Murder on the Minneapolis (9 page)

‘That seems a very harsh judgement on so short an acquaintance,’ Flora said.

‘Still looking for villains, Flora?’ Bunny whispered, giving her a playful nudge.

Flora was about to deliver a suitably pointed retort when Hester fumbled the glass lid of a jam pot, leaving a smear of apricot conserve on the white tablecloth.

Mrs Penry-Jones fastidiously removed the dish from Hester’s reach with a long-suffering sigh.

‘It’s quite obvious!’ The old lady sniffed. ‘I was there when he persuaded a room full of strangers to gamble for such high stakes on first meeting. Vulgar man.’

Flora groaned inwardly. So much for her hopes of an actual motive.

‘Are you sure you didn’t know him, Mrs Penry-Jones?’ Gerald spread a bread roll with butter as he talked. ‘I could have sworn I saw Parnell being admitted to your suite the night he died.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous!’ The old lady’s eyes narrowed with outrage. ‘You must have been mistaken.’

‘My stateroom adjoins Mrs Penry-Jones’s suite,’ Hester said. ‘Had anyone knocked at her door, I would certainly have heard it.’

Mrs Penry-Jones gave Hersch a look of triumph, though Hester’s support went unacknowledged.

‘Possibly.’ Gerald wiped his fingers on his napkin. ‘It’s difficult to tell whose stateroom is whose. All the doors look the same.’

‘If that is what you saw, Mr Gilmore,’ Mr Hersch fixed Gerald with a hard stare, ‘Why did you not inform the captain?’

Gerald steadily returned the man’s gaze. ‘What makes you think I didn’t?’

Hersch appeared to have no answer to this, though he was saved from further questioning by the arrival of Max.

‘Couldn’t find my cuff links,’ he explained, when Cynthia scolded him for lateness. ‘Looked everywhere but they aren’t in the suite.’

‘Not the ones I gave you for a wedding present?’ Cynthia’s eyes narrowed.

Max flicked up the back of his jacket and sat. ‘No, not those. The emerald ones.’ He held up one sleeve, which sported a flat, gold oval. ‘Had to wear these instead.’

‘You probably packed them in one of the trunks that have been put in the hold. I’m sure they’ll turn up.’ Cynthia waved him away.

‘I had them last night in the smoking room. I went to wash my hands so the cards wouldn’t stick, and had to roll up my sleeves, so—’ He broke off and pasted on a smile. ‘You’re probably right, my love. They’ll turn up.’

‘Is the meal not to your liking, Miss Smith?’ Mr Hersch indicated Hester’s loaded plate. ‘You’ve hardly touched your breakfast.’

Hester pushed her plate away with a tiny grimace of distaste. ‘The eggs are undercooked.’

‘My head is pounding this morning.’ Mrs Penry-Jones rose from table, pausing theatrically until all eyes were on her. ‘I’ll return to my suite and lie down. No, Hester, don’t get up. Finish your breakfast.’

The gentlemen’s chairs scraped back, while a steward scrambled to hold open the door, as she limped past him with the hesitant gait of someone with arthritis.

‘It appears your employer is more upset about a death on board than she would have us believe, Miss Smith,’ Mr Hersch observed as the gentlemen resumed their seats.

Hester returned his benign look steadily. ‘Not at all. She’s notoriously unsentimental.’

Colour returned to her cheeks and her cat-like eyes sparkled. Her features relaxed and she looked, if not pretty, then more animated.

‘Does Mrs Penry-Jones have family?’ Monica asked, apparently eager to take advantage of the lady’s absence.

‘Her husband was a lawyer in upstate New York,’ Hester replied without hesitation. ‘He died years ago. I believe she was married before, but they lived in Baltimore then.’ She paused in her monologue to summon the waiter with more confidence she had exhibited thus far, demanding her congealed eggs be replaced.

‘She claims acquaintance with everyone,’ Hester continued when the waiter withdrew. ‘She talks about Ward McAllister as if she expects him to call. I wonder that someone doesn’t tell her the man’s been dead these five years.’

Cynthia choked off a cough, her butter knife gripped so hard, her knuckles showed white.

