by Beth Byers
Ginger eyed Miss Harris with compassion. “I’m very sorry your evening hasn’t turned out the way you expected. Surely there’s been a misunderstanding?”
Miss Harris ran a long fingernail under each eye, capturing the moisture tearing there. “You wouldn’t believe it if I told you.”
Ginger patted her hand. “Soon the night will be over, and perhaps, in the light of day, and after a night’s sleep, you can patch things up.”
The way Basil always took charge in a crisis, never failed to make Ginger’s heart hammer with admiration. When Detective Inspector Wakefield had jumped to his feet, Ginger noted a similar look in his wife’s eye.
“Everyone, stay calm,” Basil announced loudly. “I’m Chief Inspector Basil Reed of Scotland Yard.”
Detective Inspector Wakefield said, “I’ll gather the staff.”
“Yes,” Basil agreed. “No one comes in or leaves until we get to the bottom of this.” To Ginger he said, “Would you like to calm the ladies?”
Ginger’s brow jumped. She knew the question behind the question. Basil was asking her to interview the alleged victims. Ginger had proven herself useful to her husband’s investigations on more than one occasion, and she had a tidy record of solved cases through her office of Lady Gold Investigates.
“Of course, love,” she said.
Jack rose, swearing under his breath as he got the attention of the fellow who must manage the restaurant. The man was ordering waiters about and wringing his hands simultaneously. The combination of nerves and leadership was at odds, and Violet watched eagerly as Jack introduced himself. She could just bet he was saying something about Scotland Yard and being a detective when Basil Reed approached as well. They were both quick and precise, stealing control of things from the manager for themselves.
Basil headed towards one set of doors while Jack headed towards another and Violet could only hope that the thief—and her brand-new necklace—were still in attendance. Violet shook her head in mockery as she fruitlessly searched her clutch bag for her missing necklace and then checked under her chair and table.
She wasn’t surprised, of course, to find nothing, but the bothersome what-if faded. Her idea of entertainment was gone now that she was a victim too and, holding her throat, she watched women and a few men across the restaurant do the same. The pretty blonde in black and silver was searching for an item missing from around her neck. The elderly lady of Violet’s favorite set of lovers reached up to her hat, and with knobbly, shaky fingers searched for what must be a hatpin, now missing.
Violet’s frown deepened and she lifted her glass, assessing. The easiest guesses were that one of the staff was a thief, but she wasn’t so sure. A place like the Savoy would have employees that had been on hand for years. It wasn’t some fly-by-night establishment where the waiters came and went with the crowds. These fellows had steel spines, perfect balance, a cultivated sneer, and delivered food and wine as unobtrusively as possible.
Violet would lay a wager that the waiters serving at the Savoy on Valentine’s evening were the best it had to offer and had probably worked there for years. There was no way these men would have a history of stealing and it have not made it to the gossip pages. She could say with a fair amount of certainty that there had been no major thefts from the Savoy within the last year. If that were the case, Violet guessed their thief was a patron or a waiter who intended to disappear into the night.
Violet stared around again, this time ignoring the staff and examining the diners. Even those who seemed to have lost nothing had their attention fixed on the manager, the waiters, and the two detectives.
Except, Violet saw, Mrs. Reed. Her gaze, like Vi’s, was moving from table to table with a slight furrow between her brows and an analytical expression upon her face. Was that what Vi looked like when she considered suspects? Vi was rather afraid it was. Her gaze met Mrs. Reed’s and Violet rose, crossing the art deco carpeting to meet her. Detectives’ wives, meddlers, this might well be a case better suited to the two of them than their two mates.
3
Ginger’s gaze moved to Mrs. Wakefield who was standing next to her table and staring back in return. Falling somewhere in age between Ginger, now in her thirties herself, and Felicia ten years her junior, Mrs. Wakefield had a lovely slender figure, bright brown eyes, and brown hair styled with salon expertise. They smiled at the same time and approached one another. Ginger, having put her white silk gloves back on, extended a hand. “I’m Mrs. Reed. The chief inspector present is my husband. You must be Mrs. Wakefield.”
“I am. How do you do, Mrs. Reed?”
