Ginger Gold Mystery Box Set 3 Page 11

Mr. Jonathon Phillips strutted in, stopping to chat with Conway Sayer who kept to his position near the entrance.

  "There's John Phillips," Ginger said with a nod. The middle-aged man was having words with Conway Sayer, and it didn't appear to be a pleasant conversation. "I'm going over there."

  Ginger bounded out of her seat before Basil could stop her, ignoring his plea for her to wait. She called over her shoulder, "I won't be long."

  Conway turned in a huff before Ginger could position herself to eavesdrop. Mr. Phillips smiled when he saw her, and she was happy to note that his oh-so-blue eyes hadn't flashed with recognition.

  "Georgia," Ginger said with an American drawl.

  He dipped his head and accepted her gloved hand, raising it to his lips. "Jonathon Phillips. It's a pleasure."

  "Would you be interested . . ." She pronounced it inneresded.". . . in buying a girl a drink?"

  Phillips' eyes sparkled. "Absolutely."

  Ginger ordered a whisky, but only played with a drop on her tongue. She needed to keep her head.

  "What part of America are you from?" Phillips asked.

  "New York."

  "Fantastic city."

  "You've been?"

  "A couple of times. Business."

  Ginger knew not to ask what kind of business. The "rule of thumb" in this business was to stay clear of personal questions.

  "How about you?" Ginger asked. "You sound southern."

  John Phillips smiled. "Virginia."

  "Never been, but hear it's lovely.” Ginger watched the man from under heavily made-up eyes. "What brings you to London?"

  "Business. You?"

  She smiled flirtatiously. "Adventure.”

  John Phillips’ eyes narrowed though remained friendly. "Have I seen you here before? You look familiar."

  "I don't think so. I refused to patronise the North Star as long as that tart—" Ginger made a face—"Destiny, came here."

  "Ah. I take it you weren't friends."

  "That woman was nobody's friend. The most selfish pill I'd ever met. Would you believe she tried to blackmail me?"

  Ginger kept her eyes on Phillips, gauging his reaction carefully. He tried to hide his response, but she saw it in the flicker of his eyelashes and the tensing of his jaw.

  "Oh, forgive me!" Ginger said. "You knew her, I suppose. I'm such a dunce."

  Phillips knocked back the rest of his whisky and ordered another. "I knew her. I'm sure every man in this room did."

  Ginger couldn't help but glance at Basil.

  The alcohol had loosened Phillips' tongue. "You're not the only one Destiny tried to blackmail, so don't feel bad."

  "Really? You? That snake. I hate her even more now."

  Ginger had to remind herself that she was playing a part. Emelia was dead, and Ginger was resolute in her determination to remain charitable.

  "Well, she's gone now," Phillips said with no hint of remorse. "Now, hey, wait a minute." His eyes rounded as realisation dawned. "You're Antoinette!"

  Ginger figured this would happen eventually and was prepared. She giggled and reverted to her French accent and patted his arm. "I had you fooled, Monsieur!" Going back to her American accent, "Or do you prefer an American girl."

  Mr. Phillip's lips pulled up slyly. "Join me at my table, and I'll think about it." Ginger linked her arm with his and, her long, seductive fringe swaying, she sashayed to the diplomat’s table, once again feeling the heat of Basil's glare on her back.

  When she passed Felicia and Haley, she put on another show. "Hello, ladies! Look who I'm with this fine evenin'. Ain't he the most handsome man you ever did see?"

  Felicia's jaw dropped at Ginger's personality transformation, but Haley had grown accustomed to Ginger's American accent in Boston—though Ginger was undoubtedly more reserved than Georgia!

  Mr. Phillips' table was closer to the piano, and the louder music forced her to have to lean in to listen to him. Phillips offered her a cigarette, and Ginger accepted.

  He chuckled as he watched her. "You really should be in the pictures."

  "Why do ya say that?"

  "Well, you're a chameleon. Do Antoinette again!"

  Ginger put her cigarette down, cupped her hands and placed them under her chin and spoke French. "Les secrets d'une fille sont les siennes."

  Phillips' head fell back as he laughed. "All that's missing is the blonde hair."

  He leaned closer, and Ginger felt the man's warm breath on her cheek. "Who are you really? Georgia, the brunette?"

  Ginger tilted her head back and smiled wryly. "Who are you, really?"

