Murder on the Minneapolis (22 page)

‘Now, look here,’ Crowe snapped, with a hint of his former bravado. ‘Are you going to take the word of a kid against mine?’

‘It depends what the kid says.’ Hersch gestured for Seaman Crofts to continue.

Flora admired the detective’s calm handling of the situation, aware whatever the young sailor had to say would not be a waste of anyone’s time. She flicked a glance at an equally fascinated Bunny before settling in her seat to listen.

‘Well, sir.’ The sailor cleared his throat. ‘Mr Crowe asked me to deposit some banknotes in the ship’s safe.’

‘Was there anything unusual about this request?’ Hersch asked with all the confidence of someone who knows the answer.

‘No, sir, except—’ he paused and swallowed. ‘He paid me ten dollars to change the date on the receipt slip to that of the day we sailed.’

‘You didn’t think that strange?’

‘Not at the time, sir, no. I didn’t connect it to the man who died. Not then. Everyone believed it was an accident. But when Mr Hersch told me someone had killed Mr Parnell … well, I couldn’t remain silent any longer.’

‘Indeed not. And how much did Mr Crowe lodge in the safe?’ Captain Gates asked.

Crowe murmured something unintelligible, then
shrank further in his seat, massaging his forehead with the fingers of one hand.

‘Five thousand dollars, sir,’ Seaman Crofts replied. ‘Three thousand in large banknotes with the banker’s ribbon still on them. The rest was loose, in smaller denominations.’

Flora gasped and Bunny muttered, ‘Got him.’

‘Quite a coincidence,’ Hersch said with menacing calm. ‘The amount Mr Parnell was alleged to have in his possession on Saturday evening,’

‘You may go, Crofts.’ The captain inclined his head in curt dismissal, at which Seaman Crofts almost ran from the room, followed by Officer Martin.

‘Oh, all right!’ Crowe said as the door closed on the two crewmen, ‘But I didn’t mean to kill the man!’

Hersch relaxed back in his seat, saying nothing.

‘Look.’ Crowe rubbed both palms repeatedly back and forth along his thighs. ‘I was angry I lost so much money to Parnell on the first night. It might have been small change to him, but to me – well, sums like that don’t come easily. I followed him back to his cabin, hung about outside and smoked a cigarette. I had no firm plan then, but needed to think.’

‘Go on,’ Hersch prompted.

‘The Gilmores walked by, and that’s when Parnell came out and went into that companion woman’s room.’

‘Hester Smith?’ Flora blurted. ‘He went inside? Are you sure?’

Hersch held up a hand in warning and Bunny gave a low hiss.

‘Sorry,’ Flora muttered.

‘Actually, no.’ Crowe blinked as if confused. ‘When Gilmore said the next day he saw Parnell going into the
old woman’s suite, I assumed I’d got it wrong. Anyway, Parnell came out again, then he went into Miss Lane’s cabin. I didn’t get that wrong, because she came to the door in her night things.’ Crowe snorted. ‘Quite pally, they were too.’

‘You didn’t mention that detail in your original account of that night,’ Hersch said.

‘I was hardly going to admit I was hanging about outside Parnell’s cabin, was I?’ Crowe gave another snort. ‘I wasn’t certain the Gilmores hadn’t seen me either, but as it turns out they hadn’t.’

‘Then what did you do?’ Captain Gates asked.

Crowe slid a sly look at Flora and away again. ‘I assumed Parnell and Miss Lane would be together for the rest of the night. I waited for a bit, then went into Parnell’s cabin.’

‘You broke in?’ Officer Martin asked.

‘It wasn’t locked,’ Crowe said, as if that made a difference. ‘He had stashed a wedge of banknotes in a shoe in the bottom of the wardrobe, so I—’ he broke off and ran a shaky hand through his hair making it stick up in greasy spikes.

‘What did you do?’ the captain asked.

‘I took it, didn’t I?’ Crowe hunched his shoulders in a lazy shrug that conveyed anyone would have done the same thing.