Ginger smiled at her youthful counterpart. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“Likewise,” Mrs. Wakefield said, “though these circumstances are less than ideal.”
Ginger agreed. “It seems our husbands are acquainted already.”
Both ladies’ eyes travelled across the room to where their husbands were hard at work taking control of the situation. Jack Wakefield reminded Ginger of what Basil might’ve been like as a younger man, sharp and enthusiastic. Her love affair with Basil was relatively new, and Ginger still considered them to be newlyweds. Ginger had known young love, its quickness and intensity, and what it was like to suffer loss. Her first husband, Daniel, Lord Gold, had lost his life in France during the Great War.
Those were difficult times, and Ginger was happy to have started this new chapter of her life. The early days of their romance hadn’t been without their bumps and bruises, but her life with Basil and his quiet determination, was everything that Ginger now needed.
Mrs. Wakefield’s voice brought Ginger out of her reverie.
“Are you missing any jewelry, Mrs. Reed?”
Ginger’s hand went to her throat. “My pearl beads. It’s beyond me how the strand has gone missing without my noticing.”
“My rose-gold chandelier necklace as well,” Mrs. Wakefield said.
“Oh mercy,” Ginger said. “I think I might speak to some of the other ladies who are claiming missing items.”
“As will I,” Mrs. Wakefield said with determination. Ginger liked her immediately.
Violet left Mrs. Reed and headed towards where her table was. She sat only long enough to get another view of the restaurant and who might have had a view of things that were happening. A couple of tables caught Violet’s eye, and she lifted a chair and took it with her to the elderly couple.
During the hullabaloo, they had moved their chairs around their table, so they were side by side. Unlike Jack and herself, they hadn’t yet had their drinks delivered, so Violet put the chair down, winked, and took the champagne bottle from her own table.
“Are you teetotalers? Or is your waiter busy being searched?”
“The latter,” the lady said, eyeing Violet as if she were quite odd, but neither of them objected when Violet poured them each a glass of champagne.
Violet held out her hand and introduced herself. They were Mr. and Mrs. Cleary. “I’m trying to sort out who saw what for my husband, Detective Inspector Wakefield. We hope to find the thief before he or she can slip out of the door, and I couldn’t help but notice what a good view you have.”
Mr. and Mrs. Clearys’ gazes met. After a long moment, Mrs. Cleary said, “My hat pin is missing. It’s quite valuable with the diamond insert, but I’m more concerned about its sentimental meaning.”
Violet gasped and reached out. She knew that they were strangers, but Vi felt as if she already wanted to mature into a version of this lady. It was the sheer love between them. “How dreadful! I'm so, so sorry.”
Mrs. Cleary glanced at her husband and Violet could just see him squeeze her hand lightly. “I would say it’s all right, but of course it isn’t. It wouldn’t even be worth anything to anyone but me.”
Violet frowned. Her necklace had been unquestionably expensive.
“Did you leave your table?” Violet asked softly.
Mrs. Cleary nodded. “Yes, I did. I popped into the ladies’
as soon as I arrived. I tend to be a little odd about washing my hands often and powdering my nose.”
“I used the ladies as well,” Violet replied, pressing her hand to her throat. “Did you see anything else? It doesn’t have to be a crime, just anything that made you pause?”
Without pointing, Mrs. Cleary said, “There is something about that lady. The one with the turban and the shiny red dress. She was visiting the ladies when I was, and I’m certain I’ve seen her before, though, at my age,” she glanced at Vi with a look of self-deprecation, “one can’t always count on one’s memory.”
Violet attempted an unobtrusive glance and then noted Mrs. Reed doing the same. They needed to discuss whoever that woman was. Mr. Cleary’s bushy brows joined in the middle as he, too, stared at the lady in the turban. “There is something about her. I feel as though I know her although I am sure I do not.”
Violet felt the same way. Was the lady famous? Was she a friend of a friend? Why was she niggling Violet’s mind so?
“Mrs. Cleary, are you noticing something?” Violet asked.
