Ginger Gold Mystery Box Set 3 Read online

  "We should start with the one closest to Kensington Gardens," Basil said.

  "Of course." It was the small things that broadcast Basil's experience and her lack of it. Although someone could've driven Emelia to the park, she supposed. She rewrote the list starting with the club in Notting Hill.

  A heavy, awkward silence rested between them in the Crossley, just like it had when Emelia had first re-entered Basil's life after a two-year absence. Ginger and Basil had only been friendly at the time, but if they were honest, their encounters bordered on flirtatious and their relationship had been moving towards something more. Emelia was responsible for the barrier again, her ability to cripple whatever lay between Ginger and Basil just as effective in her death as in her life. Ginger wondered if she and Basil would ever be rid of her essence.

  Ginger parked in front of the run-down Notting Hill establishment. Lights that would shine brightly in the night, and the corresponding energy of jazz music that would filter out of the door each time it opened were now dark, quiet, and empty.

  "I didn't consider it might not be open," Basil said. "But of course, a proprietor like this doesn't hold to normal business hours."

  "There might still be someone inside," Ginger said, though she didn't hold out much hope.

  "We're here anyway," Basil said, wearily. "It wouldn't hurt to take a look around."

  The brick exterior of the club had no windows, and the door needed paint. Litter tucked into the base of the cement foundation. A stench of urine reached Ginger's nose. Ginger could imagine the clientele this establishment attracted, and she couldn't believe Emelia would become entwined with such a place. At least, Ginger certainly hoped not.

  Knocking on the front entrance produced no response.

  "Maybe the back door," Ginger suggested.

  There was a narrow space between the club and the next building, and with each step closer to the alley the litter mounds grew larger and the stench increased.

  Basil rapped his knuckles on the wooden door.

  It appeared that there would be no answer, and they had already turned to go when the door opened. A diminutive man in loose-fitting clothing spoke gruffly. "Whatcha want?"

  Basil produced his identification card. "I'm Chief Inspector Reed of Scotland Yard. Who might you be?"

  "Name's Benson. Co-owner of this establishment.”

  Basil held out a photograph to the man. Ginger glimpsed the image of Emelia, alive and smiling, eyes sparkling with joy. The picture had been cut down the middle. Ginger recognized Basil's shoulder and jawline, tucked in close.

  "Have you seen this woman, Mr. Benson?" Basil asked.

  Benson studied the photo and shook his head.

  "Never seen her. I already told this to the other guy. "

  Basil frowned. "What other guy?"

  "Some bigwig. Morris, I think he said his name was. He didn't have a photograph, but he was asking after a brunette."

  "I see. Well, thank you for your time, Mr. Benson," Basil said.

  Back in the Crossley Basil muttered, "Morris is already ahead of us."

  "Let's start from the other end, then," Ginger said. "We'll meet in the middle."

  "He can't know we're investigating. If you remember, he pulled me off the case, and you are on his blacklist."

  "We'll make sure to watch out for him," Ginger said with a sigh.

  Basil stared morosely out of the window. "Let's do as you suggested, head to the North Star."

  In stark contrast, the North Star had newly painted wooden window frames and a large professionally printed sign surrounded by extinguished light bulbs. Only the typical London smells of motorcar exhaust and horse manure assaulted Ginger’s nose. It was classier than the last one, which reflected the status of the clientele that would frequent it (even though each member of the gentry would steadfastly deny ever having crossed the threshold).

  Basil knocked on the door, and this time it opened.

  "Yeah?" The man said suspiciously. He barely gave Ginger a cursory glance.

  Basil flashed his card. "I'm Chief Inspector Basil Reed. And you are?"

  "Conway Sayer, club manager."

  Basil held out Emelia's photo. "Do you know this woman?"

  The man's expression remained unchanged as he stared at Emelia's image. "What if I did? Is she in trouble with the law?"

  Basil swallowed. "She's dead. Murdered sometime last night."

  The man's face softened. "Blimey. I'm sorry to hear it. Destiny was a popular gal."

  Ginger exchanged a glance with Basil. Destiny? Like the Waterhouse painting.

