Murder on the Minneapolis (23 page)

‘Flora!’ Eddy’s voice, both fearful and exasperated called after her.

F
LORA’S FEET THUDDED
along the boards, propelled by raw anger that someone had dared enter their suite while Eddy slept. The running figure glided through the mist ahead of her, appearing then disappearing in the swirling mist, then disappeared.

She rounded the corner and hurtled onto the port side, where the deck stretched before her, empty but for a line of sulphurous lights on the bulkhead.

Panting, she paused, her nerves alert for footsteps, or the sound of a swinging door, but all that came to her was distant music from the lower deck and the persistent rumble of the ship’s engines.

Frustrated, Flora banged her clenched fist against the rail and turned back the way she had come, halting at the top of the companionway. A shiver ran through her, as if a vengeful spirit has passed close, raising the hairs on her neck.

The steps dropped below her feet into a soup-like mist obscuring the bottom. Panic bunched beneath her ribs and she took a step back, her gaze searching the line of blank doors beneath bulkhead lamps dulled by the fog.

Then came a grunt on her left, followed by a rough,
painful shove between her shoulder blades that launched her forwards into empty air. She groped for the handrail, but missed, the sensation of falling making her stomach lurch sickeningly. The deck came up to meet her like a black wall, and she slammed against the boards, the air expelled from her lungs in a painful rush.

She tried to take a breath, but her ribs refused her brain’s orders to expand. Heart hammering, she lay frozen, terrified that whoever had pushed her, would descend the steps and finish her off. Seconds passed slowly, painfully during which she fought to inhale, but couldn’t.

Panic built, until a voice in her head screamed at her to calm down and breathe. Slowly, her chest moved and she took in a gasp of air, then a larger one, until her shallow, rapid breathing settled into a more regular rhythm.

‘Miss! Miss!’ a youthful male voice made her cringe. ‘Are you all right?’

With tentative stretches, Flora moved her toes, then her ankles, until with slow, stiff movements, she was able to push herself up onto an elbow.

A pair of uniformed legs ending in regulation shoes filled her vision. Judging him one of the crew, and hopefully benign, she lifted her head to where his silhouette stood out against scudding clouds and wisps of fog that made her head spin.

‘Did you see him?’ Supporting herself on her palms, she eased into a crouch.

‘See who, miss?’ The crewman leaned down, tucked his shoulder into her armpit and hauled her upright.

‘Did you see who pushed me?’ Flora tested her weight on the sole of her left foot, regretting it instantly when a nausea-inducing pain shot through her leg. Hopping onto
her right foot, she leaned against the sailor, grabbing the rail for support on her other side.

‘I saw only you, miss. Took quite a tumble, you did.’ The boy-man took in her gown and grinned. ‘That party punch carries a bit of a wallop, doesn’t it? No wonder you were a bit shaky on those steps.’

Incensed, Flora stiffened but was too shaken to argue. Besides, she had only had one glass, or was it two?

‘I was sure you were going to end up like—’ he broke off mid-sentence.

‘Thank you, but I’m neither drunk nor dead.’ Pain and his implied insult made her snap. She leaned both forearms on the rail and bent forwards, fighting dizziness.

‘I’ll send someone to fetch the doctor, shall I, miss?’

‘Would you take me back to my suite first? Then if it isn’t too much trouble, fetch Mr Harrington? He’s at the dance.’ She visualised Bunny drumming his fingers on the table, checking his watch every few seconds. The thought comforted her – a little.

Despite the sailor half-carrying her up the steps to the promenade deck, their hop and pause technique made their progress frustratingly slow, hampered further when the crewman stopped to instruct a colleague to fetch Bunny from the dining room. Finally, they reached the upper deck, where the sailor manhandled her inside the suite, apologizing profusely when her injured foot glanced off the door frame.

‘What happened, Flora?’ Eddy stood at the open door to his bedroom, his eyes wide and frightened. ‘I-I stayed here like you said.’

‘Now, young sir.’ The crewman clucked like a schoolmaster, though he couldn’t have been more than five years Eddy’s senior. ‘Give the lady a chance to catch her
breath. She’s had a little fall.’

‘I have not had – oh, never mind.’ Flora gritted her teeth and cast a longing look at the closed door of her bedroom, but abandoned that plan and lowered herself into the nearest chair.

Why was someone in their suite? Crowe was under lock and key in his stateroom. Everyone must have known she was at the dance, so surely they had not come to hurt Eddy?

Bunny appeared at the door, his breathing fast and shallow as if he had run all the way from the dining room. He pushed past the sailor and crouched beside her, all knees and elbows as he attempted a hug, but withdrew when he realized they were not alone.