The elderly lady’s attention was still on the glamorous-looking turban-wearing woman. She started to shake her head and then said, “Well I don’t know about that lady, but I did notice that there wasn’t anyone flitting amongst the tables. I do like to people watch, and I would have seen that.”
Practically, only a waiter or the maître d’ could slip about easily. Violet didn’t believe it was one of them, but perhaps someone had impersonated a waiter, and the staff, being extra busy, simply hadn’t noticed? If so, it would have to be a very clever, daring, and unobtrusive thief.
Violet started to ask another question, but the gentleman from the couple with the matching black and silver outfits, sitting alone a mere table away, leaned in and said, “I couldn’t really help but overhear. Surely, it’s the staff who are thieves.”
Violet wanted to lift her brow and scoff, but she didn’t want to alienate a potential witness, so instead she said, “Well, yes. That is certainly why the police are starting with the staff.” And preventing anyone from leaving or entering, as well as making sure the restaurant was searched. If the staff weren’t thieves, they could be witnesses.
“Mrs. Reed! Mrs. Reed!”
Ginger turned toward the sound of her name to see Lady Fitzhugh waving madly in her direction. “Come quickly!”
Ginger, mentally bracing herself, approached the Fitzhugh table.
“Mrs. Reed, my emerald hair comb has disappeared. It’s as if it’s vanished into thin air.”
“Maybe it’s that Houdini fellow,” Lord Fitzhugh said.
“Arthur! This isn’t time to be glib. That hair comb is a family heirloom. My mother brought it over from Russia, and a good thing, now with the empire gone.” She stared severely at Ginger. “Nothing is safe there anymore.”
Lord Fitzhugh dared another defiant mumble. “Nor here, it would seem.”
Lady Fitzhugh glared at her husband.
“A hair comb?” Ginger said quickly, wanting to prevent a verbal attack. “Where?” she floated her fingers around her head.
Lady Fitzhugh was the only female in the River Restaurant without a short bob of some sort, her salt-and-pepper hair in a loose bun on the top of her head. “At the back,” she said, as if that were the only obvious place for it.
“And my diamond bracelet is missing.” This came from the well-turned-out lady wearing a shimmering red gown and fashionable turban. “It was a gift from Bernard,” she motioned to her date.
The man tipped his chin, and eyed Ginger with a look of appreciation. He extended his hand. “Bernard Chatfield, madam, at your service.”
The lady flashed her date a look of disapproval then continued. “Bernard gave the bracelet to me just before we came here to dine. Its loss is simply outrageous.”
Ginger had to agree. Along with her string of pearls, there were two bracelets, a string of exotic beads, and a hair comb missing. How extraordinary.
“Please don’t worry your heart, dear,” Mr. Chatfield said. “It was fully insured, and I can get you a replacement.”
It appeared that the young man had deep pockets.
“And what was your name, madam?” Ginger asked.
“Dorothy Mansfield. And yours?”
“I’m Mrs. Reed. My husband is Chief Inspector Reed. Her eyes drifted to the bar where Basil was busy interviewing the staff. “He asked if I’d take an account of the items that have been allegedly lost.”
“Allegedly?” Miss Mansfield held out her bare arm and shook it dramatically. “Hardly, allegedly.”
Since Miss Mansfield and Lady Fitzhugh were seated close together, Ginger positioned herself between them so they could both hear her questions.
“Miss Mansfield, Lady Fitzhugh, please think back to the last moment you recall the lost items in your possession.”
“It’s difficult to say,” Lady Fitzhugh huffed. “It’s not like I’m checking the back of my head while dining on stuffed cod.”
“My bracelet was on my left arm only moments ago,” Miss Mansfield said. “I’m fairly certain, though, now, I can’t be sure when I noticed it last.” She lifted her right arm which jangled with a series of bracelets. “However, I did make use of the ladies. Perhaps it went missing then.”
“Were you alone?” Ginger asked. “Or did you see others?”
“Well, there was that blonde over there.” Miss Mansfield pointed to Miss Harris seated at Ginger’s table.
“I’ve not moved from my seat,” Lady Fitzhugh said. “It must be one of the waiters. Sticky fingers, that lot, I always say.”
