Lady Marmalade Cozy Murder Mysteries: Box Set (Books 1 - 3)

by Jason Blacker

  Frances looked at Gandhi, he was kneeling down by one of his colleagues. Frances started up towards them, with Eric and Everard right behind her.

  "I don't think this is a good idea," said Eric after her.

  She turned to look at him briefly.

  "But we must help. Everard, go to the main house and see if you can't get hold of the police. Tell them that a murder has just been committed."

  Everard nodded and took off like a jackrabbit through the hall and up towards the house. Frances continued at a brisk pace towards Gandhi, Eric caught up with her and walked with her. They reached Gandhi and Frances knelt down. She could see that Gandhi's colleague was bleeding from the stomach.

  EIGHT

  Chapter 8

  "WHAT happened?" she asked, looking at Gandhi.

  Gandhi had his hands on his colleague's stomach. His gray suit was wet and dark with his burgundy blood. Frances looked at the man, and he was gasping for breath. He seemed to be choking too.

  "I heard two loud bangs and then Ravi fell down into me. I looked at him, wondering what had happened and then I saw him clutching his stomach."

  "My son has called for the police," Frances said to him.

  Gandhi nodded and smiled. Frances looked down at the injured man.

  "Did you see who did this?" she asked him.

  He nodded and tried to speak. Both Gandhi and Frances kneeled down towards him to listen more carefully.

  "The…the Indian…"

  Ravi looked up at them, his eyes were wide and scared and he coughed and choked and tried to breathe.

  "Indian…p…p…"

  That was all he could say before he died.

  Frances stood up and looked at the other Indian whom she had seen with Gandhi and his now dead colleague.

  "Did you see who did this?" she asked.

  He shook his head sadly.

  "I was looking over in this direction," he said, pointing to his right. "I heard the bangs coming from my left side."

  "What is the young man's name who has been shot?" she asked.

  "Ravi Meda," he said.

  "And what is your name," she asked the young man.

  "I am Sujay Patel," he said.

  Looking at him and then at his fallen comrade, Frances noticed a remarkable resemblance. They might have been brothers, they looked so similar, though the man she spoke with had a thin, wispy mustache and the man lying dead, Ravi, was clean shaven. But they both had black, shiny hair and delicate features and their brown skin had the similar hue of gently roasted coffee beans.

  "May I ask what your role is here?" asked France.

  Gandhi stood up, and Frances noticed just how small he was. Sujay stood eye to eye with Eric, and even though Frances was very petite, Gandhi didn't stand much taller than her.

  "Sujay and Ravi are my dear friends. They are here to keep me on schedule and to provide any help if I should need it," said Gandhi.

  "They are here to protect you then too?" asked Frances.

  Gandhi looked down, his hands clasped together, still slippery with Ravi's blood.

  "Yes, that would be one way of looking at it," he said.

  "Clearly," said Frances. "I am Frances Marmalade, and this is my husband Eric."

  Eric went to offer his hand but noticed that Gandhi's were blood stained.

  "Terrible business this," he said.

  Gandhi looked up at them and nodded.

  "Ravi was a kind and generous friend," he said.

  "Why would anyone want to do this to him?" asked Frances.

  "Perhaps it was not him the bullets were for," said Gandhi.

  Frances nodded.

  "I suspected the same. Have you had other attempts on your life before, Mr. Gandhi?" asked Frances.

  "Please call me Mohandas," he said.

  Frances nodded, and Gandhi shook his head.

  "No, I have not had any attempts on my life. Though I hear about it all the time. It seems that I cannot please all of the people. The British do not care for me and they find the very idea of non-violence troubling."

  "How so?"

  "They do not know how to react to it, and then they overreact."

  Frances nodded. Declan, Amelia and Alfie came up.

  "Are you okay, Mum?" asked Declan.

  Frances nodded.

  "This is my son Declan, my daughter Amelia, and her fiancé Alfie."

  Gandhi smiled at all of them in turn. Declan offered his hand to shake. Gandhi opened his, palms facing up and Declan saw the blood.

