Ginger Gold Mystery Box Set 1 Page 5

  “You mean to say the chap might’ve been alive when he was inserted into the pickle barrel?” Chief Inspector Reed asked.

  Haley nodded. “It’s possible, but with the head injury this severe, it’s very likely he was unconscious. Also there are no splinters or wood fibres under his fingernails to indicate that he struggled inside of it.”

  “How long has he been dead?” Ginger asked, and again the chief inspector’s handsome hazel eyes flashed with annoyance.

  “Well, we know he was alive at dinner last night,” Haley said. “According to the captain’s watch, he was placed in the barrel at 2:34 a.m. But that doesn’t tell me when the head trauma occurred. Lividity is apparent and starts at his waist.” Haley folded the sheet down to the area where the deep purple of collected blood began. “This indicates he’s been dead for at least six hours.”

  Ginger gave Chief Inspector Reed a pointed look as if to say, I told you she was good, then added, “I’d try to find out who saw him last and at what time.”

  As if he didn’t appreciate being told how to do his job, the chief inspector’s expression darkened with slight indignation. “Thank you, ladies for your help thus far. I’ve sent a telegram to Scotland Yard, and this case is now officially under my jurisdiction. I'm asking you to please leave the investigation to me from here on in.”

  “Of course,” Ginger said. She smiled demurely at Chief Inspector Reed as he watched them leave. Once up the stairwell and out of earshot, she said, “We need to talk to Mrs. Walsh and Miss Guilford. The wife first, I think.”

  Haley stared firmly at Ginger. “Did you not just hear what the chief inspector said?”

  “I did. He said not to officially investigate. Besides, I merely want to offer my condolences. Maybe we should bring a gift?”

  “I don’t believe there’s a gift shop onboard.”

  “True. However, I do have a couple of bottles of Boston’s best bootlegged brandy. I could offer her one.”

  Haley arched an eyebrow. “A whole bottle?”

  “So right. She’ll have glasses in her room as we do. We’ll offer her a drink.”

  Chapter Nine

  Along their passage through second class towards the stairwell that led to their deck, Ginger noticed their chambermaid, Chloe, refilling a linen cupboard. She was young, still in her teens, with creamy brown skin and shiny black hair tied neatly into a bun on the back of her head. Ginger guessed her to be of Spanish descent, with pretty brown eyes and a simpering smile that was sure to turn the heads of a lot of young men.

  That included the one standing a yard away, removing folded linen tablecloths and serviettes. It was the redheaded Roy Hardy. The way he pretended not to notice Chloe made Ginger’s heart melt.

  Poor thing!

  Chloe finally acknowledged his presence and smiled before walking away. Roy Hardy was so captivated that the linens in his arms slipped to the floor.

  “Blimey!” he muttered as he knelt to pick them up.

  Ginger tapped Haley’s arm. “I’ll meet you in the room.”

  “Playing cupid? Now? Really, Ginger, your timing.”

  “I’ll just be a minute. The youth is in desperate need of heart assistance!”

  Haley shook her head and kept walking.

  Ginger turned to the waiter who was busy picking up the pile of fabric and refolding. “Hello, Mr. Hardy.”

  Roy Hardy’s chin snapped up, and the red flush in his face grew even redder.

  “Oh, Mrs. Gold. Please excuse me. I fumbled.”

  Ginger bent down to assist. “I quite understand. Miss Chloe is a beautiful girl.”

  Roy Hardy’s eyes turned to saucers, and he looked mortified.

  “It’s all right,” Ginger said quickly. “It’s perfectly natural for a young man such as yourself to be interested in a young girl like Miss Chloe.”

  “Except she’s beyond seeing anything worthwhile in me.”

  “Oh, come now. She’s just as shy as you are. Have you spoken to her yet?”

  “No, ma’am. I want to, but whenever I’m near her, my mind goes blank and my tongue dries like a leather knot.” Roy returned the tablecloths to the closet. “I don’t really need any linen, I just know she’ll be here this time of day, and I make an excuse to come.”

  Ginger handed Roy her stack of newly folded serviettes. “You’re putting in a good effort, and I’m certain it’s not gone to waste. I may be able to be of some help to you, but I’m truly in a hurry right now. I’ll find you later to discuss this further. Good day, Mr. Hardy.”

