Murder at Hartigan House: a cozy historical mystery (A Ginger Gold Mystery Book 2)

by Lee Strauss

  Haley remained behind with the forensics team as Ginger and Basil returned to the sitting room. Haley’s assessment of the mood there proved to be true. The inspector was pounced upon the minute he stepped foot across the threshold.

  Surely, he had no reason to hold them against their will!

  Your superintendent shall be hearing from me!

  “Calm down and make way!” Basil Reed knew how to wield his authority, and everyone stepped back. “We’ll take statements as quickly as possible.” He referred to his watch. “I aim to have you all out of here by midnight. Mrs. Fox, I’ll see you next.

  Harriet Fox rose gracefully, keeping expert command of her expression. Nothing was written there—not grief, nor remorse nor guilt. Mrs. Fox’s eyes were a disconcerting icy blue, and Ginger had to wonder if her heart was as cold as her eyes.

  Ginger took the seat beside Harriet Fox as Basil reclaimed her father’s chair.

  “Do you mind if I smoke?” Harriet asked.

  Basil cast a glance at Ginger, who nodded consent. “Go ahead,” he said.

  Harriet snapped open her small handbag, removed an ivory holder and gold-plated cigarette case. A gift from Lord Turnbull? Ginger and Basil were held captive as she methodically inserted a cigarette into the holder and lit it with a silver lighter. She’d recently reapplied her lipstick and left an imprint on the holder when she pulled it out of her mouth to exhale.

  Harriet kept her alluring blue eyes on the inspector. “Why is she here?”

  “To take notes,” Basil replied. “Now I promised this would be quick, so let’s get started.”

  Harriet crossed her legs seductively. “Fire away.”

  Basil’s gaze rested on Harriet’s calf for a second too long, a fact noticed by both Harriet and Ginger. Ginger cleared her throat.

  “Yes,” Basil said, recovering his professionalism in time. “Mrs. Fox, how long have you known Lord Turnbull?”

  “Ages, darling. We travel in the same circle.”

  “By ages, do you mean one year? Five years? More than five?”

  “Golly, it’s hard to pinpoint it. Around five, I’d say.”

  “How would you describe your relationship to him now?”

  “Now? Why Inspector, I’d say it’s dead.”

  Basil frowned. “Let me rephrase. How would you describe your relationship to Lord Turnbull yesterday?”

  Harriet blew smoke out of the side of her mouth toward Ginger who flapped the smoke away with her hand.

  “My apologies, darling,” Harriet said without sparing her a glance.

  Basil pressed. “Mrs. Fox?”

  “Yes. I’d say our relationship was complicated.”

  “Can you explain?”

  “That’s the definition of complicated, isn’t it? Difficult to explain?”

  “Were you and Lord Turnbull involved?” Ginger asked impatiently. “Physically?”

  “Ah. Now we’ve got to the point, haven’t we? Yes, I’ll admit to that, at least up until the last couple of months. Lately, well, I was losing interest, you could say.”

  “And how did Lord Turnbull take the fact that you were losing interest?” Basil asked.

  “Not well, darling.”

  “He seemed to be quite possessive of you tonight,” Ginger said. “Was that problematic?”

  “No woman likes to be owned, Lady Gold. Maxwell could be obnoxious and controlling, especially when he felt like he was losing control.”

  “Mrs. Fox,” Ginger continued. “You stated to me this evening that Lord Turnbull angered you so much you could kill him.”

  “Ah, yes. In retrospect, a poor choice of words.” Harriet brought the cigarette to her lips, inhaled, then exhaled with enough force to send the smoke into Ginger’s face. “Yes, he angered me, but I didn’t kill him. Am I sorry he’s dead? Not really. But it wasn’t me that killed him.”

  “Do you know who it was that killed him?” Basil asked.

  Harriet chuckled. “That would be too easy, wouldn’t it, Inspector. Maxwell had more than a few enemies. Who’s to say who it was who finally got to him.”

  “Someone present this evening,” Ginger said.

  Harriet blew out a last puff of smoke from her nostrils and then extinguished the cigarette in a compact ashtray she carried. “Well, yes,” she said. “I suppose you’re right. But it wasn’t me.”

  “You may go, Mrs. Fox,” Basil said. “But don’t leave town.”