  "Not her real name, I imagine," Mr. Sayer continued. "All the gals here use phoney names to protect their privacy."

  Basil cleared his throat. "When was the last time you saw, er, Destiny?"

  "Last night, during her show. She disappeared right afterwards. Maybe she left with a client."

  Basil's mortification radiated off him in hot waves, and Ginger felt herself blush at this revelation. Had Emelia really been a doxy? What on earth for? Why in heaven's name would she choose this life over a domesticated one with Basil?

  "Did she leave any personal items behind?" Basil asked.

  "Maybe. The gals do each have a cupboard, but it's up to them to lock it if they want."

  "Do you mind if we step inside," Basil said. "I'd like to have a look at . . . Destiny's cupboard."

  The man hesitated.

  "This is a murder investigation, Mr. Sayer."

  The man stepped backwards and waved them in.

  The walls of the dressing room area were lined with mirrors, each flanked with big bright bulbs and a chair facing it. Racks of bright costumes included a variety of corsets and underthings, and there were accordion screens with Egyptian print for a modicum of privacy. Behind the door on the wall was a row of cupboards. Mr. Sayer tapped on one. "This was Destiny's. Now if you don't mind, I have work to attend to." The club manager left them alone.

  Basil stared at the cupboard door, unmoving.

  "Perhaps I should look inside," Ginger said. Basil nodded subtly.

  Ginger shifted in front of Basil, attempting to block his view. The last thing he needed was another big shock. She inhaled and slowly opened the door.

  A jade-green silk frock was folded neatly inside, along with a pair of white T-strap shoes and a white short-brimmed hat, all items of good quality that would sell at a reasonable price. "Just some clothes," Ginger said, shifting aside. "This must be what she wore when she arrived yesterday." Before she performed her show. "Do you want to tag them as evidence?" Ginger added briefly forgetting that Basil was no longer in official authoritative capacity. "No," she added quickly. "I suppose you can't."

  "We must," Basil said, surprising her. "There may be evidence among them, and I don't trust Superintendent Morris to get it right."

  Basil always had paper evidence bags tucked in the pockets of his overcoat and he produced three. With gloved hands, Ginger dropped each item in as Basil held the openings wide.

  "We'll get Haley to examine these," Ginger said. "She has access to the hospital labs."

  Ginger safely deposited the evidence bags in the boot of the motorcar and was about to drive off when a hard knocking of the knuckles on her window startled her.

  Superintendent Morris’ disgruntled face peered through it. Ginger shot Basil a look—caught!

  "Well, well, well," Superintendent Morris sang uncharitably as Ginger rolled her window down. "The two of you investigating when I told you both not to."

  "Sir," Basil began.

  Superintendent Morris held out a palm. "Save your breath, Mr. Reed."

  Mr. Reed?

  Superintendent Morris' smirk deepened. "I'll have to ask you to come with me to the station."

  "Sir, this was my fault," Basil said. "You can take me in, but let Lady Gold go home."

  "Oh, I'm taking you in all right. Please step out of the motorcar."

  Ginger's heart thudded like a rabbit's. Her ner
ves were taut and ready to act. Her mind flashed to a similar encounter with the German patrol in France during the war.

  Basil held her gaze for a long second before doing as Superintendent Morris asked. Two constables flanked Basil on either side. This couldn't be a good sign. The next second proved it to be a very, very bad sign.

  Superintendent Morris' voice reverberated loudly, and Ginger heard his words as she sat in the motorcar. "Basil Reed, you're under arrest on suspicion of murdering your wife, Emelia Reed."

  Chapter Twelve

  Ginger fumed on her way back to the city mortuary. What an imbecile! Superintendent Morris couldn't detect a murderer if the killer punched him on the nose!

  Once she had Haley's full attention, she explained her and Basil's findings at the North Star. Ginger gesticulated wildly. "Now, instead of looking for the real killer, Basil, who could actually solve the case, is sitting in a locked jail cell!"

  "I agree with you," Haley began, "However, it's true that a large majority of women who die violently, do so at the hands of their own spouse."