  "Ha," Phillips said. "As you French like to say, touché."

  Ginger checked her watch. The show would start shortly, and Ginger was curious who these new dancers were. It seemed there was no shortage of women willing to parade themselves, whether out of desperation or, as in Emelia's case—and apparently Dorothy West's—diversion.

  Ginger watched Dorothy out of the corner of her eye. The man she was with looked as if he would devour the girl, and Ginger wondered if Dorothy really knew what she was getting herself into.

  Phillips had followed her gaze. Apparently, he knew the man and waved them over.

  Oh, mercy.

  "Richard Price, my good man," Phillips bellowed. "Bring your pretty lady, and come join us."

  It was amazing how hair and makeup could confuse a person of one's identity if one wasn't well acquainted. However, Dorothy knew Ginger's face.

  Dorothy was too busy swooning over Mr. Price to notice at first, but once seated, Phillips made introductions.

  "This is Georgia." Dorothy automatically held out her hand, and Ginger took it, catching her young floor clerk's eyes. "Nice to meet you," Ginger said. Her accent was American, but Dorothy knew her true identity immediately. The flush of excitement from Dorothy's face drained to white as the reality of her situation settled in.

  Dorothy withdrew her hand and clasped it to her mouth. She yelped and rushed from the table towards the ladies’ room.

  "She must've eaten something off," Ginger said. "It can come upon you all of a sudden, like. I bet she ate shellfish. Nasty stuff." Ginger butted out her cigarette. "I'll go see to the poor thing."

  Ginger found Dorothy clinging to the porcelain sink, mascara running down her cheeks. When she caught Ginger's reflection in the mirror, the girl stared back as if she had seen a ghost.

  "Oh, L—"

  Ginger shook her head sharply and put a finger to her lips. She could see a pair of T-strap shoes under one of the cubicle doors.

  "You ate some bad fish, didn't you?" Ginger said, keeping her American persona intact. "I've sworn off the stuff. My mother made us eat it every Friday—and we're not even Catholic! Said it was good for us or some crazy thing."

  The toilet flushed, and a young lady dressed in full flapper mode stood beside a stunned Dorothy and washed her hands. "You definitely don't look well, love," she commiserated. As soon as she had left, Ginger quickly locked the door.

  "Lady Gold? I'm so embarrassed. Mortified."

  "What are you doing, Dorothy?" Ginger returned to her natural accent. "That man has intentions."

  "I know, I don't know," Dorothy whined miserably. "I was just curious. My life is so dull, and men never pay attention to me, that was until I met—"

  Ginger lowered her chin. "Met Emelia Reed?"

  "Yes. She was handing pamphlets out on women's health. She said so I could protect myself." Dorothy's neck flushed red. "I don't know. I was just curious! This isn't me, really!"

  "How many times have you been to this club?"

  "Only a few, with Mrs. Reed. She said she'd help break me out of my shell. That she could show me how to really live life!"

  "And now she's dead," Ginger said pointedly.

  "Oh, I know. I'm such a stupid girl."

  Ginger studied her floor clerk, feeling unnerved and, dare she admit, suspicious. Dorothy was acting the young innocent, but her behaviour with Mr. Price looked sincer
e. But then again, Ginger hoped her performance was as believable.

  "Establishments like this are not meant for nice girls like you, Dorothy," Ginger said kindly. "Unsavoury activities take place here."

  Dorothy stared at Ginger with bloodshot eyes. "Why are you here, Lady Gold?"

  "I'm investigating Emelia Reed's murder."

  "Oh."

  "How did Mrs. Reed come to be in possession of your grandmother's hair clip?"

  Dorothy's shoulders slumped. "She admired it so openly, I felt compelled to offer to lend it to her."

  Why was Emelia grasping the clip when she died? Perhaps it was nothing more than the clip coming loose and Emelia holding on to it.

  "Now," Ginger said, feeling very matronly, "clean yourself up, and we'll take you home."

  "Who's we?"

  "Me and Chief Inspector Reed."

  Dorothy's stricken look returned. "Oh, no, I couldn't. I was privy to his wife's philandering. Aided and abetted, you could say." A new terrible thought occurred to her, and she blurted out, "Oh! Lady Gold. You won't tell Reverend Hill, will you?"

  Ginger stared hard at Dorothy. "I don't see why I should, so long as you promise never to behave in such a dangerous and reckless manner again."