  "Sorry," he said and put his hands in his pocket.

  "You were saying, Mohandas, that you have received threats on your life," said Frances.

  "Yes, that is quite true. The Muslims do not appreciate my non-violence nor do they particularly want to associate with Hindus much. The Sikhs think that I am too passive in my approach and then within the Hindu community, where I belong, there are factions on both sides who do not agree with what I am trying to accomplish."

  "What are they unhappy about?" asked Frances.

  "Some are unhappy that I am not more forceful in protesting the injustice that the British are causing. They think we should be more active. Others think that there is no need to fight for an independent India at all, that we will naturally get our independence in due time when we come to embrace the British as equal partners."

  "I see, and yet you continue with your fight for an independent India," said Frances.

  "Of course, it is our country and we should be the ones to govern it."

  "Can't argue with that," said Eric.

  Gandhi looked up at him and smiled. Frances looked at Gandhi and then at Sujay.

  "Did you recognize anyone at all in the crowd who might have had a threatening demeanor or gesture?"

  Sujay shook his head and looked at Gandhi.

  "I did not notice anyone. They were all new faces to me. But you must understand, Frances, that I am meeting lots of people each day, sometimes hundreds, like today. Nobody in the crowd stood out to me."

  A smaller crowd than had previously been hanging around Gandhi to ask questions, now gathered to gawk. Declan and Everard had decided to take up crowd control and were doing a good job of keeping the smaller crowd back.

  A cameraman had arrived on the scene with a camera and large parabolic flash. Declan stood in his way as he tried to snap some pictures, unsuccessfully, thanks to Declan.

  Gandhi noticed and took off his jacket and lay it over Ravi's chest and face to offer him some dignity in death. He moved closer to his dead friend's body, as did Sujay. Lady Marmalade stepped up as a third and made it very difficult for anyone from the crowd to see Ravi very easily.

  Frances looked down at the ground and tried to determine if she could find any casings. There were none that she could locate. She turned around, facing outwards from Ravi's body and scanned the area. She couldn't see any from that vantage point either. She turned to her husband.

  "Darling, could you see if you can't scour the area for any bullet casings. I think there should be two."

  Eric nodded and bent down as low to the ground as he could. It was almost eight and dusk had fallen and the sky was losing any residual light that would help make his job easier. A small, stingy light that barely dribbled light out into the garden was glowing from the side of the hall, but it did not much improve his view.

  "Can you remember where you were standing when the gun went off?" asked Frances.

  Sujay stepped forward and towards the hall a couple of steps. Gandhi stepped up next to him.

  "I was standing here," he said, "and looking over there."

  He pointed with his right hand away from the hall.

  "I heard the bangs come from somewhere here on my left."

  With his left arm he made a circle in front and to the left of him. Gandhi nodded.

  "I was talking to someone here," said Gandhi, facing Lady Marmalade who was slightly off to his right. "I heard the gunshots from that area too."

&nb
sp; With his left hand, Gandhi waved in a circular motion in the general vicinity that Sujay had. It was off to his left, just slightly, and ahead of him. Eric came over and bent down looking for spent shell casings. He still couldn't find any, and the light was quickly disappearing like mercury in his hand.

  Behind them, a flashbulb went off. Frances turned around to see who it was. It was the reporter.

  "Have you no shame," said Everard, and he took the man by the elbow and walked him away from the crowd.

  Declan looked back and saw his mother.

  "I don't think he got anything," he said. "We've been blocking him every chance he has."

  Frances smiled. In the distance, walking towards the crowd, she saw a familiar face. He waved at her and she waved back. At least now they might start getting somewhere.

  NINE

  Chapter 9

  THE two police officers stepped up towards the crowd and maneuvered between them until they were within the inner circle where Frances, Gandhi and Sujay were. Two constables came up after them and took over crowd control and started to march the crowd much further away from the crime scene.

  "Lady Marmalade," said Inspector Cameron Davison, "this is Sergeant Devlin Pearce."

  Frances smiled at him and shook his offered hand.