‘So what went wrong?’ Hersch prompted.

‘Parnell came back.’ Crowe’s eyes dulled like a trapped animal. ‘I opened the door to leave and there he was. He looked as shocked as me.’

‘What happened?’

‘What do you think? I threw a punch, he threw one back. We scuffled, and he hit his head on the washbasin in the bathroom. It was over in seconds.’ He gave a short,
cynical laugh. ‘I’m surprised no one heard the noise. He was stunned, so I left him there.’

‘The ashtray,’ Flora said. ‘Is that what you hit him with?’

‘What ashtray?’ Crowe’s eyes clouded with confusion. ‘No, I told you. He hit his head on the washbasin.’

‘Then you had to get rid of the body,’ Hersch said. ‘So you threw him down the companionway.’

‘No, that’s not what happened!’ Crow dropped his chin like a sullen child caught stealing apples, not someone who had just robbed and killed a man. ‘He was lying on the stateroom floor when I left.’

‘The next morning, everyone believed he had died in a fall, so I kept quiet.’ His thin lips curled into a sneer, as if congratulating himself on his ingenuity. Then he turned a burning gaze on Flora. ‘Everyone except you, Miss Busybody Governess.’

‘It was you!’ Flora gasped. ‘You were the one who threatened me outside the dining room!’ That she had spent four wakeful nights due to this insipid little man made her furious.

‘I only meant to frighten you off.’ Crowe fidgeted in his chair, tension drawing furrows in his brow. ‘I robbed the man. I hold my hands up to that, but his death was an accident.’

‘Even had Mr Parnell woken later that night and somehow staggered to that companionway in search of assistance, and fallen, that still makes you guilty of manslaughter.’ Hersch let the information sink in, before asking, ‘Why did you kill Miss Lane?’

‘I didn’t kill her!’ Crowe’s gaze darted between the detective and the officer, his eyes frantic. ‘Why would I want her dead?’

‘Miss Lane’s stateroom was next door to Parnell’s. Maybe she heard you fighting with him and threatened to reveal your part in his death?’ Hersch said. ‘Or perhaps,’ he went on when Crowe failed to answer, ‘you and Miss Lane came to an agreement?’

The blood left Crowe’s face until his complexion resembled milk.

‘Did she suggest you share the haul with her in return for keeping quiet?’ Hersch let the words fall into the heavy silence.

Flora recalled Crowe’s start of fear as he stared through the window in the staircase lobby and instinctively she knew what it meant. ‘Eloise saw you,’ she said, incredulous. ‘She saw you with Seaman Crofts and guessed what you had done.’

‘I-um. Well, look here. It wasn’t as cold as that.’ Crowe fisted his hands and brought them down on his knees.

‘Crofts wanted to tell the truth, and you wouldn’t let him?’ Flora rushed on. ‘So Eloise had to die too?’

‘No!’ Crowe hammered the sofa arm with a fist. ‘She said the situation would suit us both. She agreed not to stir things up if I split the money with her when we reached London. Then the next thing I know, she’s dead. That shook me, I can tell you.’ His pleading gaze met Flora’s. ‘I swear I didn’t kill Miss Lane. I had no reason to.’

‘You can tell your story to a judge, Crowe.’ Had Hersch’s moustache been long and curly, Flora imagined he would have twirled it. ‘You’ll remain confined to your stateroom until we reach London. There you’ll be handed over to the authorities.’

He went and opened the door, beckoning to the sailors who stood sentry outside. The pair marched into the room and arranged themselves on either side of Crowe.

‘Aren’t you forgetting something?’ Crowe rose shakily, but summoned enough defiance to shrug off the sailors’ hold. ‘I didn’t commit any crime in England, we were in international waters.’

‘On an American-owned ship,’ Hersch reminded him. ‘I imagine the British will send you straight back to New York to stand trial.’

‘Good work, Hersch.’ Captain Gates stood and tugged down his jacket. ‘I’ll see you later at dinner then? Miss Maguire, Mr Harrington.’ He replaced his cap, touching the peak in salute on his way out.

