Murder on the Minneapolis (17 page)

Flora turned and ran until the metal bars of the rail bit into her thighs, halting her. She gripped the polished wood top so hard, her fingers cramped in protest. The pain came as a welcome distraction, though not enough to still the words that echoed in her head. Eloise is dead.

T
HE ANGRY SEA
of that morning had settled to a gentle swell beneath a sky filled with the soft blues and pinks of a late spring afternoon. The wake of the ship stretched backwards in a surging white line towards the horizon, while the wind tugged Flora’s hair from its pins. She had no idea how long she stood there, her gaze fixed on the frothing water until her breathing slowed and the urge to scream dissolved.

Bunny moved into her line of vision, though she sensed he had been there for some time.

‘Are you all right, Flora?’ he asked gently.

She didn’t respond. How could she be all right?

He moved closer, the whoosh of the silk lining of his jacket strangely loud as he slipped a protective arm round her shoulders. ‘You were just staring out to sea, I thought it best to leave you alone.’

‘You – you know what has happened?’ Her voice came out croaky.

Instead of answering, he tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear, his fingers brushing her cheek. His touch made her want to bury her face in his neck, but she resisted in case he rejected her again; that would be too
much to bear.

‘How could anyone do something like that to Eloise?’ She squeezed her eyes shut, as if she could banish the images in her head.

‘The captain is inside her stateroom with Mr Hersch and Dr Fletcher.’ Bunny massaged her shoulder with one hand. ‘Their combined efforts should catch whoever did this pretty quickly.’

‘Huh!’ Her anger surfaced again. ‘Faint hope of that. At least this time no one can call it an accident.’ This time! What was she saying?

‘Dr Fletcher wants you to take this.’ He held up a small brown bottle with ridges on the side, twisting it round in his fingers. ‘It’s a sedative. For the shock, he said.’

‘That’s the last thing I need now,’ she snapped, annoyed with herself for taking her temper out on Bunny.

‘It’s all right to cry, you know.’ He slipped the bottle into his pocket, and leaned his elbows on top of the rail, his shoulders hunched.

‘I’m too angry to cry.’ She swiped a hand across her cheek, though it came away dry. ‘Eloise believed no one could touch her if she kept her identity secret.’ She sniffed again, then straightened. ‘Did you say Mr Hersch was in her stateroom?’

‘Yes. It appears our German friend is a detective.’ Bunny adjusted his glasses on his nose with his free hand. ‘A Pinkerton’s detective, no less.’

‘I’ve never heard of them.’ Flora sighed. ‘Though I should have guessed something of the sort. All those questions, and his authoritative manner all points that way.’

‘The agency is quite famous in America.’ Bunny stepped closer. ‘You realize we have some explaining to do about the van Elders?’

Flora frowned. ‘You were the one who told me to keep the newspaper clipping quiet until after we had heard from your reporter friend in New York.’

‘Well, yes, but I had no idea Eloise was dead when we sent that telegram.’

‘Was she?’ She fell silent as a couple strolling the deck passed by, only to pause in front of Eloise’s door, murmuring to each other. ‘Dead, I mean. What time did we return from the wireless office and you dragged Max from the deck?’

‘Difficult to say, around 12.45, or one o’clock maybe. Then we went into luncheon, after which everyone left for the bridge tournament.’

‘That’s about right.’ Flora paused, thoughtful. ‘I went back to my suite for a few moments, and – oh dear, this sounds as if we’re trying to get our story straight.’ She gave an embarrassed laugh that tailed off into a sob.

‘Well, we are in a way. As for the clipping, you waited three days before you showed it to me.’

‘I genuinely forgot about it,’ Flora hissed. ‘Are you implying her death is somehow my fault?’

‘The reverse, actually.’ His arm drifted to her shoulder and tightened. ‘I’m trying to reassure you that nothing either of us did or said would have made any impact on the outcome. Someone wanted Eloise dead for reasons of their own.’

Flora’s sense of guilt wouldn’t be banished that easily. ‘Parnell must have known Eloise’s real identity.’ She pressed a clenched fist against her mouth and spoke into her fingers. ‘I could have confronted Eloise with the clipping, got her to tell me the whole story.’

‘Maybe she had no intention of telling you anything. Have you thought of that?’

‘I would have convinced her,’ Flora said, not quite believing it herself.

‘That obituary still doesn’t tell us why someone would want to kill them both.’

‘No, no, it doesn’t.’ Flora chewed her bottom lip, unable to banish the thought that Eloise was right in that Mr Hersch was working for the van Elders. But he wouldn’t have killed her, surely?