  Roy Hardy called after her. “Good day, Mrs. Gold. And thank you!”

  Haley washed and changed her suit, which Ginger thought prudent after Haley’s interaction with a corpse. Ginger wished she could change as well, but they needed to hurry if they hoped to get to Mrs. Walsh before the chief inspector did. At best, she could put on clean gloves and add a shawl to stave off the chills that had beset her in the cold pantry once the novelty of the viewing the crime scene wore off.

  “Where’s the boss?” Haley asked as she put on a pair of black wrist-length gloves.

  “Young Scout from steerage has him this morning. Since I’m rather busy today, I sent a message for him to drop Boss off. I arranged for Miss Chloe to let Boss in the room if I happen to be out.” Ginger opened one of her drawers and removed a twenty-five-ounce bottle of brandy. “Walking into a liquor store in London is going to feel so anticlimactic.”

  “Almost not worth doing,” Haley said slyly.

  Ginger scoffed. “I wouldn’t go that far. Are you ready?”

  “Lead the way.”

  * * *

  Ginger knocked tentatively on Mrs. Walsh’s door. “Mrs. Walsh, are you there?”

  Silence. Ginger cast a glance at Haley. If Mrs. Walsh wasn’t in her room, where was she?

  She knocked again. “Mrs. Walsh? Are you all right?”

  Finally, they heard the padding of soft footsteps towards the door and then the sound of the key in the lock.

  “Mrs. Walsh,” Ginger said kindly. “We’re so sorry to intrude. Please allow us to offer our condolences.” Ginger lifted up her offering. “I know it’s early for spirits, but I thought under the circumstances...”

  Mrs. Walsh eyed the bottle, then invited them in. “That old codger, Dr. Johnson, gave me something for my nerves, but I don’t think it’s working.” She sighed heavily. “This is just so bloody awful.”

  Haley collected three glasses that sat next to a crystal decanter and arranged them in front of the standard set of wax candles. Ginger poured, offering Mrs. Walsh the first glass. The woman accepted it with a shaky hand and took a big gulp.

  “Mon Dieu, that’s good.” She settled down into one of the armchairs, which was upholstered in pink with fine gold embroidery woven throughout.

  “You’re French?” Ginger asked.

  “Oui. Born in Calais, but immigrated to England when I met Mr. Walsh.” As if her life was too sad to ponder, she sighed again, and took another drink.

  Like the windows in the room Ginger and Haley shared, these smaller ones provided a nice view of the ocean. This room appeared larger, though, with just one double-sized bed. Ginger took a sip of brandy and claimed one of the empty chairs while Haley remained standing by the sideboard.

  A quick inventory of the space revealed no immediate signs of a male presence—no men-sized shoes, or pipes and tobacco, or large overcoats.

  “I’m so sorry this happened to you, Mrs. Walsh,” Ginger said.

  “Do call me Elise. I think we’re beyond formalities now.”

  “Of course. And please call me Ginger.”

  Elise nodded grimly and took another sip.

  “My father passed last year,” Ginger said. “It was a horrible time in my life, so I can imagine how you might be feeling.”

  “My condolences,” Elise Walsh said simply.

  “Did you awaken at all when your husband left the room in the middle of the night? Did you notice the time?”<
br />
  Elise Walsh scowled and spoke dryly, “I’m afraid that the captain and I sit together at mealtimes for the sake of appearances only. Mr. Walsh and I each have our own staterooms.” She pointed to a closed door on the other side. “His room connects to mine through there.”

  Ginger suspected as much, and now she longed to get into that room to investigate. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn't know.”

  “When was the last time you saw your husband alive?” Haley asked.

  “Shortly after dinner yesterday.” Her eyes welled up with tears. “Our marriage might not have been smooth sailing, but I still loved him. I can’t believe I’m never going to see him again.”

  Despite the pun, Elise’s grief seemed genuine. Though, Ginger supposed, a person could intentionally kill someone and then regret the act afterwards. Or be really good at acting.

  “Did the captain have any enemies?”

  “Why you are asking me these questions, Ginger,” Mrs. Walsh snapped. “Isn't that the job of the police?”