  Harriet arched a well-shaped brow. “I look forward to being interviewed by you again, Inspector. Perhaps next time we can leave your … secretary behind.”

  Ginger fumed as Harriet Fox sashayed out of the room.

  “You don’t like her?” Basil said.

  “She’s a troublemaker. I’d watch out for her if I were you, and I don’t mean like that.”

  “I certainly don’t know what you’re insinuating, Lady Gold,” Basil said, but the twinkle in his eye said the opposite.

  He straightened his tie and referred to his notes. “Please ask the Moreaus in.”

  “I think I need a bit of a break,” Ginger said. “Do you mind if I ask Haley to sit in with this interview?”

  Basil studied her before replying. “Does this have something to do with the scene earlier, when Madame Moreau mistook you for someone else?”

  Ginger scoffed. “No, of course not. I need to visit the lavatory.”

  “Very well.”

  Basil was correct in his assumptions. Ginger couldn’t face being in a small room with her old friend. It was too intimate. Too dangerous. Too easy to let some small detail slip and confirm to Julia Moreau that her first impulse had been correct.

  As Ginger expected, the Moreau interview went quickly and she sighed with relief when they were well on their way.

  “By the way,” Haley said when Ginger returned to replace her. “Dr. Watts and the team have completed their investigation and have taken the body to the morgue at the university. Dr. Watts asked me to say his goodbyes.”

  “Thank you, Miss Higgins,” Basil said.

  The interview with Dr. Longden was uneventful, but Felicia brought interesting information to light.

  She looked wretched as she sat in the chair next to her grandmother. “I don’t want to get anyone in trouble.”

  “If you know something you think might help Inspector Reed with his investigation, darling,” Ginger said firmly, “it’s your duty to relay it.”

  “Oh bother. It’s Lieutenant Schofield. Over dinner he regaled me with tales of his exploits in the war. He flew a Sopwith Camel, you know. They’re such frightfully exciting machines. I’ve seen one at the airfield in Hertfordshire.” She let out the sigh of a girl soft on a fella who was out of reach.

  “I’m aware of his service to King and country, Miss Gold,” Basil said.

  “Yes, right. Well, Lieutenant Schofield showed me a locket he wore around his neck. He said he kept his cyanide capsule there, in case the Germans captured him, and he had to take his life. I thought it so brave and romantic, but now …” Felicia’s expression collapsed in her distress.

  “He’s not right for you, child,” Ambrosia said. “I knew there was something fishy about him the minute I met him. Too big for his boots, I say. All air force men are. They think they’re above the rest of us.”

  Ginger caught Basil’s eye and smirked at the unintentional pun.

  “Miss Gold,” Basil said, “the cause of death hasn’t yet been determined. There’s no need to jump to any conclusions.” He excused the women. Ginger, her arm around Felicia, walked out with them. Basil strolled back to the sitting room and was immediately accosted by Alfred Schofield.

  “Inspector! I insist that you call us next. My grandmother—”

  “Oh, stop fussing over me, Alfred.” Mrs. Schofield grinned at Basil and Ginger. “I’m quite enjoying myself.”

  Ginger didn’t doubt what the woman said in the least. Mrs. Schofield had hit a gold mine of gossip fodder.

  “You may come
with me now, Mrs. Schofield, Lieutenant Schofield,” Basil said. “Except for the staff we’re nearly done.”

  Left standing by the fireplace, William Hayes had his head bowed. His shoulders slumped like the school boy chosen last for cricket. Ginger felt a tad sorry for him.

  “Lieutenant Schofield,” Basil said once the Schofields were seated. “Might I see the locket you are wearing around your neck?”

  Alfred chuckled. “I knew the yarn I told Miss Gold would come to bite me in the derriere. Had I known Turnbull was going to kick the bucket, I wouldn’t have mentioned it.”

  Basil persisted. “May I see it?”

  Alfred relieved himself of a long silver chain with a small square locket and handed it to the inspector.

  Basil opened the trinket. “It’s empty.”

  “Of course it is, old chap. Do you think I walk around with a cyanide pill on me?”

  “Perhaps if you thought you might have use of it.”

  “I know what you’re thinking. I didn’t kill Turnbull.”