‘Maybe Parnell tried to kill Eloise,’ Flora said, trying to make sense of her muddled thoughts. ‘She managed to fight him off and he died instead.’

‘Then who killed her?’

‘I don’t know.’ Her voice came out as a frustrated whine

‘Exactly.’ Bunny brought his free hand down on the rail with a thump. ‘We must examine the facts, not fit them to our theories.’

‘Now you sound like Mr Hersch.’

‘Do I? I’ve always wondered what it would be like to be a detective.’ At her exasperated expression he added, ‘Before I discovered motor cars, that is.’

He moved his arm from her shoulders to her waist, easing her away from the rail. ‘You need to sit down, preferably with some hot sweet tea for shock.’

‘That sounds good – oh!’ She brought a hand to her mouth. ‘Eddy!’

‘He’s listening to Beethoven in the salon. Gerald said they couldn’t keep this from the boys, so he is going to break it to them together after the recital.’

‘Gerald knows about Eloise?’

Bunny nodded. ‘He was here when I arrived. Drawn by the commotion, I imagine, which probably means most of the passengers will know by now.’

‘It’s so kind of him, although I feel terrible absolving
my responsibility for Eddy to someone else. I’ve done it too often lately.’

‘Maybe it’s best coming from Gerald. You know what little monsters young boys can be. They’ll probably demand details, and you’re in no state to deal with that. Flora.’ He lowered his voice, though there was no one close enough to hear. ‘I may have chosen the wrong time to talk about this, but when you hugged me this morning, I—’

‘It’s perfectly all right.’ Flora rolled her shoulder out of his hold, her back stiff. ‘I quite understand. It was presumptuous of me and won’t happen again.’

Everything had become so complicated, when all she really wanted was to get to know this considerate, attractive man. Now nothing could be normal after this.

She set off towards her suite, leaving Bunny to follow.

At the sight of the guard posted outside Eloise’s stateroom, Flora’s stomach lurched. She froze in place as the deck seemed to tilt beneath her though the sea was almost calm.

‘I can’t. Not yet,’ she whispered, staring past the sailor to where her own suite stood.

‘We could go somewhere else. The library, perhaps?’ Bunny suggested. ‘The bridge tournament will have broken up by now.’

Flora shook her head. ‘It’s not that. I’m not going to sit over tea waiting to be summoned by the captain. I need to talk to him now.’

She pushed through the door at the far end of the deck and erupted into the interior lobby, uncaring of the astonished faces that turned in her direction. Ignoring them all, she made for the stairs. Bunny’s footsteps sounded behind her, but she didn’t stop until she reached the Upper
Promenade deck. Halting on the landing, she searched frantically for a clue as to where to go next.

‘Where is it?’ she cried, panicked.

‘Opposite the library, over there.’ Bunny led her gently to a door marked ‘Captain’, giving it a sharp knock.

At a mumbled ‘come in’ from the other side, Flora entered an ‘L’ shaped cabin no larger than a stateroom, a double aspect view of the ocean she was too heartsick to appreciate.

Captain Gates occupied a swivel chair at a leather-topped desk, with Mr Hersch and Officer Martin, all of whom leapt to their feet at the sight of her.

‘Ah, my dear Miss Maguire. How are you feeling?’ The captain adopted a sympathetic expression.

She took a second or two to catch her breath, which came in shallow gasps after her run up the stairs.

How should she be feeling? Eloise was dead. Murdered, in the most horrible way.

‘I apologize, Captain,’ Bunny said, following her in. ‘Flora is still very upset, but determined to speak with you.’

Tempted to tell him she could speak for herself, Flora decided against it. He didn’t deserve her harsh tongue.

‘How are you holding up, Miss Maguire?’ Hersch asked, peering into her face.

‘Calmer,’ she murmured, unable to bring one single question into her mind. Those she could summon were ridiculous. ‘Who killed Eloise?’ and, ‘What are you doing about it?’ being the most prominent. ‘Are you really a detective?’ was the only think she could think of to say.

‘I am, my dear,’ he said gently. ‘I apologize for not confiding in you. However, the information was not mine to give.’

‘What does that mean?’ Bunny snapped, his irritation equal to Flora’s.

‘A thing called client confidentiality,’ he replied, making no attempt to explain further. ‘Captain Gates and I were about to speak with you, so it’s expedient you arrived here together,’ adding in a gentler tone. ‘Which is how you have spent most of this voyage, is it not? Together.’