‘Is that all it was? A fight over money and a man is dead?’ Flora asked the detective when the door flapped shut.

‘Which, as you may recall, was my first theory,’ Bunny said, beaming.

‘You don’t have to be so smug about it.’ Still uneasy, Flora split a look between the detective and Bunny. ‘I’m still not convinced Mr Crowe killed Eloise.’

‘She was blackmailing him,’ Bunny said, as if that explained everything.

‘He didn’t need to kill her,’ Flora insisted. Crowe’s comment that the situation suited both their purposes struck her as exactly something Eloise would say. ‘He may be an unpleasant thief but he’s no murderer.’

‘Don’t give the man any credit, Flora,’ Hersch sighed. ‘Killers usually maintain their innocence to the end.’

Flora searched for something that might convince him, then a question came to mind. ‘Which cabin did Parnell go into? Mrs Penry-Jones’s, Hester’s or Eloise’s?’

‘I don’t see that it matters now.’ Bunny swept a biscuit from the plate in front of him and bit into it.

‘Or it could matter a lot,’ Flora murmured. ‘We know
Eloise lied about Parnell having argued with her that night.’ She tapped her top lip with a finger. ‘Who else was lying? Crowe or Gerald Gilmore?’

‘My money’s on Crowe,’ Bunny chewing thoughtfully.

‘Maybe neither of them,’ Hersch mused. ‘It was the first night, so perhaps no one was sure about whose cabin was whose.’

‘We need to find out. Look.’ Panic lifted Flora’s voice an octave. ‘We dock at Tilbury in two days, after which everyone will disappear into their own lives and you’ll never catch him.’ The thought that whoever had done such an awful thing to Eloise might escape justice twisted her stomach.

‘This affair has been an ordeal for you, Flora.’ Hersch rose and shot his cuffs, apparently pleased with himself. ‘I hope you can put it behind you and relax for what remains of the voyage.’ He gave her shoulder a fatherly pat before following the captain out.

‘Did you notice,’ Flora said, when she and Bunny were alone again, ‘that at no point did Mr Hersch or the captain reveal that Frank Parnell and Eloise Lane weren’t their real names?’

‘I didn’t, actually. Is that significant?’ He took a biscuit from the plate and bit into it. ‘Maybe he’s simply protecting the identity of his clients?’

‘Maybe.’ Flora still couldn’t see Crowe as a coldblooded killer, and whoever had murdered Eloise was certainly that.

T
HE PEACOCK BLUE
silk of Flora’s borrowed gown hung in heavy folds to the floor, the lining warm and sensuous against her skin. For once in her life, she felt equal to the company who would be present at this evening’s dance.

Bunny arrived exactly two minutes before their agreed time, a broad smile of surprised admiration telling her all her efforts had not been in vain.

The evening was almost warm, so instead of taking the interior corridor, they strolled across the deck towards the dining room, stopping every now and then to admire the sunset from the rail. As he eased close to her side, his arm grazed hers and made her shiver.

‘You aren’t nervous about this evening, are you?’

‘No, of course not – I mean yes, I am rather.’ She kneaded the delicate purse in one hand, crushing it. ‘Sometimes, I wish Lord Vaughn had sent me home on a different ship, one which had a third class.’

‘Mrs Penry-Jones is an old lady with antiquated views that hark back to a less enlightened time,’ he said, guessing her thoughts. ‘The other passengers think you are perfectly charming.’

‘For a governess,’ Flora murmured too low for him to
hear.

‘How did Eddy enjoy the horse racing?’ Bunny changed the subject.

‘He arrived with a pocket full of coins I chose not to ask about. Not that Lord Vaughn would object if he knew. He’s not averse to a day at the races himself.’

‘I’m glad you felt confident enough to leave him alone tonight.’

‘I didn’t.’ Flora winced. ‘He’s in the Gilmores’ suite listening to the gramophone with Ozzy and some of the other boys. That steward you hired has agreed to deliver him to the suite later.’

