Murder on the Minneapolis (4 page)

‘I’m sorry.’ He exchanged a look with Captain Gates, who nodded. ‘This needs to be kept formal as an official record.’

‘I see.’ Flora took a deep breath. ‘I was about to descend the companionway to the boat deck, when I spotted something at the bottom.’

‘You didn’t use the internal staircase lobby to get to the lower deck?’ the captain interrupted.

‘Well, no. I wanted some air and it was a lovely morning.’ Flora flinched. ‘At least, it was one before….’

‘I see.’ He instilled a world of speculation in the words. ‘Do go on.’

‘I-I thought it was a bundle of clothing at first, but a closer look told me it was a man. A dead one.’ She nodded to Officer Martin. ‘That’s when you arrived.’

‘That’s true, sir.’ Officer Martin addressed the captain. ‘When I got there, the young lady was bent over the body.’

‘Of course it’s true.’ Flora tensed, at which Bunny’s hand came down on her shoulder in warning. ‘I apologize, I don’t mean to be sharp.’ She bit her lip. ‘It must be the shock.’

Not that she was in the least upset any more, but as an excuse, it would do.

‘Did you see the man fall?’ Captain Gates asked.

‘No. In fact the blood on his head had congealed, so it must have happened some time before I discovered him. Hours possibly.’

‘We don’t think that was the case.’ Captain Gates twisted his cap repeatedly between his splayed knees. ‘The decks are washed every morning at six. None of the crew reported a body in that location then.’

‘What did Dr Fletcher say?’ Flora glanced at Bunny, who shrugged.

‘As far as I know, nothing. He didn’t appear to regard the fact as important.’

Flora gave him a hard look and Officer Martin cleared his throat. ‘You must understand, the doctor can only give the body a cursory examination, the post-mortem will have to wait until we reach England.’ His gaze shifted from her to Bunny. ‘Were either of you acquainted with the deceased?’

The deceased
. Flora shivered. How quickly death consigned the man to non-existence.

‘I met him for the first time last night at dinner.’ Bunny’s hand squeezed Flora’s shoulder, reminding her he had not removed it. ‘Miss Maguire ate dinner here in her suite, so they never met.’

‘I believe Mr Parnell won a good deal of money in a card game last evening?’ Captain Gates fell into the role of questioner.

‘Um, yes.’ Bunny replied. ‘Gilmore took it in his stride, while Crowe was more put out at his losses.’

‘Put out?’ Officer Martin posed it as a question.

‘Parnell goaded him and Crowe appeared rattled.’

‘You didn’t join this game, Mr Harrington?’ Again that accusatory tone.

‘I did not.’

‘Are either of you acquainted with,’ Officer Martin paused and squinted at his notebook, ‘a Miss Eloise Lane?’

Flora shook her head. Raised voices heard through bulwarks didn’t count, surely?

‘Again,’ Bunny said, ‘I met her for the first time last night.’

‘In your opinion, Mr Harrington,’ Officer Martin asked,
‘did Mr Parnell and Miss Lane appear amiable towards one another?’

‘I got the impression their association was a business arrangement.’ The vibration of Bunny’s shrug went through Flora’s shoulder. ‘One where the lady’s expectations outweighed Parnell’s promises.’

‘In what way?’

‘Miss Lane intimated Parnell had got her a part in a London production of
School for Scandal
at the Theatre Royal. He claimed acquaintance with Cyril Maude, the producer.’

‘Did Mr Parnell endorse this at any time?’ Captain Gates asked, shifting the interview to a three way discussion, with Flora relegated to that of spectator.

‘He appeared embarrassed, actually,’ Bunny said as if the thought had just that moment occurred to him. ‘He tried to dismiss it.’

‘What was the lady’s reaction to that? Disappointment? Anger?’

‘Petulance.’ Bunny shrugged again, the movement felt by Flora rather seen. ‘She insisted Parnell had guaranteed the part was hers.’

‘Did anything out of the ordinary occur in the saloon last night?’ Captain Gates asked. ‘An argument perhaps or harsh words?’

‘Nothing other than I’ve already mentioned.’

‘And you and Miss Maguire, sir?’ Officer Martin’s pen moved between each of them. ‘The two of you had not met before yesterday?’

‘That’s right,’ Bunny said, and Flora gave a curt nod, irritated at being ignored and questions answered for her.

A loaded look passed between the two crewmen, then Captain Gates cleared his throat and rose. ‘I think that’s
all we need for the moment, sir. Miss.’ He waited until his companion had pocketed his notebook, then cocked his chin as a signal for them to leave.

‘What do you think happened to Mr Parnell?’ Flora blurted.

Captain Gates turned back at the door, his expression bland. ‘We have no reason to believe the gentleman’s death was anything other than an unfortunate accident.’