‘Wasn’t he the chap who collapsed into his roast
venison at the Union Club?’ Gerald said, then jerked, possibly from a swift kick to his shin delivered by Monica beneath the table.

Flora bit her lip to prevent a smile. It appeared the demise of the disgraced socialite was not suitable breakfast table conversation.

‘As for what you saw, Mr Gilmore.’ Hester turned a coy look on him. ‘I could have been wrong about Mr Parnell. I sleep heavily, so he might very well have called on Mrs Penry-Jones.’

Cynthia’s fork clattered nosily onto her plate. ‘Excuse me, but I’ve just remembered there’s something important I must do.’ She threw her napkin onto the table with the force of someone issuing a challenge to a duel, pushed herself to her feet and marched out.

Rising more slowly, Max sighed. ‘I should go and see if she’s all right.’

‘Honeymooners, eh?’ Gerald chuckled when the pair were out of sight. ‘Never know what’s likely to upset ’em.’

‘How would you know, Gerald?’ Monica sniffed.

‘Wonder what Max said to upset Cynthia?’ Bunny whispered. ‘Her face was like thunder.’

‘Unfortunately, we’ll probably never know.’ Flora frowned, her gaze drifting to Eloise’s empty chair.

T
HAT AFTERNOON
, F
LORA
watched Eddy partner Ozzy in an enthusiastic game of chalking the pig’s eye on the boat deck.

The sound of her name being called brought her head up to where Bunny waved from the promenade deck. He pointed with a finger at his own chest, then down at her in a gesture inviting himself to join her.

At Flora’s nod, he performed a ‘thumbs up’ gesture, pushed back through the crowd, and emerging again on the boat deck. She watched him with possessive affection as he made his way towards her, offering polite greetings and sheepish smiles to fellow passengers as he passed.

‘How is Eddy getting on?’ he asked on reaching her.

‘He appears to have a remarkable aptitude for guessing where he should enter his mark.’ Flora indicated the blackboard which bore a roughly drawn shape of a pig in white chalk. ‘Look, he’s done it again! That’s his third high score.’

The pressure of Bunny’s upper arm against her shoulder robbed her briefly of all rational thought.

‘Hmmm….’ His sceptical tone brought her head round to look at him. ‘That could be because his blindfold is thinner than Ozzy’s.’

‘I hadn’t noticed that actually.’ Flora narrowed her eyes. Bunny was right. Eddy’s blindfold was a thin strip of navy blue chiffon, too thin to obscure his sight. ‘I’ll have a word with him later on the subject of fair play.’

‘Best not to let on you know, and besides, the game is over now.’ He nodded to where the board was being manhandled off the deck by two sailors. ‘I was about to pay a call on Matilda, would you care to join me?’ His tone intimated he granted himself a treat.

Flora hesitated, her desire to spend time with Bunny vying with her responsibility towards her charge. Since the whispered threat the night before she wanted to keep Eddy close. ‘That’s kind of you, but I need to ensure Eddy is suitably occupied.’

‘Don’t you think you’re suffocating the lad somewhat?’ he said with thinly disguised impatience. ‘You’ve barely left his side since breakfast.’

‘Maybe you’re right, but that’s because—’

She broke off as she spotted Eddy approach at a run with Ozzy, while Monica trailed a little way behind, bestowing coy waves to those she passed.

‘Because what?’ Bunny asked.

‘Nothing.’ Flora frowned. The longer she left telling Bunny about the man outside the dining room, the harder it became.

‘May I listen to Mr Gilmore’s gramophone?’ Eddy pleaded. ‘It’s one of the new ones that plays disks, not cylinders. Do say I might, Flora!’

‘Father has a recording of “When Johnny Comes Marching Home”.’ Ozzy joined in. ‘He bought it in New York before we left. The gramophone, not the record. Though of course he bought that too—’

‘That sounds wonderful, Ozzy,’ Bunny said. ‘I wouldn’t
mind hearing that myself sometime.’

Flora hesitated, torn between denying Eddy a treat and protecting him.

‘Come now, Flora,’ Monica chided as she drew level. ‘Surely you could relax your watchful eye a little? After all, there’s not much chance he’ll get lost on the ship.’