  Ginger was undaunted. “I confess, I’ve always been a curious sort. You could consider this practice for when the chief inspector does question you. Give you a chance to work out how to respond.”

  Elise Walsh stared hard as she considered Ginger’s words, then relented. “Perhaps. Although I have nothing to hide.”

  Ginger tried again. “So, did he? Did Captain Walsh have enemies?”

  “For the most part, Joseph was well-liked. I don't believe he had any real enemies. In fact, the opposite is true. Too many people loved him,” she said with a note of bitterness.

  “Are you referring to Miss Guilford?”

  Elise Walsh sat up sharply. “You know about Nancy Guilford?”

  “It’s a presumption based on observation.”

  “Such a trollop!” Elise spat. “If a woman plans on cheating with another woman’s husband, at the very least she should have the decency to be discreet.”

  So, Mrs. Walsh knew that her husband was unfaithful.

  Elise threw back the final drop of brandy and held out her glass for a second round. Ginger poured, remembering how the captain had unceremoniously pointed out her drinking problem.

  “I lied about Joseph not having enemies,” Elise Walsh said after another gulp. “He had at least one.”

  “Oh?” Ginger prodded.

  “He was being blackmailed.”

  Chapter Ten

  The air seemed to vacate the room. A cloud mass suddenly shielded the sun, filling the space with an ominous shadow. Ginger and Haley shared a look of surprise before Ginger spoke.

  “Who’s been blackmailing him?”

  “I have no idea,” Elise Walsh answered coolly. “I only know because I discovered a letter in his jacket pocket.”

  As curious as Ginger was, she didn’t feel it wise to ask Mrs. Walsh why she was fishing through her husband’s pockets. “Do you know what the offence is? What did the blackmailer have on Captain Walsh?”

  “I wish I knew. Now it’s possible we’ll never know.” The pupils in Elise’s grey eyes widened slightly, and the corner of her mouth twitched.

  Mrs. Walsh was lying.

  Elise lifted the near-empty glass to her lips and tipped her head back to finish it. “As you can imagine,” she said, “this is all very taxing.” She stood to make her point clear that she wanted them to leave.

  Taking the hint, Ginger made sure to snag the half-empty bottle of brandy before saying her goodbyes to the new widow.

  “So, what do you make of that?” Haley asked as she and Ginger headed down the exterior corridor to the port side of the ship where their room was located.

  “I believe Mrs. Walsh was telling the truth about the blackmailing, but she was lying about not knowing the reasons why. Either way, it gives her a strong motive. Gain revenge on her cheating husband and break the powerful grip of the blackmailer.”

  “Although the blackmailer could simply turn his attention to her,” Haley offered.

  “Hmm.” Ginger said. “Mrs. Walsh spoke as if that wasn’t a possibility, which means she doesn’t believe it will affect her.”

  “Except for her reputation.”

  “She might think it’s gone already. It appears the captain wasn’t very subtle about his affairs.”

  “It would be interesting to know whether the captain left her anything,” Haley said.

  “Oh, mercy,” Ginger mused. “Perhaps he was about to change his will to favour someone else?”

  “A mistress?”

  “My guess would be the actress.”

  “Miss Guilford certainly didn’t enjoy watching the captain dine with his wife,” Haley said.

  “Indeed not. Miss Guilford doesn't seem to be the type of lady who likes to play second fiddle, not even to the wife. It’s clear from her performance in the cocktail lounge that she demands attention.”

  Ginger unlocked the door to their stateroom, and Boss hopped off his pillow to greet her.

  “You’re back!” Ginger swooped the small dog into her arms, letting him kiss her face, and made a mental note to give Miss Chloe an extra tip when she saw her again. Thinking about the chambermaid reminded her of her promise to Mr. Hardy. She needed a way to have those two shy people speak together.

  She put the pup down as she had yet to relieve herself of the brandy. He followed her about the room, stubby tail wagging. “Sorry we’ve been so long, Bossy,” she sang. “Mama’s got a murder to solve and it can’t be helped.”

  Ginger removed her gloves, folded them, and placed them in one of the drawers, her mind back on the case. “Maybe the captain finally told Miss Guilford he was never going to leave his wife, so she decided to do away with him by hitting him on the head with a yet-unknown blunt object.”