‘May as well get my money’s worth.’ Bunny pushed open the door of the dining room, from which a waft of warm air and music greeted them.

‘You look very elegant, my dear,’ Monica said, when Flora and Bunny took their seats. ‘I wish I had the colouring for dramatic hues, but pastels suit me better.’ She indicated her peach-coloured gown with its tight-ruffled bodice.

‘I wish you did too.’ Gerald’s appraising gaze slid up and down Flora’s costume. ‘I hope you’ll allow me a dance after dinner, Flora?’

The room rapidly filled, the atmosphere charged with excited chatter and an air of anticipation now everyone believed the killer was under guard.

‘I hope there won’t be any of that Vaudeville music this evening.’ Mrs Penry-Jones eyed the quintet orchestra with suspicion. ‘Too low-class in my opinion.’

‘Really?’ Bunny pinned her with a challenging stare ‘I thought Americans were free thinkers and didn’t believe in the class divide?’

‘You know what I mean, young man. I’ll thank you not
to goad me.’ Her evening bag hit the table with a thump, though her pebble eyes twinkled with flirtatious amusement. It seemed no woman was safe from Bunny’s charm.

‘You don’t have to defend me, even though I quite like it,’ Flora whispered, then looked away quickly when her gaze met his and held. Each time that happened, a sweet, tingling sensation started somewhere deep in her belly and spread into her chest. Memories of their kiss remained, and though her pragmatic nature rose to smother what she regarded as an impossible longing, hope lingered.

Miss Ames swung a sequin encrusted wrap over one shoulder, missing Flora’s face by a half inch. She plucked two glasses of transparent red liquid from a tray and handed one to Mrs Penry-Jones.

‘Do try some of this, it’s quite delicious.’ She giggled and downed half the contents of her own glass.

‘It tastes just like damsons.’ Mrs Penry-Jones said after her first sip, frowning into the glass before she gulped the rest of the contents. ‘Goodness, it’s hot in here.’ She flapped an ostrich-feather fan rapidly in front of her face, the glass held out to Hester. ‘Get me another one of these fruit cups, would you?’

Hester obeyed her employer with an annoyed pout, her hair drawn back in a severe bun which put Flora in mind of a bad tempered Jane Eyre. ‘That isn’t fruit cup is it?’ Flora whispered to Bunny, who winked.

‘Not even close.’

Flora mouthed, ‘You are wicked,’ at him, just as Cynthia made her entrance looking serene in a powder blue gown, her hair drawn up onto her head in loose curls which exposed her swan-like neck. A crewman wheeled a bath chair in which Max sat, still wan-looking and with a square
plaster on his forehead replacing the bandage; his sling-wrapped arm supported on a cushion on his lap.

‘I love Astrakhan Caviar.’ Cynthia read from the menu card that she slid it into her evening bag. She caught Flora’s gaze and giggled, ‘A souvenir of the most dramatic honeymoon ever. Maybe I’ll ask the captain to autograph it.’

‘Why weren’t
we
invited to dine with the captain?’ Monica said in a harsh stage whisper, nodding to where Captain Gates held court to a table full of smug-looking passengers. ‘We’re as important as anyone else on this ship.’

‘I don’t know why they call him Giggles,’ Gerald said in an undertone, making no attempt to answer her complaint. ‘Haven’t seen the fella laugh for days.’

‘Hardly surprising,’ Miss Ames chided. ‘Two deaths are hardly going to look good on his record.’

A sudden, swift depression engulfed Flora, before a voice in her head whispered that Eloise would have been the first to encourage her to enjoy herself.

‘Who would have taken that Crowe chap for a double killer, eh?’ Gerald held up his empty champagne glass as a summons to a passing server, who sprang forwards and swapped it for a full one.

‘If a man is ruthless enough to bludgeon another to death for money,’ Hester said, ‘he’s hardly likely to baulk at stabbing a woman.’