  "We've met before, Inspector," she said.

  "Yes, right, I wasn't sure if you remembered."

  "It's the well groomed mustache and smart deportment. I think he'll be going places, Inspector."

  Inspector Davison nodded his head and grumbled his agreement. Davison was a stocky man of average height with a thin and wispy pencil mustache that rode the crest of his upper lip. He had short black hair with a high forehead and droopy small eyes that seemed to look past you.

  "So what do we have here?" he said, not really asking it as a question of anyone.

  Pearce had his notebook out and he was taking notes of the scene.

  "Mr. Gandhi, eh?" said Davison, looking over at the small Indian. Gandhi smiled at him. "What brings you here?"

  "I came to give a lecture on satyagraha and vegetarianism."

  "I see, the Round Table not keeping you busy enough?"

  Gandhi didn't say anything, but the smile on his lips was unmoved.

  "Inspector," said Frances. "I think that there was an attempt on Mr. Gandhi's life this evening."

  Davison looked at her and then down at Ravi's dead body.

  "Looks to be they weren't very accurate then, were they? Who's this chap they shot?"

  "He is a dear friend of mine, Ravi Meda."

  Davison nodded. A third constable had now joined them and was standing with a flashlight in his hand, using it to survey the scene.

  "Put it over here," said Davison as he leaned down and took Gandhi's jacket off of Ravi, exposing the gunshot wounds on his stomach. The constable steadied the flashlight on the body for Inspector Davison to take a good look.

  "Two bullets to the stomach," said Davison as he stood up and looked around. "Looks to me like they got the man they wanted."

  "I must strenuously disagree," said Lady Marmalade, "I believe they were meant for Mr. Gandhi."

  Davison looked down his nose at her, clasping his hands behind his back and rocking back and forth on his feet. Eric had some time ago given up on looking for the shell casings. The night had become too dark.

  "Is that what you believe, Mr. Gandhi?" asked Davison.

  Gandhi kept the small smile on his lips as he answered.

  "It is possible, though it is also possible that perhaps whoever shot Ravi was trying to shoot Ravi and not me."

  Davison nodded.

  "We'll investigate this thoroughly. Tell me, Lady Marmalade, why you think the bullets were meant for Gandhi?"

  "Mr. Gandhi is a well known person who is trying to agitate for a free India. I imagine that there are many who are unhappy with his philosophy, and indeed, he has told me that there are many who disagree with his approach."

  "Is that so?" asked Davison, looking over at Gandhi.

  Gandhi nodded.

  "I have received some threats on my life."

  "Yes, well that is to be expected for someone whose political leanings are public. Doesn't necessarily mean that they'll follow up on those threats. Do you know how many death threats are actually acted upon?"

  Davison had shifted his gaze to Frances. Frances shook her head.

  "Not many. I'd likely suggest that less than one in a hundred are carried out."

  "Still, Inspector," said Pearce, "we should investigate all possible motives."

  Davison still had his hands behind his back and he turned his head to look at the taller, younger and more handsome sergeant.

  "Yes we shall, sergeant, thank you. Mr. Gandhi, tell me if you would, have you received any death threats leading up to your trip to England?"

  Gandhi looked over at Sujay. Sujay shook his head.

  "Sujay here, takes care of my mail on a day to day basis. He usually keeps me informed. I have not had any death threats since…the Dharasana Satyagraha protest."

  Gandhi looked back over at Sujay for confirmation. Sujay nodded his head.

  "That was the last one you have received," said Sujay, looking at Gandhi.

  "And what was that?" asked Davison.

  "That was a march my colleagues conducted on the salt works factory in Dharasana. Hundreds of satyagrahis marched upon the salt works and were beaten savagely for their peaceful protests. Two satyagrahis, or protestors died from their injuries sustained by the British police."

  "That is most unfortunate. And who was the last death threat from, related to this event?"

  Davison was looking at Gandhi, looking through him so it seemed. Gandhi looked over at Sujay and nodded his head. Davison followed with his eyes and looked at Sujay.