  “That’s Lord Turnbull,” Basil said. He handed the locket back. “Why wear this at all? The war is over.”

  Alfred grinned. “Honestly? It impresses the ladies. A great conversation starter if you know what I mean.”

  “Alfred!” Mrs. Schofield scolded.

  “How do you know Lord Turnbull?”

  “Only by reputation. It’s well-known that he’s a pompous ass.”

  “Alfred!”

  “Sorry, Grandmother.”

  There was a quiet exchange of looks before Alfred began again. “Look here, I know this looks bad, but I’m not your man.”

  Basil released Alfred who hurried to shuffle a reluctant Mrs. Schofield out the door.

  “Mr. Hayes, you are next,” Ginger said.

  William Hayes heaved a long sigh as he settled into the chair opposite the inspector.

  “I do apologise for my behaviour earlier,” he said. “It’s a knee-jerk response from my boyhood days—fight or flight, you see. Obviously, in stressful situations, I tend to flee. There’s a reason why I don’t do criminal law.”

  “I see,” said Basil. “How well did you know Lord Turnbull?”

  William Hayes reddened as he shifted in his seat. “If you mean socially? Not well at all. In fact I avoided the man at all costs. Had I known he’d be here tonight …”

  “We have a witness who says they saw you go to fists in the street.”

  The blush on William Hayes face spread down his neck.

  “That unfortunate scene was the result of a professional encounter.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Yes. And that makes the details of our, uh, disagreement, privileged.”

  “Hiding behind privilege makes you look guilty, Mr. Hayes,” Basil said.

  “I may be guilty of many things, Inspector, but I didn’t kill Turnbull.”

  The phrase was starting to sound like a skipping record. The solicitor shifted, crossed his legs, shifted again, and crossed the opposite leg. His overt agitation made Ginger squirm. She couldn’t put her finger on why exactly, but she didn’t trust this little man.

  “My father left his previous solicitor in 1913 to hire you, Mr. Hayes,” she stated.

  “Yes. I believe we spoke about this before. That’s usually the way things work in law. Solicitors retire. Or one becomes unsatisfied with one’s solicitor and moves on to the next.”

  “Why you?”

  William Hayes swallowed and shifted his gaze to anyplace but Ginger’s face. He’s hiding something. Ginger wouldn’t stop digging until she knew what.

  The solicitor deflected. “Why not me?”

  A rapid knock on the door interrupted the interview. Pippins blew in uninvited. Ginger frowned. This behaviour was so unlike her butler.

  “What is it Pippins?”

  “It’s Bailey. He’s gone.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Ginger and Basil jumped to their feet and rushed to the sitting room.

  “How long has he been gone?” Ginger asked.

  “I’m afraid I can’t say, madam,” Pippins said. “I only noticed once Mr. Hayes left, and only the staff remained. It suddenly occurred to me that I hadn’t seen Bailey in the crowd for some time.”

  The sitting room felt empty with just the four members of Ginger’s household staff plus Mr. Hayes remaining.

  “Did anyone see Mr. Bailey leave the room?” she asked.

  Lizzie and Grace lowered their gazes to the floor and shook their heads. “No, your ladyship.”

  “Mrs. Thornton?”

  “I’ve been sittin’ in this chair with my feet up. They’re killin’ me! I’m afraid I dozed off a time or two.”

  Ginger spoke softly to Basil. “As you know, Andrew Bailey once lived in this house. He’d be attuned to all the ways to get in and out unseen.”

  “I see. I’ll make use of your telephone once more, if I may.”

  William Hayes stood behind them, wringing his hands. “If you’ve finished with me … ”

  “For now,” Basil said. “Don’t leave town.”

  William Hayes practically sprinted from the room. He really did tend to flee, Ginger thought as she flopped into an empty chair. Haley sat on the settee.

  “This wasn’t how I’d imagine this evening would go,” Ginger said.

  Lizzie approached and bobbed. “Would you and Miss Higgins like some tea, madam?”

  “Thank you, Lizzie,” Ginger said. “That would be lovely.”

  Basil Reed returned with his overcoat and his hat in hand.

  “Inspector?” Ginger said.

  “I’ve called the Yard. A search is now underway for Mr. Bailey.” His eyes scanned Ginger’s staff. “Where’s Miss Weaver?”