  "I promise, I do." Dorothy wiped her face with her handkerchief. "I'll take a taxicab home."

  "I'll tell Mr. Price you're too ill to stay."

  Dorothy stood before Ginger looking sheepish. "Thank you, Lady Gold. Er, do you still want me to come into work this week."

  "Of course. I'm short-staffed as it is." Ginger had thought about employing another girl more than once. "And it's not like you broke the law . . . and if you did," Ginger held up a palm," . . . don't tell me!"

  That elicited a half-smile. "Thank you, madam."

  An angry knock on the door ended their conversation. "So, sorry," Ginger said, back to her American persona. "The door accidentally jammed shut."

  Ginger delivered her message to Mr. Price, who frowned. "Ungrateful girl."

  "I'm afraid I have to say goodbye, too, Mr. Phillips."

  The man grabbed her roughly by the arm. "We're not done."

  Ginger saw Basil jump to his feet. Haley and Felicia had tensed as well.

  As quick as lightning, Ginger swung her free fist under the man's arm and hammered his elbow. He cried out in pain.

  "I'm so sorry, Mr. Phillips," Ginger said. "I lost my footing there." She stepped back out of arm's reach. "As I was about to say. I came with someone else. An amateur boxer." She waved at Basil who was headed her way. "See, there he is."

  Mr. Phillips muttered threatening words. He was an abusive bully, and Emelia had crossed him. Ginger had to watch herself. The diplomat could very well be a killer.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  The next day, after calling in at Feathers & Flair and being reassured by Madame Roux that she had everything under control, Ginger returned to Hartigan House to find Haley and Felicia drinking tea in the sitting room.

  "I'll get Lizzie to make you a fresh pot," Felicia said. Her temperament over these last few days had improved from her usual unpredictable sensitivity. Perhaps she'd finally moved on from her moody adolescence.

  Ginger collapsed into her chair, and Boss, who'd followed her in with his bounty of unconditional love, jumped on her lap and stuck a wet nose against her neck.

  "Oh, Bossy," Ginger cooed. "I missed you too."

  Pats and strokes calmed the small animal, and his body relaxed into a ball.

  "You're home already?" Ginger said to Haley. She checked her watch. "It's barely noon. And here I was beginning to think they’d put a bed up in the mortuary for you."

  Haley stretched out an arm and then suppressed a yawn. "No. I get this afternoon and all of tomorrow off."

  "Brilliant. Do you have plans?"

  "My usual. Sleep and read, then sleep some more."

  Felicia returned with Lizzie on her heels. "Here's some fresh tea for you, madam," the young maid said. She poured Ginger a cup, added half a teaspoon of sugar, and stirred it before placing it on a matching saucer and handing it to Ginger.

  "Thank you, Lizzie."

  Lizzie bobbed and left the room.

  Felicia filled her cup and offered to do the same for Haley.

  "I suppose I will," Haley said, handing her saucer over. "What I wouldn't give for a good strong cup of coffee right about now."

  "You'll have to go to Italy for that, I hear," Felicia said. "Lizzie can make you the English version."

  Haley wrinkled her nose. "Tea will suffice."

  Felicia relaxed onto the settee, crossing one knee elegantly over the other. She addressed Ginger eagerly. "Wasn't last night just so exhilarating? My acting lessons had some worth after all."

  Ginger couldn't hold in a grin at her sister-in-law's enthusiasm. "You and Haley both were exceptional."

  "What did you find out at Scotland Yard?" Felicia continued.

  Ginger shared a look of amusement with Haley. Such a dramatic change had come over Felicia, though Ginger wasn't sure how pleased she was that sleuthing had suddenly become Felicia's new source of distraction.

  Ginger scrubbed Boss' neck as he lightly snored. "Superintendent Morris has made another arrest."

  Felicia nearly jumped to her feet. "Cindy!"

  Ginger eyed her with interest. "As a matter of fact, yes."

  "I knew it," Felicia said. "She looks the envious type. Mrs. Reed had encroached on her territory."

  "Well, I'm not sure about that," Ginger said carefully. "It has more to do with her pet snake."

  Felicia's grin disappeared. "Oh?"

  "Tell her, Haley," Ginger said.

  "Emelia Reed's blood reports came in. There was an extraordinarily high level of protein in her blood."