‘That’s exactly what I’ve been telling her,’ Bunny said.

From the corner of her eye, Flora spotted the captain approach the companionway to the Upper Promenade deck, and came to a decision.

‘If Mrs Gilmore is agreeable, you may listen to the gramophone, Eddy.’ She turned to Bunny. ‘I’ll come and see Matilda with you another time. However, if you’ll both excuse me, there’s something I must do.’

Accompanied by a despondent ‘as you wish’ from one and enthusiastic thanks from the other, Flora headed for the staircase lobby and climbed the stairs. If what Eddy had overheard was true, the captain should hear about the man with the croaky voice. On the landing above, Captain Gates stood talking to Dr Fletcher, where Flora hovered, hoping for a suitable lull in the conversation. She almost left it too late, when, without warning, Captain Gates nodded curtly to the doctor, turned and pushed through the door onto the outside deck.

Flora was about to follow, when Dr Fletcher intercepted her. ‘Is there something you wanted, Miss Maguire?’

‘Um – I wanted to have a word with the captain.’

Flora bounced on her heels as she watched her target through the window as he disappeared rapidly down along the deck.

‘Anything I can do? He’s a busy man, you know.’ The implication the captain was too exalted to talk to her showed in his world-weary expression.

‘Well, all right.’ Flora took a deep breath. ‘Last evening, a man whispered a warning to me outside the dining room not to ask questions about Mr Parnell’s death. But before you ask, no, I didn’t see him, nor did I recognize his voice.’

‘I see.’ Dr Fletcher paused to acknowledge a regal-looking couple who sauntered past.

‘I thought the captain should know, bearing in mind a man has been killed.’ Flora sensed his attention had drifting away and she wished she hadn’t sounded so vague.

‘Mr Parnell died as the result of a fall, Miss Maguire.’ He regarded her with a mixture of resignation and false sympathy which must have taken him years to perfect. ‘I understand you were distraught at finding the body, though perhaps you have allowed yourself to dwell too much on the incident. As for whispered threats, well, they could simply be your fertile imagination.’

Flora counted backwards from ten.

‘I wish you wouldn’t keep accusing me of being distraught in a tone you might use for “unhinged”. I didn’t imagine it, Doctor.’ She put emphasis on the last word, attracting attention from several people who traversed the lobby.

The doctor smiled at them in an I-have-this-under-control-way, and with a firm grip on her elbow, guided her into a door recess.

‘Forgive me, Miss Maguire, but you do appear somewhat agitated. Would a sedative help?’

‘No, it would not, and – oh, never mind.’ She eased out of his hold. ‘I only ask that you relay my message to the captain. He’ll understand its importance, even if you don’t.’

‘Certainly. If that’s what you wish.’ He clicked his heels,
then left through the same door the captain had used.

Flora stared after him, while several uncomplimentary adjectives about officers and men in general lined up in her head.

‘Good afternoon, Miss Maguire,’ a voice halted her as she was about to insert her key into her suite door.

Flora turned to the amiable smile of Mr Hersch, his fedora raised an inch above his head. ‘Are you quite well today? You look a little harassed, if I may say so?’

‘Maybe I’m still distraught,’ she said, then regretted her flippancy. Mr Hersch was hardly responsible for the doctor’s attitude. ‘I tried to tell the captain something, but…. Oh, never mind, it’s nothing really.’

‘I suspect it’s a great deal more than nothing, Miss Maguire.’ He cocked his head to one side. ‘If it’s something to do with the late Mr Parnell, I may be able to help.’

Flora doubted it, but the idea was tempting. She returned her key to her bag and approached the rail where he stood. ‘May I ask you something first?’

‘Of course, what is it?’

‘What is your interest, Mr Hersch?’

His gaze met hers and held. ‘Let’s say I have some experience in these matters.’

He twisted his hat in his hands before placing it slowly back on his head.

‘Has the captain changed his mind about what happened? About it being an accident?’

‘He thinks the situation warrants further investigation.’ He repeated Eddy’s words almost exactly. ‘Why? Has something new emerged?’

Flora exhaled in a rush. If he had the captain’s confidence, what harm could it do to tell him? After all, she
had told the doctor and she respected him less than this thoughtful German.

