Murder on the Minneapolis (21 page)

‘I can’t explain. If only Cyn had listened to me at the beginning, but she’s a loyal girl, you see.’ His gaze drifted past her shoulder to where Cynthia had reappeared. Dropping Flora’s hand as if it were hot, he relaxed onto his pillows with a sigh.

‘Poor dear, he didn’t sleep well last night,’ Cynthia said.

‘How are you bearing up, Cynthia?’ Flora asked on her way to the door. She took in the darting eyes and the paleness of her skin beneath a layer of face powder.

‘Me?’ Cynthia issued a high-pitched laugh tinged with hysteria. ‘What could possibly be wrong with me?’

F
LORA JOINED THE
line of spectators gathered to watch the horse racing on the boat deck below, where hemp ropes had been strung on wooden posts marking the course. Several of the more youthful crew wore caps with matching coloured bands across their shoulders, each of whom straddled broomsticks on which had been attached papier mâché horse’s heads.

Flora’s gaze skimmed the lines of excited children who hung over the rails on the upper decks, finally settling on Eddy, who perched beside Gerald, Monica and Ozzy on one of the bench seats set out for spectators.

Flora sensed rather than saw Bunny’s arrival, confirmed when his upper arm grazed hers. She leaned into him slightly and relaxed into the spirit of the warm afternoon where she didn’t have to think about violence and death for a while.

‘Bunny, I have something to tell you, but—’ She broke off when Eddy spotted her and gave an enthusiastic wave. He said something to Gerald, who nodded, then leapt to his feet and mounted the companionway steps towards her.

‘I’ll tell you later,’ she whispered, as Eddy halted beside her, his straw boater tipped back on his head.

‘Tease me, why don’t you?’ Bunny murmured, half serious.

‘I’m backing Arthritis in the Seasick Hurdle.’ Eddy waved a slip of paper beneath her nose.

‘Placing real bets at your age, surely not?’ Bunny blinked in feigned shock though his smile remained in place.

‘Only twenty-five cents a time, which is about a shilling.’ Eddy pulled a mildly disgusted face. ‘And it’s only a game, I shan’t develop the gambling bug.’

‘I should hope not.’ Bunny delved into his trouser pocket. ‘What do you reckon on Count de Money in the Lowbrow Handicap, or shall I lose my shirt?’

‘Lose, I think,’ Eddy replied. ‘His rider is that paunchy fellow in a yellow cap down there, see?’

‘Hmm. Perhaps I’ll just stick with Steam Hammer. He looks sprightly enough.’

‘That’s Captain Gates’s horse.’ Eddy spoke with the calm authority of someone who had researched their subject. ‘Each horse is sponsored by an officer or a passenger.’

‘How many races are there?’ Flora asked.

‘Six races with six horses per race.’ Bunny handed Eddy a pile of small change. ‘Here, put this on for me, would you?’

‘Right-o.’ Eddy raced away with the coins clutched in his hand.

‘Must we watch all six races?’ Flora fanned her face with her programme. ‘It’s getting hot out here and it’s already noisy.’

‘Where’s your sense of fun?’ Bunny nudged her. ‘At least the atmosphere among the passengers has lifted a little after the gloom of the last few days.’

‘It’s not over though, is it?’ she said sadly, though
not wishing to spoil the afternoon, added, ‘Besides, I’m an English rose who doesn’t much like the harsh sun. It creates freckles.’

‘Hmm, you could be right.’ He gave a start, both hand held up in surrender. ‘I meant about the noise and the heat, not the freckles.’

‘Forgiven.’ Flora conceded, then with more warmth, ‘How about we watch the first race, then go to the library for tea? I doubt Eddy will notice. And besides, I have something—’

‘—to tell me, yes, I got that. Look, they’re getting ready for the off.’

The loud report of a starting gun was followed by squeals of encouragement as the “horses” set off. Spectators hollered for their favourite, whilst children screamed in delight as the orderly line rapidly deteriorated into a shoving, closely bunched, pile of bodies.

When the first hobby horse fell rather than crossed the line, the deck erupted in an enthusiastic roar from the men and a round of polite clapping from the ladies.

‘That was energetic!’ Flora laughed, easing through the press of the crowd at the rail at Bunny’s side. ‘I have to admit I enjoyed it more than I had anticipated.’

Bunny rested his hand over hers on his arm as they strolled toward the lobby. ‘That man who threatened you hasn’t turned up again, has he? Is that what you wanted to tell me?’

Flora shook her head, having almost forgotten the man with the croaky voice.
Almost
.

The muffled sound of far-off cheers reached them as they stepped into the calm of the deserted library. A steward gave a surprised start, surreptitiously stubbed out a cigarette in a tin plate, and tucked it beneath a pot plant
before approaching them with a smile of welcome.

