Murder at Brighton Beach Page 6

  She raised a brow. “We’re chums. We met in London.”

  “Did you meet Mr. Findley before this gathering?” Ginger asked.

  “I did.”

  Ginger cocked her head. “Would you consider him a chum?”

  Poppy scoffed. “Hardly. Austin said he invited him because they had to attend to business affairs. Mr. Findley isn’t exactly one of us.”

  “Can you think of any reason someone would’ve wanted Mr. Bainbridge dead?” Basil asked.

  “None at all. Austin was, if not loved by all, certainly liked. He had a charming and amiable personality.”

  Ginger mused at how Miss Kerslake’s assessment of Austin Bainbridge was quite the opposite of Quentin Bainbridge’s, the deceased’s brother. “Why would you say he wasn’t loved by all?” she asked.

  “Austin could be difficult at times. He drank a bit too much, gambled a bit too much, looked down his nose at those he felt were beneath him. But you could say that about a lot of men. It’s not a reason to kill a fella. Though—”

  Basil raised a brow. “Though?”

  “I did overhear him and Mr. Findley arguing. Austin was shouting obscenities. They’d both been drinking. I’d only gone to the ladies for a few minutes, and when they saw I’d returned, they both suddenly shut like a vault.”

  Ginger glanced at Basil. Another conversation with Mr. Findley would be in order.

  Basil got to his feet, and Ginger followed. “Thank you for your time, er, Poppy,” Basil said. “Please don’t leave Brighton. I may need to speak to you again.”

  Poppy smiled seductively. “Anytime, Chief Inspector.”

  Once they were in the corridor, Ginger let out a huff of disgust. “What a hussy.”

  “Ginger, love,” Basil said, his chin ducked as he looked down at her, his hazel eyes twinkling. “Jealousy is rather unbecoming.”

  “I know, but she flirted openly with you whilst I, your wife, was sitting right there! Such audacity.”

  Basil put his arm around Ginger’s shoulder and squeezed. “You know there’s no one who could ever claim my heart but you.”

  Ginger sighed as she melted into Basil’s side. I’m emotional again. Since conceiving, I just am not myself. “And you have mine,” she said. “Now, let’s check on Scout before he thinks we’ve abandoned him to Ambrosia!”

  12

  Just as Ginger had feared, Felicia wasn’t in her suite when she and Basil checked up on Scout. Ambrosia had nodded off in a most unsophisticated way—her soft chins high in the air and her thin, wrinkled lips parted.

  Scout chortled when he saw Ginger approach and pointed. Ginger put a finger to her mouth, then loudly cleared her throat. Ambrosia’s feathers were ruffled, and Ginger purposely focused on Scout and Boss, as if she hadn’t just come upon the Dowager Lady Gold mid-snore.

  “Hello, Boss,” she said as the dog rushed to her side. She scooped him into her arms and rubbed him behind the ears. If it weren’t for Boss’ affection for Scout, she’d feel guilty leaving him behind so much.

  “Can we go to the beach again?” Scout said, hopefully.

  “I’m afraid our holiday needs to be cut short,” Basil said. “There’s been an accident—”

  “I know, Aunt Felicia told me all about it. Can’t I go swimming once more before we leave for London? Please?”

  Ginger knew Basil had to focus on the case, and even if she were up to spending time in the sun, the case before her was too intriguing to ignore.

  “Dad and I have to work, but I bet Felicia and Lizzie could go with you and Boss,” Ginger said, lowering Boss to the floor. “Would that be all right?”

  Scout shrugged. As if it were the best idea in the world, Boss stared back at him with his tongue hanging out. “All right with us.”

  “But then, you must go back to London tomorrow morning with Lady Gold and Lizzie. No ifs, ands, or buts. Dad and I will join you as soon as we can.”

  “Where is Felicia?” Ambrosia said. “And I wouldn’t mind some tea.”

  “I’m not sure,” Ginger said. “I’ll ring the bell for Langley and Lizzie.”

  Basil excused himself, saying he needed to make a call to Scotland Yard. “I’ll meet you in the lounge,” he said to Ginger as he left.

  Ginger agreed, hoping he didn’t get ahead of her and stumble upon Felicia, who was, no doubt, enjoying the company of one of their suspects.