Flora slumped back in her chair, disappointed but not surprised. After all, people died all the time from falls. Maybe the most obvious explanation was correct. Then an image of the body on the deck intruded and her disquiet surged again. They were wrong.

‘I hope this incident doesn’t spoil the rest of your voyage,’ the captain went on. ‘If there is anything you need – either of you – do feel free to call upon myself or one of my crew.’

Bunny saw them both out, while Flora remained seated, her teeth gripped so hard her jaw ached.

‘I
T’S EVIDENT THEY
believe the man fell,’ Bunny said, when he returned from seeing the crewmen out.

‘They weren’t prepared to discuss the alternative either, were they, for instance—’ she broke off, wincing at the strident note of a bugle from outside. ‘I’m never ready for that sound.’

‘It does take a little getting used to.’ Bunny laughed. ‘It’s been a long morning already, and it’s only breakfast time. Shall we go in together, or do you want to wait for your young charge?’

‘Eddy has elected to attend the young persons’ mealtimes, so I shall have to do without his company from now on. I hope he hasn’t been upset by this incident. Despite his mischievous nature, he’s a sensitive boy.’

She had almost said killing, but to persist with her suspicions would make her look foolish.

‘He didn’t look too upset when he ran out of here earlier.’ Bunny retrieved Flora’s shawl.

‘No, he didn’t, did he?’ She stood passive as he draped the soft wool over her shoulders. ‘Will Captain Gates make an announcement during divine service about what happened?’

‘Probably.’ He shot her a mischievous sideways look as they stepped onto the deck. ‘I doubt he’ll mention you, though. Women on board are considered bad luck. Sailors are superstitious that way.’

‘You aren’t making me feel any better about this at all, Mr Harrington.’ She cast him an oblique look as she moved past him and stepped onto the deck.

‘Sorry, just my perverse sense of humour. And I wish you’d call me Bunny.’

She was considering this request as they drew level with a door further along the deck, where a young woman in a cream and white gown exited a suite into their path, her head turned to address someone behind her.

‘Oh, do hurry up, Max, I want my breakfast.’

‘Good morning, Mrs Cavendish,’ Bunny said, bringing Flora to a halt beside him.

The woman turned to face them, a bright smile on her face. ‘Good morning to you, Mr Harrington. How nice to see you again.’

Flora recognized the lady she had seen arguing with the man who now lay lifeless in the doctor’s office.

‘How did you sleep on your first night aboard?’ Bunny asked.

Her wide, grey gaze slid over Flora before returning to Bunny. ‘Perfectly fine, thank you, until the entire crew stampeded past our window at some ridiculously early hour. I’ve a good mind to complain to the captain.’

Flora now knew how a sparrow must feel in the company of a kingfisher. Clumsy, brown and invisible.

‘Forgive me,’ Bunny said with a start. ‘Allow me to introduce Miss Flora Maguire.’

‘Do call me Cynthia,’ the lady gushed in a clipped Home Counties accent, her delicate hand limply extended.

‘I’m afraid there was an accident, which explains all the activity,’ Bunny said. ‘One of the passengers fell down a companionway.’

‘Really? How inconvenient.’ Cynthia fussed with her scarf. ‘Anyone we know?’

‘That Parnell chap from last night.’

‘How awful!’ Cynthia froze in the act of tugging on a white glove. ‘W-was he badly hurt?’

‘He’s dead,’ Flora said, watching her closely.

The blood drained from Cynthia’s face, her hand stilled in mid-air. ‘He can’t be!’

‘I know it’s hard to believe,’ Bunny said. ‘Seems he hit his head as he fell. Shocked all of us, especially Flora here, who was unfortunate enough to have found the body.’

‘I’m sorry if we’ve upset you,’ Flora said. ‘Did you know him? The dead man?’

Cynthia’s eyes rounded in an innocence that Flora didn’t find convincing. ‘No, not at all, we met for the first time at dinner last night.’

‘Really?’ Aware of Bunny’s puzzled frown directed at her profile, Flora couldn’t resist. ‘Only, I’m sure I saw you arguing with him when we boarded yesterday.’

‘Oh, was that the same man?’ Her gasp of surprise was too contrived to be genuine. ‘He bumped me with his suitcase. I gave him quite a set down, I can tell you.’

‘We’re on our way to breakfast, won’t you join us?’ Bunny asked.

Cynthia smoothed her gloves over each wrist in turn, as if giving herself time to think. ‘Er no, I have to wait for Max. We’ll be along in a moment.’ She backed hurriedly through the suite door and closed it firmly behind her.

‘That was one half of our honeymoon couple,’ Bunny said as they reached the door to the interior lobby.