‘Quiet day?’ Bunny’s mock-innocent gaze slid to the pot plant.

‘Would you like tea, sir,’ the steward covered his embarrassment with a bright enquiry. ‘For you and the lady?’

‘Thank you, yes. We’ll be over there.’ Bunny indicated a trio of red, leather chesterfield sofas in an alcove visible from the door where they had sat on their last visit.

‘Now, what was it you wanted to tell me?’ Bunny asked when the tea tray arrived and occupied the table between them.

‘I went to see Max this morning.’

‘Really?’ Bunny looked up from pouring tea for them both. ‘By the look of your face he had something interesting to say. Have you solved both murders and now know everyone’s secrets?’

‘Don’t tease, this is important. Max knew Marlon van Elder was on board. He also knows Mr Hersch was working for the van Elder family.’

‘Max told you all that?’

‘Not exactly. Eloise told me about Hersch, but Max let something slip which confirmed it. At least I think that’s what he meant.’ Bunny’s expression displayed only scepticism. ‘You don’t look very interested.’

‘No, really. I am. I was just thinking. That means Hersch was right, in that more people knew Parnell, or rather van Elder, was on board. But where does that lead us?’

‘Not sure yet, though Max knew what Eloise’s real name was.’

‘Ah, that’s more like it.’

‘Exactly, and I would have got more out of him if Cynthia hadn’t come back.’

‘Cynthia doesn’t know all this?’

‘Evidently not. Max certainly didn’t want her overhearing us talking. But surely, if he knew, then she must as well. Although,’ she paused as doubt intruded, ‘perhaps she knew, but he didn’t want her to know he had told me.’

‘That’s a bit convoluted for me.’ Frowning, Bunny lowered the teapot onto the tray. ‘Did you find out what Max was doing out on the deck in the storm?’

‘I asked him that, but he avoided the question. However, I was thinking about it while we watched the race and it’s the only thing that makes sense.’

‘Well, don’t keep me in suspense.’ Bunny accepted a cup of tea she handed him. ‘What was it?’

‘Cynthia is the daughter of the late Theodore van Elder.’

‘How did you come to that conclusion?’ Bunny dropped two lumps of sugar into his cup.

‘Do you recall Hester telling us Mrs Penry-Jones had been married twice?’

‘I’m not sure, I might have done.’

‘Well, she did. The obituary stated Theodore van Elder had a child from a previous marriage who was an heiress to a fortune. Can you think of anyone that might be?’

He waved his spoon in mid-air as an aid to thought, then grinned. ‘Cynthia?’

‘Exactly. I should have guessed from when I saw all those expensive clothes in her suite. Max knew about Eloise and Mr Hersch. Eloise was convinced he worked for the van Elders. Ergo, he worked for Cynthia.’

‘But she’s English. And van Elder was an American.’ Bunny’s frown persisted.

‘She was born in New York. Her parents divorced and when her mother remarried, she and her new husband moved to England.’

‘Well, goodness, Miss Maguire, you have been busy.’ Bunny sat back, one ankle crossed over the other and swinging gently as he stirred his tea. ‘Where are you going with this?’

‘Well, actually not very far. I have a theory though.’ She wiggled backwards in her seat and prepared for a detailed discussion. ‘Say Cynthia believed Eloise killed her father, so she hires Pinkertons, who send Hersch to get some evidence against her. When Eloise comes aboard, Hersch comes too.’

‘Eloise was travelling with Marlon van Elder. What was his role in all this?

‘Ah, but she didn’t know that. He told her his name was Parnell, but he was in fact another of the van Elders.’

‘So Cynthia and Max, together with Marlon van Elder combined to prove Eloise had killed her husband, Theodore van Elder? Hmm, seems a bit heavy handed.’

‘I agree, but it makes sense, doesn’t it?’

‘Then who killed Parnell, I mean Marlon van Elder? Max?’

‘I did consider that, but what reason would he have?’ She eyed her tea but left it untouched, unwilling to interrupt her train of thought. ‘And unless he deliberately tried to drown himself, he couldn’t have killed Eloise. I’m not sure yet why, but I think they were killed by two separate people.’

‘That makes everything more complicated.’ Bunny returned his cup to the saucer. ‘Marlon van Elder was hardly a respectable member of the family, judging by the list of aliases and charges listed in that telegram my journalist friend sent me. He could still have been in league with Eloise in the killing of her husband. Maybe he got greedy about the money, so she killed him.’

‘Then who killed her? Apart from Max, there’s only Mr Hersch and Cynthia.’

‘I doubt Cynthia could have done it.’ Bunny snorted.