‘Oh, do be quiet!’ Cynthia gave an exaggerated shudder. ‘I hate the word, bludgeon, it conjures up such horrible images.’

‘I never liked him. He always struck me as the sleazy type.’ Miss Ames peered into her glass as if disappointed to find it empty.

‘I thought Mr Crowe was a charming man.’ Monica twirled the ice chips in her glass. ‘A little rough around the edges maybe.’

Flora was about to point out that neither fact made him homicidal, but kept her thoughts to herself.

‘What happens now the killer has been apprehended?’ Miss Ames asked no one in particular.

‘The police in London will have questions of their own I imagine,’ Gerald replied. ‘I doubt any of us will get off this ship before that’s done.’

Hester’s tapestry bag slipped to the floor with a resounding thump. She bent to retrieve it, but had barely replaced it on her lap again before it fell to the floor again.

‘Do stop fidgeting, Hester!’ Mrs Penry-Jones glared at her.

‘Sorry, Mrs Penry-Jones.’ Hester’s flush deepened.

The meal progressed and conversation moved by mutual agreement away from murder, until the tables were cleared away and the orchestra opened the dancing with a lively tune Flora didn’t recognize.

‘Can you dance a quadrille?’ Bunny whispered.

‘Of course I can.’ She lifted her chin in mock offence.

Bunny led her onto the dance floor where they made up the set of four couples in a square. In seconds, the music filled Flora’s head as she changed partners and returned to her own pairing with Bunny in the formation again. The need to concentrate dispelled the tensions of the last few days among a swirl of colour, light and noise as the fiddlers worked into a noisy crescendo.

Instead of returning to their table at the end of the dance, Bunny slipped his arm round her waist as the strains of
A Bicycle Made for Two
filled the room.

‘Don’t you think you’re holding me too close?’ Flora
whispered once they had covered half the floor.

‘Possibly, but it’s nice, isn’t it?’

She snuggled closer. Indeed it was. They fit together so naturally, it was as if they had done the same thing many times. She became keenly aware of Bunny’s hand at her waist, and the warmth of his jaw beside her cheek, while the room revolved in a swirl of smiling faces in a kaleidoscope of light that leapt and blurred.

His hand shifted to her back, his head lowered until his temple rested against her cheek. Solid and comforting, her chin grazed his shoulder as they swayed around the dance floor, the weight of unspoken words pulled between them.

The music changed again, and Bunny relinquished her to Gerald with regret in his eyes.

‘Not too upset by this murder business, are you, my dear?’ he asked, his clumsy steps keeping her focus on her feet to prevent them being trampled. ‘Nice girl, I thought,’ he went on when she didn’t answer, gripping her harder round the waist, though it was a fatherly touch rather than a suggestive one. ‘Must make the whole mess difficult for you.’

Flora responded with an uneasy smile, unwilling to explain her own misgivings. The fact Gus Crowe was in custody should have been reassuring, but wasn’t.

‘Not boring you, am I?’ Gerald asked with the confidence of a man who cannot imagine doing any such thing.

‘No, not at all,’ Flora said truthfully. Far from being a polite interval to be endured, Gerald’s company was undemanding.

When the tune ended, she searched the room for Bunny. By the time she located him, the next dance had begun and he was partnering Cynthia, who laughed up into his eyes as he twirled her around the floor.

Max was also watching them, his gaze on his wife with a fierce pride tinged with sadness. Did Max, like her, feel he didn’t deserve someone so dazzling? Or was he plagued with thoughts of misdeeds as yet unrevealed? Flora shivered, but didn’t have time to brood, as a young man from California requested the next dance.

She had hardly returned to the table before Mr Hersch claimed her, which gave Flora momentary dread, but he danced the two-step with remarkable grace for a big man, handing her back to Bunny with a flourish as if that was where she belonged.

The hard working quintet made a valiant effort with
After The Ball
, and she leaned into Bunny’s embrace, wishing the night didn’t have to end.

‘I don’t know about you,’ he whispered into her hair when the last notes had faded away. ‘But I could do with a sit down and a drink.’

