
Haley cast her a look of helplessness. “You’ve a very nice selection of gowns, but—and don’t take this the wrong way—outside of colour, they all look the same to me.”
“Haley Higgins! That’s heresy!”
Haley snorted.
Ginger tried on a blue loose-fitting dress with a long, full skirt and a large, full-bloom starched rose fastened at the hip. She examined her reflection in the mirror, frowned, and discarded it.