  "We don't know for certain, as death threats are usually not signed, but it must have been from one of the family members of one of the two men who were killed."

  "Why is this chap, Sujay, is it?" Sujay nodded, "always speaking for you?"

  "Because he has a better memory for these things than I do. I do not wish to pay very much attention on these matters of negativity," said Gandhi.

  "Very well," said Davison. "Then tell me, Sujay, what makes you think that this last letter had something to do with the family of one of the two dead?"

  "Because it spoke about how Mahatma must pay for the death of their father."

  "I see," said Davison.

  He cast his eyes down and stared at Ravi's body for a while before speaking.

  "And this fellow here," said Davison, looking down at Ravi's body. "Was he involved in anyway with this Dharasana business?"

  Gandhi looked down at his dead friend and nodded. His smile was gone now.

  "Yes, Ravi was instrumental in setting up the whole event actually. He suffered beatings at the hands of the British police, but he didn't have it as badly as some of the others."

  "Did he know those who were killed at Dharasana?"

  "I can't say for certain, but we can find out for you," said Gandhi.

  "Yes, please do."

  "Inspector," said Frances interjecting. Davison looked up at her.

  "I believe that Ravi identified his killer," said Frances.

  "Is that so. Did he tell you?"

  "He tried to. I got here right after the two shots. In fact, the three of us were on our way here to ask Mohandas…"

  "Who?" asked Davison.

  "Mr. Mohandas Gandhi," said Frances.

  "I thought your name was Mahatma Gandhi," said Davison to Gandhi.

  Gandhi smiled again and shook his head slowly.

  "No, my first name is Mohandas. Mahatma is a title, much like Lord or Lady, but much more informal."

  "Actually, it is a title that means 'Great Soul'," said Frances.

  "I see."

  "As I was saying, Inspector…"

  "Yes, please go on."

  Inspector Davison's mustache twitched as his u
pper lip twitched involuntarily. He was finding this whole thing about Indian names and titles both tiresome and confusing.

  "Eric and Everard and I were walking up here to ask Mr. Gandhi a question when we heard the shot. So we were the first here other than Mr. Gandhi and Mr. Sujay Patel."

  Davison looked over at Gandhi and Sujay and then down at Ravi.

  "As soon as I got here, I saw Mohandas bent down over his friend Ravi. I immediately saw that Ravi had two gunshot wounds to the stomach. I leaned down and asked him if he knew who had shot him and he nodded."

  Frances looked at Gandhi and Gandhi nodded his head.

  "That is so, Ravi gave the impression that he knew who had shot him."

  Gandhi looked back at Frances and she looked at Davison.

  "I asked Ravi to tell me who it was, and he said 'Indian p'. I didn't quite hear him at first, so I leaned in, we both did, Gandhi and I and he said it again. 'Indian' then a pause for breath and 'p'. We waited to see if he would tell us more. I think he wanted to. I think he was trying but he couldn't get it out. He expired then."

  "So what does it mean do you suppose?" asked Davison.

  "Perhaps Ravi was trying to say the name of who it was, or maybe he was just simply letting us know that it was an Indian person."

  Davison looked at Gandhi and he shrugged a little.

  "I think Lady Marmalade is correct. He might have been trying to give us the name of the shooter or he might have been telling us that it was someone generic like an Indian person."

  Davison nodded and took his right thumb and index finger and spread them out across his thin mustache, he was deep in thought.

  "How many Indians do you know with a name that starts with 'p'?" asked Davison.

  "Well, there is Sujay Patel whose surname starts with a 'p'. Though of course he didn't do it as he was right next to me and I would have known."

  Gandhi looked at his friend and winked at him quickly to reassure him he was only teasing.

  "There is also Anil Puri, but he is not here in England so far as I know."

  "What about chaps with a first name starting with the letter 'p'," said Davison, getting a little impatient.

  "I know a Pradeep and a Prem. Pradeep Sharaf and Prem Wason. There are likely others though I can't recall at the moment. But I am also fairly certain that Pradeep Sharaf and Prem Wason are not here in England either."