‘Good idea.’ Flora slipped her hand into his quite naturally, pulling him gently towards their table, where Cynthia and Max sat with Miss Ames and a very flushed Mrs Penry-Jones.

As Bunny summoned a nearby server and ordered fresh drinks, Flora’s gaze flicked to Hester’s empty chair.

‘Gone to the powder room,’ Mrs Penry-Jones answered her silent question. ‘Though why such a plain woman needs to spend so much time in front of a mirror escapes me.’

Flora said nothing, but resolved to suggest Bunny ask Hester to dance when she returned.

‘Y’know,’ Gerald mused, as if he had turned the question over in his head all evening, ‘It strikes me as odd that that Crowe chap would murder a gel.’

‘He robbed her, didn’t he?’ Monica resumed her seat,
apparently catching the tail end of the conversation. ‘Sounds simple enough to me.’

‘Maybe too simple,’ Max murmured.

‘That’s what I think.’ Flora couldn’t help herself. ‘I don’t believe Crowe killed Eloise.’

‘Can’t we simply forget about all that for one evening?’ Cynthia’s hand caught Gerald’s glass, sending a spray of amber liquid onto the pristine white tablecloth.

‘Sorry.’ Gerald gave her a sideways look. ‘Been preying on my mind somewhat.’ He went back to working his way through a plate of petit fours in the middle of the table.

‘I agree with Cynthia.’ Bunny brought his hand down hard on the table top, making Flora jump. ‘Why cannot you simply accept what everyone else has? Crowe bashed Parnell over the head, then went back to his stateroom and slept like a baby. He was a cold-blooded killer.’

‘Maybe, but—’

‘Flora.’ Bunny’s hand gripped hers on the table, a plea in his eyes. ‘Let’s not ruin this delightful evening by bringing up all this business again. Crowe is in custody. It’s over.’

‘I didn’t bring it up!’ Flora bridled. ‘Gerald did!’ She grabbed her bag from the table. ‘Excuse me, but I promised to say goodnight to Eddy before he went to sleep.’

‘It’s after eleven.’ Bunny’s impatient sigh accompanied the scrape of her chair as she rose. ‘Surely he’ll be fast asleep by now?’

Ignoring his plaintive ‘Flora!’ she strode from the room.

A thick layer of fog on the ocean softened the electric lights to a misty glow and muted the thrum of the engines beneath her feet. The ship’s bell rang the hour with a muffled gong just as the moon broke through a bank of
cloud in a milky ball, pushing through the grey vapour, only to be swallowed again almost immediately.

Flora’s angry thoughts matched her brisk footsteps across the boards. How dare Bunny try to control her into silence? He may have decided the culprit was caught, but he had no right to censor her opinions. If he wasn’t prepared to accept she had a mind of her own, they weren’t suited at all!

Thus preoccupied, it took her a moment to realize that the door to her suite stood slightly ajar.

‘Eddy?’ She pushed it wider with one hand, her breath held. Had the stewardess forgotten to fasten it when she brought the cocoa?

Guided by the deck light through the window, she clicked open Eddy’s door where a night-light cast a soft yellow glow into the lower half of the room.

The mound beneath the covers rose up and Eddy propped himself on one elbow. ‘Flora?’ He scratched his head and blinked. ‘Is something wrong?’

‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you, but the suite door was open.’

He eased upright and wrapped his arms round his bent knees. ‘Did you have a good time?’

‘Yes,’ Flora relaxed. ‘It was a lovely dance, I—’ She broke off at the sound of a dull thump that came from the sitting room.

‘What’s that?’ Eddy’s chin jerked towards the door. He made to slide from beneath the covers, but Flora held up a hand.

‘Stay here!’ Flora warned, backing out of the room.

Her hand flicked the switch on the wall, flooding the room with light at the same time a figure enveloped in a long cloak disappeared into the hallway.

A lance of anger sliced through Flora’s chest, and without thinking, she launched herself after the intruder.