‘A crewman said there’s been an accident!’

‘That’s what they always say.’ Flora cast a dark look at several men in uniform who had crowded the door, none of whom appeared to be doing anything useful.

‘I’m sorry you got hurt, Flora.’ Eddy, biting his lip, hovered at her shoulder. ‘Did the man do it?’

‘What man?’ Bunny demanded, his stern gaze going from Flora to Eddy and back again.

‘I was pushed down the companionway.’ Flora spoke slowly, then sighed at his sceptical expression. ‘You might suggest a search, though I doubt it would do much good now.’

‘We both heard him,’ Eddy insisted. ‘He was in the sitting room. Flora went after him.’

‘Did you see this man, Eddy?’ Bunny asked, his gaze flicking to the young sailor, who shook his head

‘No, but Flora—’

‘He was real!’ Flora slapped her skirt, then winced at the sudden pain that jarred her ankle.

‘The doctor is on his way, sir,’ Flora’s helpmate said at Bunny’s shoulder.

‘Good. Thank you, but I think I can handle it from here.’ He ushered the crewman to the door, where Flora watched him conduct a brief, one-sided conversation with another officer, before returning to her side.

‘They’ll take a quick look around the decks to see if anyone is still about,’ Bunny said. ‘But they cannot accuse anyone found admiring the night ocean of having attacked you.’

‘It’s not as if I could describe him, either.’ She sighed, and propped her head in one hand. ‘I should imagine several people have long cloaks, which is the only part I saw.’ Her initial anger dissipated as she began to see things from a bystander’s view. Like the sailor who helped her, everyone would assume she had been at the punch bowl and simply lost her footing.

Dr Fletcher stepped into the minor chaos in his white dress uniform, all brisk efficiency and terse questions about where her foot hurt, the answer to which was everywhere, and where had it spread, which seemed to be everywhere as well.

‘I doubt you’ve broken your ankle, Miss Maguire,’ he pronounced on completion of his examination. ‘Sprained most like. I’ll bind it for you. Keep it elevated until the swelling goes down. And get lots of rest.’

Apart from a sharp gasp when his handling of her foot sent a rush of pain into her leg, Flora remained silent. His examination complete, he delved into his ubiquitous black bag, withdrawing a familiar brown bottle she had last seen Bunny put into his pocket.

Dr Fletcher smiled as if he read her mind, pouring the contents into a tiny glass. ‘You refused my ministrations
before, but I insist you take this. It will help you with the pain and allow you to sleep.’

Flora eyed the murky brown liquid with distaste, then held her breath and tossed it to the back of her throat, swallowing it in one go. ‘Ugh! That’s bitter.’

‘There’s a good girl!’ He fastened his bag, hefting it in one hand. ‘I’ll come back in the morning to check on you. Goodnight, Miss Maguire, Mr Harrington.’ The pause between their names held a multitude of speculation, but Flora was too weary to protest.

‘He’s annoying,’ Bunny said when the door closed behind him.

‘Papa says it’s compulsory for medical men.’ Eddy sat draped over the opposite chair, his leg swinging. ‘Optimism is their stock-in-trade.’

Flora swallowed repeatedly in an effort to rid herself of the medicinal taste. She attempted a smile, short circuited as a wave of nausea enveloped her. ‘Oh, dear. I think I’m going to be sick—’

Bunny moved incredibly fast for a man who had been in a half-crouch a moment before. In seconds, he shoved the porcelain bowl from her dresser into her hands.

The wave of sickness passed without any visible result. ‘It’s gone. But thank you anyway.’

‘My pleasure.’ Bunny removed the bowl, placing it on a nearby table.

‘I didn’t hear the intruder come in,’ Eddy said, apologetic. ‘I’m so sorry, Flora.’

‘It’s not your fault.’ Flora patted his hand absently. ‘Nothing is, Eddy.’ She wished she could reassure him there was nothing further to worry about, but it would be a lie.

‘C’mon, old man.’ Bunny guided Eddy back to his
room. ‘It’s getting very late. Back to bed and get some sleep.’

Eddy issued a half-hearted protest, but allowed himself to be led away.

‘He’s trying to be brave, I can tell,’ Flora said when Bunny returned.

‘It could have been worse.’ He perched on the arm of the chair Eddy had vacated. ‘He might have come face to face with this chap.’

‘I’m so glad he didn’t.’ Flora shifted in her chair, groaning when pain shot through her hip. ‘You accept there was a chap then?’

Concern darkened his eyes, but instead of an answer, he clapped his hands on his thighs and rose, his smile false. ‘Someone will have to help you into bed.’