Flora groaned inwardly. Not only had she shamefully neglected Eddy in her quest to prove she was right about Parnell’s death, now the entire ship must be gossiping about her and Bunny.

She could hear them now.
‘Did you know that little hussy governess has set her cap at that nice Mr Harrington? And two bodies she has found now. If that doesn’t tell you something about her, I don’t know what does
.’

How could she ever face the other passengers again?

Her cheeks flamed, which made Hersch smile. ‘I don’t mean to imply anything, my dear, but your mutual attachment has not gone unnoticed.’ He directed her to the last empty chair in the cramped room, leaving Bunny to hover in between.

Officer Martin withdrew his ubiquitous notebook from his pocket and resumed his seat, his pen poised over a page. Flora almost laughed aloud, but suppressed it in time. Apart from the location, the scene was so reminiscent of Sunday morning, she might have stepped back several days.

‘Here we are again, eh?’ Hersch appeared to read her thoughts. ‘Before we begin, I would ask that neither you nor Mr Harrington discuss what you saw in Miss Lane’s stateroom with the other passengers.’

‘That’s unlikely, isn’t it?’ Flora clenched both hands in her lap. ‘The entire ship will be buzzing by dinner.’

‘Not so. A death might not be concealed easily, though the circumstances can be. The crew have put out word that a maid came upon the body during her duties.’

‘I didn’t see anything,’ Bunny said, defensive. ‘The purser told me what had happened.’

‘What about Gerald Gilmore?’ Flora asked. ‘Bunny – I mean, Mr Harrington, said he arrived soon afterwards?’

‘He has also agreed to co-operate,’ Captain Gates said. ‘Mr Hersch is of the opinion the killer may reveal himself if we know more than he does.’

‘Like baiting a trap, you mean?’ Bunny said, his voice sharp.

‘In a way.’ The German inclined his head. ‘We also need to know where everyone was at the time Miss Lane was killed.’

‘Most people were in the library at the bridge tournament.’ Bunny’s eyes widened as he looked from the German to Flora. ‘I imagine you don’t think Miss Maguire had anything to do with it?’

Flora gasped at this bizarre suggestion. As if she could do something so brutal to any human being, especially lively, fun-loving Eloise? But then, Hersch didn’t know her, did he?

‘I think we can assume Miss Maguire is not involved.’ Hersch lowered his rear end onto the corner of the desk, his arms crossed over his chest. ‘Mr Harrington, perhaps you could give us your version of events from the time you last saw Miss Lane?’

Flora listened with barely restrained patience during Bunny’s ponderous account of their visit to the wireless room. He made no mention of the telegram they had sent, his rationale being that Flora wanted to see how a telegraph machine worked.

‘An odd time to make a visit, after all, the storm was still quite fierce then,’ Hersch observed, splitting a look between them.

‘Let me ask
you
a question,’ Flora asked in an effort to distract him. ‘Did you happen to find a large sum of money, or maybe a photograph in either Mr Parnell’s or Eloise’s staterooms? I assume you instigated a search of them both?’

Officer Martin’s fast-moving pen stilled and Captain Gates cleared his throat.

‘Why would you ask such a specific question, Miss Maguire?’ Hersch lifted one brow in enquiry.

Flora held her nerve and refused to explain. ‘Please answer me. Did you find anything?’

‘We came upon a photograph during the removal of Mr Parnell’s personal effects, yes.’ Hersch didn’t meet her eyes, giving her the impression the discovery was not unexpected.

‘You’ve seen it before?’

His hesitation answered her question. Eloise was right. He was working for the van Elders.

‘The clipping,’ she whispered to Bunny without looking at him. After a pause during which Flora imagined Bunny hunting in his pockets, he placed the sheet of newsprint into her open palm.

‘Then you have seen this too.’ She handed the piece of newsprint to Hersch.

The detective removed a pair of oval spectacles from his pocket that Flora had never seen him use before and put them on. He scanned the page quickly before giving it to Captain Gates, confirming that this too was not a surprise. ‘Where did you get this?’ He removed the glasses slowly, swinging them gently by an arm.

‘I have an explanation.’ Flora attempted a smile. ‘Though not a particularly good one, so if you don’t mind, I’ll save it for another time. Besides, it’s not as if we share total honesty. Is it, Mr Hersch?’

‘I suppose I asked for that.’ Hersch tapped the arm of his glasses against his bottom lip. ‘I won’t press you. For the moment.’ The threat he would do so later was implied. ‘However, I would be interested to know why you think this obituary has something to do with Miss Lane’s murder?’