  Langley and Lizzie shortly reported for duty. Ambrosia commissioned Langley to fetch a tea tray, while Ginger took Lizzie to the side and quietly asked her to give Felicia a message. “I believe she may be found in the lounge. Please let her know that I would like to speak to her as soon as possible. I’ll be in my suite. Then please prepare to escort Scout to the beach. Be sure he doesn’t go in too far.”

  “Yes, madam.” Lizzie curtsied, then rushed off.

  As good fortune would have it, the head housekeeper was in the corridor when Ginger, with Scout at her side, stepped into it. As if she intended to pretend she hadn’t seen Ginger, the woman quickly turned. How odd.

  Ginger called out, “Mrs. Merrick?”

  Mrs. Merrick stopped and faced Ginger. She had a stack of folded towels in her hands.

  “Hello, Mrs. Reed. Are you in need of a fresh towel? Something else?”

  The housekeeper wasn’t the smiling type, and as her gaze dropped to Scout, her eyes darkened, a look of suppressed pain flashing behind them.

  “We have quite enough towels thank you, Mrs. Merrick,” Ginger said. “But I hope you have a moment to spare for a quick question.”

  “Of course,” Mrs. Merrick said. “I’m here to make your stay as pleasant as possible.”

  “Yes, well, my question is about Miss Kerslake’s trunk, the one that went missing.”

  Mrs. Merrick’s dark gaze narrowed. “A dreadful affair, that. Someone actually sneaked into the luggage room and stole the trunk. We started locking it after that, I can assure you.”

  “You’ve no idea who might’ve taken it?” Ginger asked.

  With a steely look, Mrs. Merrick answered, “None at all. Now, if there’s nothing else?”

  “That’s everything, Mrs. Merrick. Thank you.”

  As Ginger sauntered back to her suite with Scout at her side, a wave of fatigue overtook her. “Go and get your bathing costume on,” she instructed.

  As Scout ran off, Ginger took time to wash. A little cold water on the face and a fresh frock would do wonders to re-energise her. She missed having Lizzie to assist her—doing the buttons at the back was tricky—but fortunately, Ginger was the flexible sort and managed to relieve herself of her outfit. She chose a casual Jean Lanvin frock with simple lines dropping at the waist.

  With fresh lipstick and new rouge on her cheeks, Ginger felt she looked as good as new. She’d just entered the sitting area of the suite when Felicia tapped on the door and let herself in.

  “You require my presence?” Felicia asked with the tone of one who’s been insulted.

  “I do,” Ginger said. “Were you busy with something? Or should I say, someone?”

  Felicia’s gaze darted to the side. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Can you honestly tell me you didn’t go to the lounge to seek out Lord Davenport-Witt?”

  “So, what if I did? It’s not like a bit of friendly conversation is going to alter your investigation. And did it occur to you that perhaps I might find out a bit of information that may be of interest to you? Surely, the earl would be more forthcoming with me than being interrogated by the two of you.”

  Ginger thought Felicia might have a point. “And did you?”

  Felicia pouted. “Well, it’s not like I want him to be guilty of anything. He did tell me that he and Poppy Kerslake were only friends, which I have to say delighted me to bits, and that he and Austin Bainbridge were good friends from university.”

  Ginger worked her lips. Not exactly significant news, though she suspected Poppy Kerslake wanted to change that relationship status. A man
with a title and means wasn’t wanting for female attention. Perhaps the earl was a man of some scruples who wouldn’t betray his good friend by taking up with his girl, but if the fellow were out of the way? Could Poppy have believed the earl would come to her if Austin weren’t around? Did she see herself and Lord Davenport-Witt as future lovers pushed together by tragic circumstances?

  Which made Ginger wonder why the earl had remained unmarried? He was at least Ginger’s age and eligible.

  “All of that’s neither here nor there at the moment,” Ginger responded. “I hope you’ll be willing to accompany Scout and Lizzie to the beach for an hour or so. I promised he could go one more time before leaving, and Basil and I simply can’t.”

  “It’s not like I have anything else to do.” Felicia smiled crookedly in the way she did when she was about to tease. “And there’s always a nice show of handsome men frolicking about.”

  13

  Davenport-Witt could be a patient man when he wanted to, at least that was Basil’s assessment when he and Ginger finally met up with the earl, who by now was sipping an amber beverage. Basil couldn’t be certain just what number the drink constituted, but by the glossy shimmer in the man’s eyes, he’d wager a guess it wasn’t his first.