‘It isn’t going to be you, Mr Bunny Harrington. I’ll get the stewardess to do it.’

‘I wasn’t offering, as it happens.’ He pressed the bell beside the mantle, then squatted beside her chair, his face inches from hers. ‘I want to apologize for my short temper earlier. I should never have spoken to you like that. It’s just that, well we were having such a lovely time at the dance and for a little while I wanted to forget about death and – well, you know.’ He gave a light shrug. ‘I was enjoying your company. Was that selfish of me?’

‘No, I was too.’ It occurred to her then that if she hadn’t stormed out of the dining room at that very moment, she wouldn’t have found the intruder at all. Then what would have happened? ‘You’re forgiven,’ she said, grudgingly.

‘You did scare me though. When I heard they had found you at the bottom of the companionway, I thought—’

‘That I was lying dead on the deck like Mr—’

‘Not a bit like Mr Parnell,’ he interrupted. ‘That fellow didn’t create nearly as much chaos.’ He tucked a blanket round her and rose. ‘I’ll make sure a crewman remains outside this suite tonight. Then to reassure you, I’ll report what happened to our detective friend.’

She slumped against a cushion he had placed thoughtfully behind her head, too tired to contradict his implication that he didn’t entirely accept her version of events.

‘I’m going to be black and blue in the morning,’ she said through a yawn. ‘I can feel the bruises erupt as I sit here.’ Her words came out as a slurred mumble, her tongue thick in her mouth as she could feel the sedative take effect. ‘Tell me one thing before you go.’

‘What’s that?’ He ducked his head toward her as if he had trouble hearing her.

‘What
is
your name?’ Though she suspected it came out slurred and thus unintelligible.

Her eyes flickered closed so she could no longer see his face.

‘It’s Ptolemy.’ The laughter in his voice sent pleasant ripples into her stomach. Though she must have misheard, she didn’t have the energy to ask him to repeat it, and when the stewardess arrived to help her out of Cynthia’s gown, Bunny had gone.

F
LORA EASED HER
swollen ankle onto the footstool, her bottom lip clenched between her teeth.

‘Does it hurt much?’ Eddy crouched on the floor at her elbow, his eyes sharp with concern. ‘Shall I stay here and keep you company?’

‘Yes, to the first question, but as for the second, it’s not necessary. All I need is a pot of the stewardesses’ best coffee.’ She tried to sound light-hearted for Eddy’s benefit, but the memory of a hard shove at her back and the sensation of falling brought the previous night back in full force.

Her drug-induced slumber hadn’t lasted long and pain had woken her in the early hours. She spent the remainder of the night in a futile attempt to get comfortable, but even the weight of the bedclothes sent a dull ache into her thigh and hip.

When daylight had poked through her blinds, she had given up on sleep and begun the awkward task of dressing.

‘I heard you and Mr Harrington talking last night,’
Eddy said. ‘The sailor said you fell, but the intruder hurt you, didn’t he?’

Flora’s heart sank. ‘I might be wrong about that, it happened so fast. Anyway, he’s not about to come back.’

‘How do you know?’ He dropped his chin onto the arm of her chair and stared up at her, an appeal in his eyes.

‘Well, I don’t, of course.’ Flora hesitated. She didn’t want to lie, but why frighten him? ‘If either you or Ozzy are worried about anything you see or hear, all you have to do is shout for a crewman.’

Eddy pushed a hand through his wayward hair, reminding her she must make an appointment to get it cut before school started.

The temptation to keep him with her all day was strong, but that was neither fair nor practical. The Gilmores had promised to keep an eye on him until she was mobile again, though it was obvious they didn’t feel it was necessary.

‘I’m glad Mr Harrington is looking after you.’ Eddy picked at his sleeve, self-conscious. ‘I–I think you make a lovely couple.’

Flora’s hand stilled in the process of smoothing Eddy’s hair. ‘He’s a kind man and a welcome friend for the voyage.’

‘That isn’t what I meant. You’re quite old now, Flora, it’s time you had a beau.’

‘Indeed?’ She slapped his shoulder lightly, torn between laughter and pique. ‘Now off you go to breakfast before it’s all gone.’

‘Flora.’ Eddy’s teeth worried at his lower lip. ‘I have a confession to make.’

‘You’re an Anglican, Eddy, you don’t make confessions.’ She realised her attempt to make him smile had failed
miserably when his bottom lip quivered.

‘Well, I need to this time,’ he persisted. ‘It could be my fault you got hurt.’

‘Why would you think that?’ She shifted in search of a more comfortable position, wishing she hadn’t when pain flared in her ankle.

‘Ozzy and me, well, we found something in Mr Harrington’s motor car the other day.’