  "Basil did not kill Emelia!"

  "Of course he didn't," Haley said wisely. "He's smitten with you."

  "You wouldn't know it by how he's acting," Ginger murmured.

  "Ginger, honey. Basil's in shock. Even though he was no longer with his wife, no longer loved her, Emelia had been a significant person in his life for some years. It's bound to have an impact on him. He wouldn't be human if it didn’t."

  Ginger paced the floor, hands on hips.

  "Yes, I know you're right, but I'm not so sure he's no longer in love with Emelia."

  "Well, it's a moot point now, isn't it?"

  Ginger dropped onto a wooden chair. "Oh, I'm a horrible person! A woman died. I'm feeling jealous of a dead person. My main concern should be to solve this case. For Basil's sake, we have to find out who killed her."

  "Agreed," Haley said. "What's in the bags?"

  Ginger had plopped the evidence bags on a lab countertop. "Emelia's clothes. We found them at the North Star. Luckily, Superintendent Morris didn't check the boot of my motorcar." This was further proof of the man's ineptness. Basil wouldn't have failed to have a peek.

  Haley hummed. "You've got interference in a police investigation down to a science."

  Ginger didn't respond to that comment. "Can you look the items over? Maybe there's a clue hidden in there."

  "Off the record?"

  "Please."

  "I'd only do something like this for you, Ginger."

  "You're the best of the best, my friend."

  Next stop: Feathers and Flair. There was still the matter of Dorothy's grandmother's hairpin, and Ginger had a few questions for her shop assistant.

  "Madame Roux," Ginger said with no preamble. "I need to speak to Dorothy."

  "Je suis désolée, madame," Ginger's shop manager said, "but Miss West is not here. It is her afternoon off."

  Ginger's mind brought up the shop's calendar. It was indeed the afternoon Dorothy didn't come into work. Emma took the floor on these days, leaving her duties as a seamstress for days when both girls were in. Ginger picked up the receiver of the elaborately detailed ivory full-handled telephone, dialled the operator, and asked for Dorothy’s parents’ number. Unfortunately, the West family didn’t have a telephone.

  "Drat.”

  "Is everything all right, madam," Madame Roux inquired.

  "I'm afraid not. A client who was helped upstairs by Dorothy yesterday has been murdered."

  "Mon dieu! Who, madam?"

  Ginger paused before relaying her answer. Though she and Basil had kept their blossoming relationship discreet, her staff were privy to its nature.

  "Mrs. Reed."

  Madame Roux's bejewelled fingers flew to her mouth. "Oh, no. Does Inspector Reed know?"

  "Yes." No need to fill Madame Roux in on the fact that Basil now sat in a jail cell at Scotland Yard. "It's imperative that I talk to Dorothy. Mrs. Reed might've said or done something that could shed light on the matter."

  Emma approached the two women. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to overhear. Such dreadful news. If you're looking for Dorothy, she told me that she was going to be volunteering at St. George's Church."

  Initially astounded by this tidbit of information, on further reflection, it made sense to Ginger. Dorothy's infatuation with Oliver Hill was apparent.

  "Thank you, Emma," Ginger said as she headed for the entrance.

  Ginger was so consumed with the case that even she noticed her driving was on the erratic side. She hadn't heard so many motorcar horns blasting and tyres screeching for some weeks. She nearly ran into the back of a slow-moving horse and cart.

  "They need to give motorcars their own lane!"

  Ginger heard the frustration in her voice. She was worried about Basil. The whole affair was horrid. She needed answers.

  Ginger slowed down as she drew up to the church. She was a refined, disciplined lady, not a blast of wind.

  She found Mrs. Davies in the rectory. "Mrs. Davies, I'm looking for Miss Dorothy West. Do you know her?"

  "Yes, she's a very nice girl. Attends Sunday service regularly."

  "Good. I'm told she might be volunteering here today. It's essential that I speak to her."

  "She was helping me to sort through the clothing donations, but she's in the garden now having tea with Reverend Hill."

  Having tea with Reverend Hill? It seemed an intimate thing to do for a vicar with his sights on another woman, although, Ginger often shared tea alone with Oliver. She couldn't blame the man for being a good host.