‘Why, because she’s beautiful?’ Flora threw him an oblique look. ‘If she thought Eloise had murdered her father—’

He silenced her with an upraised hand and a nod at the glazed door that led onto the lobby. ‘Looks like we aren’t the only ones seeking refuge from the horse racing. Isn’t that Hersch with the captain?’

‘Yes, it is.’ Flora followed his gaze. ‘And that’s Gus Crowe with them. What’s going on?’

‘Not like Crowe not to be running a book on the side when there’s gambling to be done.’ Bunny returned his cup to the tray, straightening. ‘Oh, watch out. They’re coming in here, and none of them look particularly happy.’

‘Is this absolutely necessary?’ Crowe’s raised voice echoed to the room. ‘I’ve already answered all your questions.’

‘I’m aware of that, Mr Crowe.’ Captain Gates’s half-amused voice conveyed mild impatience. ‘Mr Hersch has a few things he wishes to clarify.’

‘Well, make it snappy.’ Crowe eased his neck inside his collar. ‘I don’t intend to waste time repeating myself.’

‘This looks as if it might be interesting,’ Bunny whispered.

Crowe sidled into the seat Hersch indicated, his gaze darting the room until it halted on Flora and Bunny. With his rear hovering above the seat he halted. ‘What are
they
doing here?’ he demanded, his frown deepening to suspicion.

‘Ah, Mr Harrington, Miss Maguire. I didn’t see you there.’ Hersch’s affable smile betrayed no surprise at their
presence. ‘Surely you don’t object, Crowe. After all, it’s simply routine.’

‘What?’ Crowe started. ‘Uh – no, of course not.’ He hunched into his chair like a sullen schoolboy.

The steward placed a loaded tray in front of Crowe, while Hersch and the captain ranged themselves in chairs on either side, blocking him in.

Captain Gates stirred the contents of the teapot vigorously with a spoon. ‘Weak stuff, this American tea.’

‘I thought you were a naturalized citizen?’ Hersch ignored Crowe, who drummed his fingers on the chair arm, then fidgeted with his shirt cuff.

‘Indeed I am,’ the captain gave a short version of his famous laugh. ‘There are some things I still miss, and this is one of them. Can’t wait to get back to London for a proper brew.’ He clicked the lid back on the pot, then poured the steaming liquid into three cups before unhurriedly adding milk.

‘Could we get on with it?’ Crowe snapped, his nerves clearly on edge. He refused the cup held out to him with an angry shrug.

‘Let’s return to the first night on board, Mr Crowe,’ Hersch began as if he hadn’t spoken. ‘I believe you lost a sum of money to Mr Parnell at cards?’

‘I told you that when you questioned me the first time.’ Crowe’s jaw hardened. ‘I wasn’t the only one, either. Parnell cleaned up that night, as you well know. It doesn’t bear repeating.’

‘Maybe it does, simply for my own purposes, you understand.’ The detective stirred sugar into his tea, then offered the bowl to the captain, who politely declined. In turn the captain offered a plate of biscuits round the table, including Flora and Bunny in the gesture.

Bemused by their small theatre, Flora accepted one and was about to comment when Hersch began talking again.

‘What did you do when you left the card game, Mr Crowe?’ Hersch sipped his tea, grimaced and dropped another sugar lump into the cup.

Crowe eased three fingers between his neck and his collar. ‘I-I think I stood at the rail for a while and smoked a cigarette.’

The detective’s spoon clicked rhythmically against the china, his steady gaze never leaving Crowe’s face. ‘You said that you saw Mr Parnell going into Hester Smith’s cabin.’

‘Look, we’ve already been through all this.’ Crowe pushed a hand through his hair, cutting grooves into the liberally applied pomade. ‘It could have been that old biddy’s cabin, I cannot say for certain. What difference does it make?’ He tugged up his sleeve and ostentatiously peered at his watch. ‘I really don’t see the point of this, so if you don’t mind, I’ll be going.’ He slapped his palms against the arms of his chair, and pushed himself to his feet, halting mid-rise as the door swung open again.

Officer Martin entered with another crewman Flora recognized as the wireless operator, who strode forwards as if he was on a parade ground. He came to an abrupt halt beside the captain’s chair where he performed a curt double step, his gaze on the wall above the man’s head, his cap tucked beneath one elbow.

Crowe froze into a half crouch, his lips bloodless.

‘A new development,’ Bunny whispered. Flora shushed him.

‘Seaman Crofts has an interesting story to tell,’ Hersch said, a warning in his voice.

‘Do you recognize this gentleman, Seaman Crofts?’
Captain Gates addressed the young crewman, who had licked his lips three times in the last thirty seconds.

A flicker of fear entered Crowe’s eyes. He swallowed, then slumped back into his seat.

The sailor’s gaze flicked to Crowe and away again, then went back to studying the wall. ‘Yes, sir, he’s Mr Augustus Crowe.’