‘What sort of something?’ At the same time a vague memory intruded, of the Gilmore father and son walking along the deck, but the image remained indistinct.

‘I’ll show you.’ He disappeared into his room, reappearing again seconds later with a flat stick about a foot long, made of dark wood that he held reverently in both hands. ‘We found it stuffed down the back of the seat. Ozzy said we should take turns looking after it. I’ve had it since last night. Is that why the man came to our room last night?’

‘I’m not sure.’ She took it from him, the wood smooth, almost waxy to the touch. ‘It looks foreign.’ She held it up to the light, where a gold strip of metal cut through the polished wood a third of the way down. ‘Oriental maybe. What are these marks carved into it?’

‘I didn’t notice that.’ Eddy peered at it. ‘Looks like some sort of cuneiform writing.’

‘You should have told me about this before. It could be valuable.’

‘We didn’t know what it was, not at first,’ Eddy’s voice rose slightly.

‘What do you mean, at first?’

He took the object from her and tugged it gently. The end slid off smoothly, revealing a thin steel blade that tapered into a point at the top.

‘It’s a knife,’ he said unnecessarily.

‘So I see. When exactly did you find it?’ The possibility that it belonged to Bunny made her heart race. She held her breath, hoping Eddy would disabuse her.

‘Yesterday, before dinner.’ He hunched his shoulders in the nonchalant shrug employed by boys when they know they have done something they shouldn’t, but prefer not to explain. ‘It wasn’t there on Tuesday.’

‘I do wish you’d told me about this. I would never have let you keep it had I known what it was.’

Eddy dropped his chin, suddenly sheepish. ‘Am I in trouble?’

‘Um – no. I’ll deal with this.’ She had noticed something she hoped Eddy had not. Where the blade met the hilt was a brown stain that resembled dried blood. It occurred to her then with sharp clarity that this was the weapon used to stab Eloise.

Having reminded Eddy that finders are most definitely not keepers, Flora sent him off to breakfast in the company of a steward, with express instructions to go straight to the Gilmores’ suite afterwards.

Alone again, Flora fingered the knife while debating what to do. The longer it remained in her possession, the greater the threat to both herself and Eddy. Her first instinct had been to tell Bunny, but suppose it was his? She shook the thought away as ridiculous. Bunny wasn’t a killer.

After a nail-biting few moments, she came to the conclusion that the situation required the logical thought of someone with authority.

A quick glance at the mantle clock told her it was still forty minutes to the breakfast bugle. Tucking the knife
under her jacket, she let herself out onto the deck.

Her halting walk to the port side of the promenade deck took a frustratingly long time, and when she finally reached Mr Hersch’s stateroom, a dull, persistent throbbing radiated up her thigh.

She leaned against the frame and rang the bell, fretting in case Bunny had chosen to go to breakfast early and saw her. She didn’t want to have to explain, and the fewer people who knew about the knife the better. The door swung open, and the German detective filled the door frame, his brows drawn together in a scowl. A tiny fleck of shaving foam clung to his skin below one ear, and his tie was undone.

‘Good morning, Flora.’ His gaze slid to her tightly-bound ankle and the slipper that was the only footwear she could fit over it. ‘Should you be on your feet?’

‘I’m sorry to bother you this early, but there’s something you should see.’ She clamped her arm tight against her jacket, where the knife pressed into her side.

‘You’d better come in.’ He scanned the empty deck both ways before stepping aside.

Flora made for the nearest chair and lowered herself into it with a relieved sigh.

‘Forgive me for failing to put in an appearance last night.’ Mr Hersch dabbed the foam from his face with a towel draped over his shoulder, then fastened his collar studs while speaking. ‘Officer Martin reported your er – mishap to me last night, but assured me you weren’t badly hurt. I assumed questions could wait until this morning.’

‘It’s quite all right, I didn’t expect you to come rushing to my side, but—’ She pinned him with a steady gaze. ‘Mr Hersch, do you think I’m suffering from delusions? That
I simply had one glass of punch too many and imagined someone pushed me down those steps?’

He met her gaze, unflinching for long seconds as if searching for doubt, or confirmation, she couldn’t tell which.

He wiped his hands on the towel, discarding it onto a chair before answering. ‘No, Flora, I don’t.’

Satisfied, she withdrew the knife from inside her jacket and held it out.

He took it from her without speaking, subjecting it to an intense, unhurried study.

‘Eddy and the Gilmore boy found it.’ Flora filled the silence. ‘I thought you should see it. It’s a—’

‘A Korean ceremonial dagger.’ He slid open the two ends as if he had done the same thing a hundred times before. ‘A particularly nice piece.’ He closed it again with a click.