  "What does that mean?" Felicia asked.

  "It's evidence pointing to the presence of snake venom."

  Felicia fell back into the settee and covered her mouth with her palm. "Oh, my word!" She leaned toward Haley. "Mrs. Reed was bitten by Cindy's snake?"

  "Perhaps," Ginger said. Something in the depth of her being felt like it would not be that simple.

  Noise erupted in the entrance way and Ambrosia's voice echoed through the high ceilings. The click-tap of her walking stick on the marble floors grew louder, and a moment later, the family matron burst into the room.

  Oh, mercy.

  Gone was the Victorian bun piled high on Ambrosia's head and in its place a marcelled bob that tapered closely to the neck. A hairpin at the temple kept the short locks off her face.

  Ambrosia's soft cheeks grew pink at her fashion revelation. "What do you think?"

  The stunned pause continued.

  "Grandmama!" Felicia finally managed. "You look fabulous."

  Ginger agreed. "You do, it's just a dramatic change to take in."

  Ambrosia's wrinkled lips pulled downward. "I'm a fool. The very picture of vanity! I can't believe I submitted myself to such frivolity. How can I possibly face anyone now? It'll take years to grow it back."

  Ginger placed Boss on the floor and went to her grandmother-in-law. "Society will commend you, not condemn you. You're simply staying abreast of what's new this century. You must stand proud."

  Ambrosia huffed. "I do hope you're right. Felicia, fetch Langley and have her bring tea to my room."

  Ambrosia left, and there was a moment of silence before the sitting room erupted in a round of giggling.

  Ginger was surprised to meet Oliver coming down the staircase as she made her way up to her room. "Oliver? When did you get here?" Boss, tucked under her arm, wiggled his little body toward the visitor.

  "About an hour ago. Mr. Pippins let me in," he said as he stroked Boss, then addressed her questioning look. "I was just visiting Miss Hanson in the library."

  "Oh, yes. So sad, isn't it. How is she today?"

  "Quiet. The experience has been traumatic. All I could do was offer to pray."

  "I'm sure you were a great comfor
t."

  "I've invited her to visit me at St. George's anytime she likes. Perhaps, you could bring her along to a service with you."

  "Of course. Once Miss Hanson is ready for excursions."

  "She's worried about people discovering her secret, and I assured her that all the members of Hartigan House, including myself, will show the utmost discretion. She has God's forgiveness and can move forward in her life afresh."

  "Agreed," Ginger said. "I promise to look after her. She's welcome to stay as long as she likes."

  "Your kindness is commendable, Ginger."

  Ginger patted his arm playfully. "Oh, stop that, Oliver."

  "Where will I find your butler? I took a taxicab here. My old rattletrap is proving to be unreliable again."

  Ginger wondered if she should take Oliver home. Then she could call in on Basil. Before Emelia's demise, Ginger and Basil would pop in to each other’s houses uninvited all the time, "when they were in the area." She silently wondered if she'd still be welcomed. Basil's mood had changed so much, she'd begun doubting his intentions towards her. Had the last three happy months been a sham?

  "Oh, I'm about to go out,” Ginger said. “I can drive you."

  Oliver replied to her offer. "I'd hate to inconvenience you."

  "It's no inconvenience at all. Please wait for me in the sitting room, and I'll be down shortly."

  Ginger placed Boss on the steps and he raced to the top, then sat on the landing to stare at her as she approached.

  Taking a quick minute to look in on Matilda Hanson, Ginger turned towards the library. Miss Hanson sat in what had become her usual place in the chair by the window. Her legs were covered with a blanket, and she cradled a cup of tea. Oliver's discarded cup remained on the coffee table. Matilda looked thin and pale, but on the mend, thankfully. It had been a close call.

  "Hello, Miss Hanson."

  "I think you can call me Matilda by now," Matilda said with a slight smile. "You've seen me with my bloomers down."

  Ginger chuckled. "You must be feeling better."

  "I am. Stronger each day."

  "I'm glad to hear it. How was your visit with the reverend?"

  "Pleasant. He's a very nice man."

  Felicia bounded inside and exclaimed, "There you all are! I was beginning to think I was alone in this big house." She plopped into an empty chair with a flourish, and Ginger envied her sister-in-law's energy. "Ginger, do tell me you have another exciting assignment for me. I get so frightfully bored."