  Oliver rose to his feet when he saw her, immediately approached her, and took her gloved hand in his. "Lady Gold, so nice to see you."

  "And you, Oliver."

  Dorothy's previously happy countenance switched to one of distress. She apparently hadn't expected to see her employer today, and especially not here.

  "What brings you this way?" Oliver asked jovially.

  "Actually, I need to have a word with Miss West if you don't mind. In private."

  "Oh, yes, certainly. I have work to do in my office. I'll ask Mrs. Davies to bring some more tea."

  "That's not necessary," Ginger said. "I won't be long."

  Ginger sat in the garden chair which had been occupied by Oliver only moments before, and Dorothy's expression grew even grimmer.

  "What is it, Lady Gold? Is there a problem at the shop?"

  "No. I'm afraid it's much more dire than that."

  "Oh, dear. What's wrong?"

  "One of our clients has been found murdered."

  "How awful! Who was it?"

  "Emelia Reed."

  Dorothy slumped in her chair, the colour in her cheeks draining to white. "Oh, my! I just talked to her yesterday!"

  "I know. That is why I had to find you."

  "Well, I don't know what to say."

  "What did you talk about at the shop?"

  Dorothy gulped, then took a sip of tea. If Ginger hadn’t known the girl better, she would've guessed that she was about to tell a lie.

  "It was a perfectly normal interaction," Dorothy finally said. "She bought a Lanvin."

  From her handbag, Ginger removed the story button pin imprinted with the distinctive relief of young lovers. "This was in her fist."

  Dorothy looked ill. "It's very much like mine."

  "Is it yours?"

  "It can't be. I had it in the pocket of my cardigan." Dorothy glanced down. "This cardigan in fact!" She rummaged through the pockets. "It's gone."

  "It's important you think back, Dorothy. Tell me everything that happened from the moment she walked into Feathers & Flair to the moment she left.

  "I didn't see her enter, so I can’t vouch for what she did on the ground floor, but I noticed her immediately as she topped the steps. She always carries herself with such grace and charm. Oh, milady, I'm so sorry to go on about her like that with you and the inspector—"

  "It's quite all right," Ginger s
aid, ignoring the cool prickles that ran up her spine. "Continue."

  "She asked about how we got our factory dresses, and if anyone bought such a thing," Dorothy hurried to add, "I reassured her that the upper-class lady was very interested in the convenience, and even the price."

  "Okay, what else?"

  "She took an interest in the Jeanne Lanvin factory line, one of which she later purchased. Then you came upstairs."

  "I remember. That was when this clip fell out of your hair."

  "Yes. And I put it in this pocket." She patted the pocket on the right-hand side of her cardigan.

  "Then I left . . ." Ginger prompted.

  "Shortly after that, Mrs. Reed knocked down the rack with the scarves. She helped me to right it."

  "Have you ever been to the North Star club?"

  Dorothy looked aghast. "No! Never. How could you ask such a thing?"

  "I didn't mean to offend you, Dorothy, but it's necessary that I ask certain questions. Did you find yourself in the company of Mrs. Reed anywhere else?"

  "No, madam. I only knew who she was because she attended the open house gala at Feathers & Flair."

  With Basil.

  "Is there anything else, madam?"

  "That'll be all for now, Dorothy. I'll let Reverend Hill know that I'm leaving."

  She met Oliver in the doorway. Apparently, he was waiting for them to finish. "Is everything all right?" Oliver asked.

  Ginger filled him in on the murder. Oliver expressed his sympathies and hurried back to Dorothy. She was dabbing her tears with a handkerchief as he put his hand on her shoulder to console her.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Basil was being held at the police station near the Old Bailey.

  Ginger walked inside the stone building, tall and poised, as if she had every reason in the world to be there and spoke to the constable on duty.

  "I would like to visit Mr. Reed."

  "And your name, madam?"

  "Lady Gold."

  "Are you a relative?" The man regarded her suspiciously.

  "No. I'm a friend."

  He pushed a clipboard across the counter. "Fill this in, please."