‘You’ve seen it before?’

‘I’ve seen one like it. This one’s quite old. Valuable too, I imagine.’ His gaze lifted to meet hers. ‘Where did young Eddy get it?’

‘In Mr Harrington’s motor car.’ She let the implication settle in. ‘Take a closer look at the blade.’

He flicked her a swift enquiring glance before he obeyed, frowning. Then gave a slow, thoughtful nod. ‘Blood. Do I take it you think this is the weapon you think was used to kill Miss Lane?’

‘Don’t you? Then after killing her, they hid the knife in the motor car. It wasn’t Gus Crowe.’

‘I suspect you’re right, but at this stage I cannot go into details as to why.’ He straddled the arm of a chair, the knife held loosely between both hands where it resembled nothing more than a harmless wooden stick.

‘I apologize if you thought I did not take you seriously in the library yesterday.’ He tapped the knife against the palm of his other hand. ‘You were quite right, there is another killer on board. My enquiries are not yet over, but I’m getting close.’

‘That’s something, I suppose.’ Flora shifted in the chair in an effort to get comfortable, releasing a low groan when the ache in her hip flared.

‘Are you in pain, Flora?’

‘I have some colourful bruises, but the discomfort is easing,’ she lied. ‘It’s a shame so many people have touched that knife, or we may have got a fingerprint from the blade which could prove who used it on Eloise.’

‘Fingerprint?’ Hersch’s brows lifted in amused surprise. ‘You know of such things?’

Flora glared at him. ‘Sir Francis Galton attended a house party at Cleeve Abbey last year.’

‘Galton? The British anthropologist?’ Hersch’s eyes widened. ‘I’ve heard of him. He’s known as a polymath, I believe.’

‘Charles Darwin is his cousin.’ Flora recalled an enlightening conversation she had had with the gentleman during afternoon tea on the lawn. ‘Sir Francis published a book on the subject of fingerprinting a while ago. Did you know that no two people in the entire world share the same fingerprint?’

‘As a matter of fact, I did. However, even Pinkerton’s has yet to establish them as a reliable method of identification. No court in the land would accept them as evidence.’

‘No, I suppose you’re right,’ Flora said, disappointed. ‘We’ll have to think of another way.’

‘We?’ He placed the knife on a table at his elbow and sat back in his chair, the fingers of both hands linked
together over his stomach. ‘Flora,’ he began, his rare use of her given name dragging her gaze to his face. ‘If I reveal something, can I trust you to keep it to yourself?’

She nodded, her throat dry in anticipation.

‘The van Elder family—’

‘Employed you to follow Eloise and find evidence against her.’

He straightened. ‘How did you know?’

‘Eloise told me. She thought you were going to hand her in to the police.’

He gave a slow, understanding nod. ‘As I was saying—’

‘Were you?’ Flora interrupted him. ‘Could you prove she killed her husband?’

He shook his head. ‘However I am aware Parnell claimed to have such evidence, which is why she gave him the money she had taken from her husband’s safe.’

‘Then you were hired by Cynthia Cavendish?’ The fact Eloise hadn’t lied about everything made Flora feel better.

A flutter of surprise entered his eyes, gone in a second. ‘You have been busy, my dear. However, that information is confidential.’

‘Why must you be so evasive after everything that has happened? I have a right to know when someone tried to hurt me last night.’

‘I’m aware of that, my dear, but you must admit you have put yourself in his way.’

Flora squirmed. That may well be true, but she refused to be treated like an annoyance, or worse, a useless female. ‘Why won’t you tell me what you really think?’

Hersch tucked a hand beneath Flora’s elbow and tugged her gently to her feet. ‘I think, that if I don’t leave now, I will miss my breakfast.’

‘There’s something else before you throw me out,’
Flora snapped, hopping on her good foot, her arm braced against the door frame. ‘I think you should talk to Max Cavendish about why he was on deck that day.’

‘Mr Cavendish suffered a concussion which has affected his memory.’

‘Really? Well I spoke to him yesterday, and he definitely knows more than he’s saying.’

‘Can you be more specific?’

Flora hesitated. Max was protecting Cynthia, but from whom or what she didn’t know.

‘Return to your suite and rest that foot.’ Hersch stepped back and closed his door.

By the time Flora reached her sitting room, her ankle throbbed painfully. The van Elder clan could easily have had something to do with Eloise’s death, but if Mr Hersch was on their payroll, would he be prepared to expose them?

She released a frustrated groan as she remembered she had left the knife in the German’s cabin. She hoped it wouldn’t go the same way as the bracelet.