  “Ah, the Reed family arrives at last,” Davenport-Witt said with a nod of his head. He raised his glass. “Can I order you a drink, old chap? Madam?”

  “Perhaps, when we’ve finished with our questions,” Basil said. He enjoyed a brandy or other spirits at the end of the workday, but one had to keep one’s mind clear whilst on the job.

  “As you wish.” Davenport-Witt sipped gingerly then smiled with pleasure as he swallowed. “Ah. Hits the spot, doesn’t it?”

  Basil and Ginger joined Davenport-Witt, each claiming a leather-backed chair. A chessboard sat on the table, clearly abandoned mid-game, though a cursory glance confirmed to Basil that the black team, apparently the earl’s colour, would’ve won in less than five moves.

  The room was windowless, and the lighting dim, yet the glimmering crystal lamps provided an inviting ambience. A female jazz singer cooed in the background.

  “I understand that you and our victim, Austin Bainbridge, were long-time friends,” Basil said.

  “That’s true,” Davenport-Witt admitted, “and oh, how it pinches to hear him referred to as a victim. He would’ve hated that.”

  “Oh?” Ginger prompted.

  “Austin wasn’t the type of bloke to be found at the bottom of the pile if you know what I mean. He was always at the top. Wouldn’t settle for less.”

  “It’s rather lonely at the top, isn’t it?” Ginger asked.

  “Indeed, if it’s a pinnacle,” Davenport-Witt said with a grin. “And with Austin, it always was.”

  “I imagine he wasn’t alone in wanting that spot,” Basil said. “A rather competitive position?”

  Davenport-Witt smirked. “What, kind sir, are you suggesting?”

  “If more than one man wants to be king, a battle must ensue,” Basil said.

  “You’re suggesting that someone knocked Austin off his pinnacle?” Davenport-Witt snorted. “I can assure you that it wasn’t me. I’d rather play with the peasants.” The earl chuckled. “Theoretically, I’ve got no interest in power for power’s sake. Though, if you consider the competition amongst brothers—”

  “Are you saying that Austin was at odds with Quentin?” Ginger asked.

  Lord Davenport-Witt lifted a shoulder. “Quentin’s a bit of a wet fish, but he is the younger of the two. I know it’s surprising, isn’t it? Unlike Austin, he inherited his father’s receding hairline. That, and with a wife and child, everyone just assumed he was the eldest brother. And now he’s the heir to the Bainbridge fortune.”

  Basil caught Ginger’s eye. It was a good motive.

  “Poppy Kerslake led us to believe that she and Austin had an understanding,” Ginger said. “She thought he’d invited her to Brighton to propose.”

  The earl laughed heartily. “That’s news to me. The Austin Bainbridge I knew refused to be tied to just one woman. I’m afraid Miss Kerslake would’ve been kept waiting a long time.”

  Basil stilled. If Poppy Kerslake had learned that Austin wasn’t going to make her his wife, could she have become angry enough to kill him? Basil pivoted to a new subject, a sometimes-effective technique to upset an interviewee’s equilibrium, and asked, “How well do you know Mr. Findley?”

  “That stuffy old shirt? Not well. I met him on occasion in London whilst in the company of Austin.”

  “You didn’t approve of Austin Bainbridge’s association with Mr. Findley?” Ginger asked.

  “Ah, that was just another lost cause for Austin. He was in the habit of getting into soft business ventures that were doomed to fail. It was a major bone of contention between the brothers. Quentin accused him of reckless disregard for the family coffers.”

  “Can you think of anyone who would want to see Austin dead?” Basil asked. “Besides his brother or business partner.”

  Davenport-Witt downed the rest of his drink. “I can’t say that I can. Austin was a lover, not a fighter. He could be a bit short-sighted when it came to the feelings of other earthly sojourners, but who isn’t from time to time? Now, is there anything else?”

  Basil shook his head. “That will be all for now, Lord Davenport-Witt, but please don’t leave Brighton.”

  “Understood. Good day, then, Chief Inspector Reed, Mrs. Reed.”

  As the earl stepped away, Ginger called after him. “Lord Davenport-Witt?”

  “Yes?”