‘So I gathered.’ It was on the tip of Flora’s tongue to ask him if he thought Cynthia was pretty, but changed her mind. He had already described her as stunning, so it would be like probing a sore tooth to check it still hurt.

‘Did you really see her arguing with Parnell yesterday?’ Bunny asked, frowning as they descended the staircase to the lower deck.

‘That’s what it looked like. I didn’t see any suitcase, either.’

‘But she said she didn’t know him.’

‘She did, didn’t she?’

The dining room door flapped open at Bunny’s touch, releasing a low murmur of voices. Panelled in light oak with a domed, stained-glass ceiling that rose through two storeys, a blaze of jewel-tinted light flooded the scene below.

Long maple wood tables filled the room, arranged like a school dormitory; while wide windows gave onto the glistening ocean on one side, and tall gilt mirrors made the room appear twice its size.

Heads swivelled in their direction as Bunny guided Flora across the room to their table. One or two whispered something to a companion, who watched them pass.

Flora fought the urge to turn tail and run, but Bunny’s grip on her arm prevented her. ‘Keep walking. It won’t be nearly as bad as you imagine.’

She didn’t believe him.

‘There you are, Harrington.’ A broad-shouldered man unfurled from his chair as they reached the table, enveloping Flora’s hand in both of his. ‘Is this the young lady who eschewed our company last night?’ He raised her hand briefly to his lips. ‘Gerald Gilmore. Lovely to meet you, my dear.’

A wing of silver graced one temple in his black hair; a hereditary trait more than a sign of age, as Flora judged him to be no more than forty.

‘This is my wife, Monica,’ he indicated a lady in a dove grey silk gown which did little for her pale skin and unremarkable features.

‘How do you do.’ She offered Flora her hand as if conveying a blessing. I’m Ozzy’s mother,’ she added unnecessarily. ‘This awful business about Mr Parnell is all over the ship.’

‘Ah yes, the finder of our unfortunate dinner companion,’ a middle-aged man with salt-and pepper hair said with a slight Germanic accent. ‘Carl Hersch,’ he said, taking Flora’s hand in a firm, dry grip; a contact that lasted longer than politeness required, though was not unpleasant.

‘It’s nice to meet you, Mr Hersch. I’m afraid so.’ Flora retrieved her hand and took the chair Bunny held out. ‘A fact which I hope won’t be held against me.’

‘Nothing to fret about.’ Gerald’s clipped manner appeared to be his normal mode of speech. ‘Storm in a teacup. Forgotten by tomorrow.’

Flora doubted it.

‘It could have been worse,’ Monica said. ‘I mean, no one actually knew the man, did they?’ she added with a wry little smile.

‘Miss Lane did,’ Mr Hersch said, taking his seat. ‘They were travelling together.’ Though no one reacted to this comment.

‘Have you met Miss Ames, our resident author, Miss Maguire?’ Monica indicated a grey-haired lady beside her as if she were a personal pet. Flora imagined she had either dressed in the dark or simply desired to be noticed in her purple-frilled blouse coupled with a bright orange skirt.

‘Mary Ames, how nice to meet you,’ the lady said in a voice as loud as her clothes.

Flora released her hand, just as a young man of around twenty-five with untidy dark hair in need of a barber approached their table.

‘Morning, everyone.’ He threw himself into an empty chair, sending Mr Hersch’s napkin fluttering onto the floor. ‘I’m Gus Crowe.’ His lingering gaze slid over Flora in a way that made her want to shake it off. ‘Nice to see another attractive face.’ Then in the same breath he addressed the table. ‘I say, has everyone heard about that Parnell chap?’

A steward rushed forwards to replace the fallen napkin, while Mr Hersch flicked an exasperated look at Mr Crowe.

‘He’s quite dead, y’know,’ Crowe continued, oblivious of the combined looks of censure from the rest of the company.

‘We’re very aware of the situation, Mr Crowe.’ Monica glared at him. ‘The poor man fell down a companionway. They ought to put warning notices on those things.’

‘They do, Monica,’ her husband said. ‘You need to wear your glasses more often.’

‘Is that all we know? That he sustained a fall?’ Miss Ames asked.

‘What’s to know? He bashed his head and copped it.’ Crowe spread butter liberally on a slice of toast, took a bite and chewed.

Flora bit her bottom lip, resisting the urge to offer her own opinion.

‘Is this all of us?’ she asked Bunny, indicating the five empty places.

‘That’s odd.’ Bunny glanced at the door. ‘I distinctly heard Cynthia say she wanted her breakfast when we
ran into her this morning. Yet neither she nor Max have turned up.’

‘That’s honeymooners for you,’ Gerald said, sawing vigorously at a sausage. ‘Most likely they had a tray sent to their suite.’