Ginger’s jaw dropped. “Lady Fitzhugh, my husband and another detective are questioning the staff, and I’m certain if the guilty party is amongst them, they’ll get to the bottom of it.
Basil and Detective Inspector Wakefield were busy making enquiries and taking notes. Ginger caught Basil’s eye and he subtly shook his head, indicating to Ginger that he hadn’t found any leads yet.
Approaching the detective inspector’s wife, Ginger said, “What do you make of things, Mrs. Wakefield?”
“We’re in the midst of a mystery now so we might as well be friends. Please call me Violet.”
“I’m Georgia, but my friends call me Ginger,” Ginger said with a smile. “Now, I’m afraid I haven’t learned much. When Basil and I arrived, we must have shared reservations with several of the couples here, as there was quite a gathering when we dropped off our coats and waited to be seated.”
“Jack and I came early," Violet said. "We were the first to arrive, actually.”
Ginger thought back to the people who had stood with her and Basil in the foyer. “That lovely elderly couple was part of the early crowd and Miss Mansfield —she’s the one in the red dress—and her friend, Mr. Chatfield.”
Violet wrinkled her nose. “I think I recognize her. I’m trying to put my finger on where.”
“The blonde and the redhead, along with the grandmother and grandson,” Ginger said. “I think I’ll suggest that the maître d’ spread the reservations out in future.”
“I imagine the evening of Valentine’s Day is overly busy,” Violet said.
“Rather,” Ginger agreed. “Lord and Lady Fitzhugh must’ve arrived later, as I didn’t see them come in.”
“I saw them arrive.” Violet’s eyes brightened at the memory. “Are they friends of yours?”
“Acquaintances only,” Ginger said. “Lady Fitzhugh visits Feathers & Flair, my dress shop, on occasion.”
“I love your shop,” Violet said. “You weren’t in when I visited, but I simply love the factory frocks on the upper floor. So convenient. I bought one and wore it home!”
Ginger laughed.
Violet grew more serious. “The lady gave the maître d’ quite a difficult time. Seems she didn’t like the table she’d been assigned.”
“How did I miss that drama?” Ginger asked, then remembered that she, too, had made a quick trip to the la
dies. Had her necklace been in place at that time? She’d made use of the sink and spent a moment checking her reflection in the mirror, fixing the tips of her bob so that they rested in curls on her cheeks.
The mood in the room was unsettled, but everyone had remained seated, at least for the most part. Though no one was allowed to leave the restaurant, the patrons weren’t prisoners and could mingle or answer the call of nature.
Suddenly, a shout—Ginger recognized the scratchy voice of Lady Fitzhugh—commanded everyone’s attention. “There’s a necklace in that man’s pocket!”
Ginger followed the direction of Lady Fitzhugh’s bejeweled finger. Miss Mansfield’s companion had removed his dinner jacket and rested it over the back of his chair. Indeed, the outline of a necklace, a string of black opal beads, nearly overflowed the side pocket.
The blonde’s eyes were drawn to the man’s movement as well. Her heavily made-up eyes grew round and she pointed an accusing finger. “Those are mine. He stole my necklace!”
Violet gasped as she turned to face Miss Mansfield and Mr. Chatfield, a look of utter confusion on his face, even as Lady Fitzhugh repeated her accusations. Ginger frowned as she stared at the man.
Chief Inspector Reed approached as Lady Fitzhugh’s shrill voice rose to a strident level. “Did he take my hair comb?”
Mr. Chatfield’s eyes filled with scorn. “Why would I want your ruddy comb?”
Lady Fitzhugh speared him with a scathing look. “The emeralds are worth a pretty penny, young man!”
Chief Inspector Reed’s calm voice commanded order. “Perhaps you would turn out your pockets, sir?”
Mr. Chatfield’s gaze was dark and furious but there was a deep challenge in his eyes as he turned out his pockets, revealing only a cigarette case engraved with his name, a wallet, and a key. Violet nibbled on her thumb. If she’d been at home, she’d have been pacing. She glanced from the pile of Mr. Chatfield’s belongings to the room where angry gazes were fixing on the embarrassed-looking young man.