  “Have we met before? I feel like I should know you, but I can’t think from where?”

  Something flashed behind the earl’s eyes, and a twitch in his cheek hinted at a note of danger.

  “Sadly, I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure,” he said. “I have a familiar face and, on occasion, have been reported on in the society pages.” The devil-may-care expression returned. “Believe me, madam, if we’d met, I would’ve remembered you.”

  After the man had left, Basil stared down at his wife. “What is it, love?”

  “I find him unsettling, and it troubles me that I can’t put a finger on why.”

  Leaving the lounge, Ginger and Basil strolled through the reception area towards the lift. The manager rested his pen on the desk when he saw them, his face breaking into a friendly smile. “Good afternoon, Chief Inspector and Mrs. Reed. I hope everything is to your liking here at the Brighton Seaside Hotel. Is there anything I can do for you?”

  Ginger tugged on Basil’s arm and whispered. “We’ve yet to question Mr. Floyd.”

  Basil mumbled back. “Now is as good a time as any.” Then loudly, “Good afternoon, Mr. Floyd. We are well, thank you.”

  Ginger and Basil approached the desk, and Ginger ensured they were set apart from other guests meandering by. “Would you mind if we asked you a few questions?” she said. “It’ll only take a moment.”

  The manager blinked, his thin moustache stretching over a mouth that tightened subtly before relaxing into his familiar grin. “Of course. Anything I can do to help, I will.”

  “You’re aware, of course,” Basil began, “that I’m now here on official police business.”

  “Yes, the kind inspector did inform me of the dreadful turn of events. The management has expressed our deepest sympathies to the family.”

  “How long have you worked here?” Ginger asked.

  “Since 1919.” Mr. Floyd laughed carefully. “I’ve seen a great number of changes since then.”

  Ginger smiled back. “As we all have, I’m sure. How often does the Bainbridge family come to Brighton on holiday? Annually? Or was this the first time?”

  “Hmm, I wouldn’t say annually, though they may have, regrettably, stayed at a competitor’s hotel. But a few times over the last few years, certainly.”

  “What did you think of Mr. Austin Bainbridge?” Basil asked.

  The manager’s head jerked back.
“Oh, it’s not my business to make judgements on our guests. I couldn’t say I thought anything about him at all.”

  Basil leaned casually against the counter. “You’re not a machine, Mr. Floyd, and, I would say, you’re quite adept at making sound character judgements. You must have had a few thoughts regarding the deceased.”

  The poor manager swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bouncing in response. His face reddened at Basil’s request, and Ginger felt a twinge of pity.

  “I can’t really say,” Mr. Floyd finally said, “besides, it’s uncouth to speak ill of the dead.”

  Ginger gazed back with sympathy. “Mr. Floyd, the chief inspector and I both understand that a man in your position must value a guest’s privacy and keep all secrets as a matter of principle. However, this is a murder enquiry. The fact that you don’t want to speak ill of the dead suggests that there was, in fact, something ill of which to speak.”

  Mr. Floyd let out a defeated breath. “Very well, Mr. Austin Bainbridge would ask me to cover for him, on occasion.”

  “Cover?” Basil said. “As in lie?”

  “Yes. He didn’t want his brother to know that he visited . . . er . . .” He lowered his voice. “. . . Gambling rooms. If Mr. Quentin Bainbridge should ask if I’d seen him, I was to say he’d gone swimming.”

  “The morning of his disappearance,” Ginger started, “did Mr. Austin Bainbridge go swimming?”

  “I would say not. He most certainly wasn’t dressed for the beach, at any rate.”

  “Did he say where he was going?”

  “No, madam. I wish he had. I would’ve told him the tide was too high for swimming. It was a blustery day. Dangerous for both swimming and sailing.”

  14

  “I’m sure we could make it to the train station without being chaperoned by you.”

  As the Gold family’s matriarch and head of the house for so many years, Ambrosia had developed a strong-headed tenacity as a means of survival. When the Gold family fortunes turned because of the unbeknown gambling habits of both her husband and son, Ambrosia had found a way to conceal their hardships and save their reputation. When Lord Gold died, she was left to manage the estate and keep it from the brink of bankruptcy. When her son and daughter-in-law suffered their tragic carriage accident, it was Ambrosia who, though ageing, had taken on the role of mother to Felicia and Daniel.