‘Last night,’ she began slowly, ‘a man outside the dining room warned me in this odd, choked whisper, that I was to leave well alone.’

‘Those were his exact words?’

She nodded, grateful he had not asked the more obvious questions and simply taken her word.

‘Did you believe him?’

‘Dr Fletcher dismissed it as my imagination, but—’

‘No, Miss Maguire. I asked if
you
took this man’s threat seriously?’

She nodded. ‘He unsettled me enough to believe he might hurt me.’

‘Therefore you must have said something in public to make him afraid of you.’

‘Afraid?’

‘Of course. Or why bother to frighten you into silence?’

‘Oh, you mean what I said at luncheon yesterday about the lack of blood throwing suspicion on to the time of his death. Yes, that was silly of me, wasn’t it?’

‘You weren’t to know, then. Who else have you told about this man?’

‘Only Dr Fletcher. He agreed to relay the details to the captain, but treated me like an hysterical female with an over-active imagination, so I have my doubts.’

‘Fletcher is a difficult man to read, with a somewhat inflated view of his own abilities. The captain, on the other hand, is very experienced. I will mention it to him myself if you wish.’

‘Thank you, I appreciate that. I didn’t know whom to tell.’ She hoped she didn’t sound self- pitying.

‘You’re talking to
me
.’

‘Yes, I know, but—’

He cut her off with a wave of his hand. ‘I suggest that for the time being, it would be wise to make everyone believe you have acceded to this man’s wishes.’

A middle-aged couple passed them, heads bowed in acknowledgement. Hersch returned their greeting, waiting until they were out of earshot before continuing.

‘Tell me, what did you think about Miss Smith’s behaviour at breakfast?’

Flora blinked, disarmed by the unexpected change of subject. ‘She doesn’t appear to like Mrs Penry-Jones much, which makes me wonder why she remains in her employ.’

‘I’ve seen worse masters and less respectful servants, Miss Maguire.’ His sigh conveyed long experience of studying his fellow man. ‘Perhaps Miss Smith views a few sharp remarks a fair exchange for a life of material comfort?’

‘Possibly,’ Flora replied, sceptical.

Whatever advantages Hester enjoyed would never really be hers, merely an illusion of affluence.

‘Has anyone else on board engendered your mistrust, Miss Maguire?’

‘Not really. Cynthia doesn’t like Hester Smith, and she and Max whisper together a lot, but that’s hardly surprising for honeymooners.’ Flora ran through a list of names in her head. ‘Miss Ames asks lots of questions, but that ties in with her being an author. Mr Crowe is arrogant as well as grasping, what my father would call a freeloader. He appears to relish other people’s disagreements too. Even encourages them.’

‘I’ve noticed that myself.’ He ran a thumb and forefinger down either side of his moustache, a gesture he used when thinking. ‘And what does Mr Harrington think of
your theory about Mr Parnell?’

‘He listens, but he’s not convinced.’ Flora pushed thoughts of Bunny to the back of her mind. He confused her enough without discussing him with a third party. ‘Mr Hersch, if the captain has doubts, why hasn’t he instigated a search of Mr Parnell’s stateroom?’

‘What do you expect him to find?’ He held her gaze steadily.

Flora hesitated. ‘Something among his belongings which might shed some light on the reason for his death. Documents perhaps, a letter, maybe?’ She was about to mention the photograph, but her confidence failed her.

A small smile pulled at his lips without revealing his teeth.

‘I would ponder that theory, if I were you, Miss Maguire. You may be required to explain it by someone who will not accept dissembling.’

‘I’ll bear that in mind.’ Flora exhaled slowly, aware her cheeks felt hot. ‘If someone did kill Mr Parnell, and I am convinced now they did, how will we find out who it was?’

‘That, I do not know. If we wait, I feel sure he will make a mistake and reveal himself.’

‘Just that? Wait?’

‘Where could a murderer go? We’re in the middle of the Atlantic.’ He touched two fingers to his hat, inclined his head and strolled off along the deck.

Flora didn’t find this at all reassuring, although she found some consolation in the fact she wasn’t the only one concerned by the circumstances of Parnell’s death.