Bunny frowned. ‘Mrs Penry-Jones isn’t here either, nor is Miss Lane.’

‘I’m not surprised the actress isn’t here,’ Monica said. ‘She’s probably too distressed after hearing what happened.’

‘Doesn’t explain the old lady, though,’ Gerald said, thoughtful. ‘Struck me as an up-at-the-crack-of-dawn sort of person.’

‘The captain is still interviewing everyone, which may explain their absence.’ Mr Hersch reached for the last bread roll from a basket, which Gus Crowe snatched from beneath his fingers, grinning like a schoolboy.

Hersch sighed and pushed his plate away.

‘We’ve already been interviewed by the captain.’ Bunny included Flora in his response.

‘What sort of questions did he ask?’ Miss Ames produced a moleskin-covered notebook and pen from her handbag.

‘Only what I saw, which was very little,’ Flora replied, then before she could stop herself, said, ‘when I pointed out there should have been more blood on the deck, he didn’t agree.’

Bunny’s eyes narrowed and he gave a tiny shake of his head which Flora pretended not to see.

‘How interesting.’ Miss Ames unsheathed her pen and began writing. ‘Do share your theory, Miss Maguire. I love a good mystery.’

‘I don’t have a theory, as such. I simply thought it odd, that’s all.’ She refrained from mentioning the gash on his
head, or what the maid had said.

Bunny’s sigh sent a rush of defiance into her tongue. ‘Actually, I also wondered how he came to be on an outside companionway at six in the morning in a dinner suit.’

Flora jumped as Bunny’s shoe connected with her shin.

‘You mean he was there all night?’ Monica asked, her eyes round.

‘Not according to the captain.’ Flora exchanged a look with Bunny, who rolled his eyes but stayed silent.

‘How curious.’ Miss Ames held each of their gazes in turn.

Gerald gave a half amused snort. ‘Something for your next book, Miss Ames? Fiction is more interesting than fact, after all.’

Flora didn’t agree.

Flora excused herself at the end of the meal with vague promises of catching up with Bunny later. His disapproval of her thoughts on Mr Parnell had annoyed her, though on her walk back to her suite, she had to admit no solid evidence existed to disprove the accident theory.

Despite that, her head buzzed with unanswered questions. Had the argument she had heard through the bulkhead turned into a lover’s quarrel, followed by a crack on the head? If so, how did Parnell end up at the bottom of a staircase hours later?

Preoccupied, she collided with another female passenger; the impact sending her sideways into a steamer chair.

‘I’m so sorry!’ Flora righted herself and made a leap for a clutch bag that had skittered across the deck. ‘I wasn’t looking where I was going.’

‘That’s quite all right,’ the young woman replied in a soft, lilting voice. Her cloud of black curls contrasted
sharply with porcelain skin and a heavy layer of blood-red lipstick.

‘I’m Flora, Flora Maguire. I don’t think we’ve met.’

‘How do you do. I’m Est—’ her bag dropped onto the deck again, and she dipped to retrieve it before extending her hand. ‘Oh, I’m so clumsy this morning. Eloise, Eloise Lane.’

Flora accepted the hand as if in a daze, staring at the occupant of the suite next to hers. The actress travelling with Mr Parnell.

‘You’re the lady who found Frank’s body, aren’t you?’ Eloise blurted.

‘What?’ Flora broke off from staring. ‘Oh, yes, I’m afraid I did.’

Eloise offered a weak smile as if she could think of nothing more to add, then wandered towards the ship’s rail and leaned against it, her scarf whipping behind her in the wind.

‘You were missed at breakfast.’ Flora joined her in the hope of instigating a conversation, though Eloise appeared in no hurry to leave.

‘Was I?’ Her cornflower blue eyes beneath thick lashes widened, then sharpened. ‘By whom, exactly?’

Flora thought quickly. ‘The gentlemen, naturally.’

‘I’ll wager their wives didn’t.’ Eloise placed an elbow on the rail and dropped her chin into her hand; a gesture Flora guessed she practised in front of a mirror. ‘I had no appetite after I heard Frank had—’ she broke off and bit her lip.

‘It must have been such a shock to hear he had died,’ Flora said carefully.

‘It was. Awful. I’ve just spent the most ghastly hour with the captain. He wanted to know everything. How long I had known Frank? How did we meet? How close
were we?’ She ran the end of her scarf repeatedly through her fingers. ‘Such impertinent questions. All because the silly man fell down a set of stairs.’

‘They’re only doing their job. I doubt they think you had anything to do with it,’ Flora said, her question as to whether Eloise was romantically involved with Mr Parnell answered.

‘Of course I didn’t!’ Her cheeks coloured, eyes flashing in an outrage that struck Flora as genuine. But then, Flora reminded herself, she was an actress.