  “She’s in the kitchen preparing tea. Would you like a cup?”

  “No, thank you. It’s late. If you don’t mind, I’ll return tomorrow to question your staff.”

  “I’m sure they would be more than happy to oblige.”

  “Good. I’ll find my way out. Good night Lady Gold, Miss Higgins.”

  Lizzie brought in the tea tray and set it on the small table between Ginger and Haley.

  “You can all retire for the evening,” Ginger told her staff. “I’m sure you all must be simply exhausted. Pippins, do first make sure the house is secure.”

  “Of course, madam.”

  Ginger unbuckled her shoes and stretched her feet out on the ottoman. “What a day!” She sipped on her cup of tea and stared at the simmering embers in the fireplace.

  “I prefer a quiet house,” Haley said, tea in hand.

  “How’s the tea?” Ginger asked.

  “It’s not coffee.”

  “Admit it, tea is growing on you.”

  “I admit no such thing!” Haley smirked and took another sip. “However, I do think this brew could be improved upon.” Haley disappeared and returned shortly with a bottle filled with amber liquid. “Brandy. For our poor nerves.”

  Ginger lifted her cup in salute. “To our poor nerves.”

  Haley poured a generous amount into each of their teacups, set the bottle aside and returned to her spot on the settee. A black furry form sauntered in and approached Ginger.

  “Boss! There you are. Were you sleeping this whole time?” She made room on her lap for her pet, and he jumped on. Ginger fed him one of the biscuits that Lizzie had brought in along with the tea.

  “It’s a dog’s life,” Haley said.

  “He gives more than he gets, don’t you boy.” She nuzzled her face against his.

  Ginger removed her bejewelled headband, ran her fingers through her red bob and let her head fall back. She let out a long tired sigh.

  “Maybe you should go to bed, Ginger.”

  “Soon. I just need to unwind. If I don’t, my overactive mind won’t let me sleep.”

  “I’m the same way.”

  “Haley, we awoke this morning with one mystery on our hands, and now we’re about to end the
day with two.”

  “Never a dull moment at Hartigan House.”

  “I certainly don’t remember it being so exciting here when I was a child. But perhaps that was due to my being asleep by eight p.m.”

  “There’s the Eunice mystery and now the Turnbull mystery,” Haley said. “The question is, are the two connected, or is it just terrible luck?”

  “It could just be a coincidence,” Ginger said.

  Haley hummed. “Except for the fact that Eunice was Turnbull’s guest, and now Turnbull is dead too. Both bodies found on the premises.”

  “Revenge?” Ginger said. “News just broke on her remains being found here. Until now, Miss Hathaway was only ‘missing.’”

  “True. However, the remains were found in Andrew Bailey’s former room, and he’s been in service with Lord Turnbull for ten years,” Haley said. “And now he’s missing.”

  Ginger shifted in her seat. “Yes. But that all feels too obvious. If Bailey wanted to kill Turnbull, why do it tonight?”

  “My guess would be to cast suspicion on a wider group.”

  “But then why flee?” Ginger said. “It only casts the light back on him.”

  Haley curled her shoeless feet underneath her and tugged the wool rug draped over the back of the settee onto her legs for warmth. “What about the others? Tell me how the interviews went?”

  Ginger recapped the experience. “Harriet Fox is an ice queen. I remember as a young girl feeling afraid of her. Her visit to Boston was the one time I actually felt empathy for Sally.”

  “Is the ice queen a cold-blooded killer?”

  “She denies it, of course. It is interesting that she was the ‘replacement’ for Eunice in this second soirée. I’d love to know if there’s a personal connection between Miss Hathaway and Mrs. Fox.”

  “They would’ve been the same age then,” Haley mused. “Maybe that’s how Mrs. Fox and Lord Turnbull met.”

  Ginger stroked Boss as she considered Haley’s statement. Her mind reverted to the interviews. “Alfred Schofield was certainly eager to leave,” she said.

  “Another flight response?” Haley said. “More likely he has something going on he doesn’t want the police poking into.”

  Ginger chuckled. “The way he kept going on about his ‘poor grandmother’ was quite hilarious. If I didn’t know better, I’d say Mrs. Schofield killed Lord Turnbull just for a night’s entertainment.”