  “That might be motive,” Haley said as she sat at the table and opened her textbooks. “But she’s not strong enough to lift him into a pickle barrel.”

  “She’s not, but Officer MacIntosh is,” Ginger said, taking a seat by the window. Boss took that as a sign to climb onto his mistress’s lap. “You remember the argument I told you about, between him and the captain.”

  “I wish we knew what they were fighting over.”

  “As do I.” Ginger crossed her legs, and Boss readjusted himself accordingly. “And this raises another question. If you were going to kill a man on a ship, would you hide his body in a pickle barrel?”

  Haley shook her dark curls. “I’d push him overboard and not risk a body being found.”

  “Which means that whoever killed Captain Walsh wanted him to be found.”

  “Proof of death?”

  “That sounds sinister.”

  Haley nodded. “Almost like organised crime or something.”

  Ginger stood and placed Boss back onto his pillow, and the dog spun in a tight circle before settling.

  “Who else would have a motive and means to kill the captain?” Haley said.

  Ginger paced the space between herself and Haley. “It could be anyone, really. It’s not as if we know everyone onboard.”

  “That’s true.”

  “But I can’t stop thinking about how Babineaux and Mrs. Walsh look at each other. Seems to me they are more than just casual acquaintances.”

  “Do you think the cook killed the captain to gain the captain’s wife?” Haley said. “He would be strong enough to put the body in the pickle barrel.”

  “Yes, but why would he then turn around and announce that it was there?”

  “Perhaps Babineaux thought that ‘finding’ the body would keep him above suspicion.”

  “That still doesn’t answer the question as to why he wouldn’t just push the corpse overboard,” Ginger said.

  Haley concurred. “It doesn’t.”

  “That makes Mrs. Walsh, Miss Guilford, Chief Officer MacIntosh, and Cook Babineaux all potential suspects.”

  “Who do we talk to next?” Haley asked.

  “Good question.” Ginger sat at the dressing table, r
an a brush through her hair, and tidied her bob. “We mustn’t get in the way of the chief inspector. We were lucky to get to Elise Walsh before he did, but we have to assume he has learned of the blackmail.”

  “The chief inspector does seem to be attentive and attuned to his surroundings,” Haley said with a wink. “He seems pretty attentive and attuned to you.”

  Ginger chuckled. “Stay on track, dear Nurse Higgins. Stay on track.”

  “If you insist,” Haley said. “What’s next? A visit to Miss Guilford?”

  Chapter Eleven

  Ginger hooked her arm through Haley’s as she coached Boss along on a leash. She didn’t want to leave him alone in their state room, and it was too inconvenient and time sensitive to seek out young Scout again.

  They made their way to the concierge to inquire of Miss Guilford’s room number. The concierge, a youth whose name tag read “Ernest,” appeared besotted by Ginger’s larger-than-life persona. Or perhaps he was just wary of the dog. It was hard to read the younger generation these days.

  “Have you met my Boston terrier?” Ginger said, smiling brightly. “His name is Boss.”

  “No, madam. I haven’t had the pleasure.” Ernest knelt lower and stretched out a hand. “He’s a friendly sort?”

  “He just ate, so you should be fine.”

  Ernest snapped back his hand and stared at Ginger with a startled look.

  “Oh, I’m just teasing you, Ernest. Boss is perfectly friendly.”

  Ernest let out a slow chuckle and made a second attempt. Boss leaned into the young man’s hand and relished the scratching behind his ear. His pink tongue licked the air with approval.

  “Boss is supposed to stay in the kennel for the trip, but I just can’t bear the thought of leaving him there. A little walk for fresh air must be okay.”

  “I’m a dog owner myself,” Ernest said, shrugging. “German shepherd. Maxine.”

  “A lovely breed. So smart!”

  “She is, madam. Smarter than a lot of blokes I know.”

  “I’m sure Maxine can’t wait for you to get home.” Ginger looked him in the eye. “Ernest? I’m wondering if you could help me out. We had the privilege of dining with Miss Nancy Guilford the other night,” Ginger said, pouring on English charm. “Such a delightful woman, and we got on so splendidly. I simply must see her again before we disembark. I would hate for a potential friendship to be squandered. I’m just so sorry for not getting her telephone number. Silly me.” Ginger batted her eyelashes at the enamoured young man.