“That man is infuriating!” Ginger tossed her hat onto her bed as Boss reclaimed his spot on the pillow.

Haley sat up with interest. “Which man?”

Ginger peeled off her gloves with exaggerated flair. “Chief Inspector Basil Reed.”

“Full name declaration. Must be love.”

“This is no time for jokes, Haley. He suspects me—us, actually—of murder.”

Haley looked stunned. “That’s ridiculous.”

Ginger bobbed her head. “It most certainly is! Apparently, Captain Walsh owed my father money. Even if I had known about that, which I hadn’t—you know how tight-lipped Father was when it came to finances—why would I kill him? I certainly wouldn’t be any richer.”

“Well,” Haley said, tapping her lips with a pencil. “Assuming you were behaving logically and not full of passion and spite.”

“I’m not spiteful! The chief inspector is still in one piece.”

“For now.”

Ginger calmed enough to sit on the mattress and unbuckle her suede double-strapped shoes. “I may be passionate, but I’m not vengeful.”

“Perhaps I am, then,” Haley said with a smirk. “Perhaps I knew about the injustice and killed the captain in a failed attempt to honour your father’s memory.”

“Haley Higgins! You mustn’t joke like that!”

Haley chuckled. “I couldn’t have moved him to the pantry without help, and you’re the only friend I have.”

Ginger was warmed by Haley’s admission. In normal circumstances, they wouldn’t have forged a friendship, each of them running in different circles—Ginger part of the upper class and Haley in the middle. If it weren’t for her ailing father, and the wartime experiences they shared—a nightmare that removed social class and equalised men—they’d never have met.

“As much as the chief inspector’s suspicions offend me, I suppose he is merely doing his job,” Ginger said. “I can’t begrudge him that.”

“There’s common sense talking.”

Ginger poked at the air. “We must get into the captain’s room.”

“And there goes the common sense.”

“I’m serious, Haley, and you need to be too. We must clear our names.”

“And trespassing in a dead man’s room will help us to do that how?”

“We won’t know until we do it, now, will we?”

With Boss walking inconspicuously between them, they headed for the Walshes’ staterooms.

Haley glanced at the dog. “Do you think it is a good idea to bring Boss?”

“Boss is very bright. He might sniff out something we’d miss.”

“Or bark and give us away.”

“He won’t bark if I tell him not to.”

“Smartest canine on the planet.”

“You said it, and Boss and I both heard it.” The terrier’s knob of a tail shimmied in response.

They stopped at Mrs. Walsh’s door, and Ginger knocked.

“Mrs. Walsh?”

There was every chance Mrs. Walsh would be in her room, but even as a newly minted widow, she wouldn’t be expected to ride out the rest of the journey trapped in her personal quarters. Ginger tapped on the door and called out again, but it remained quiet on the other side. Haley tried the knob. “It’s locked.”

Ginger removed a hairpin from her hat, wiggled it through the keyhole, and moments later the lock gave.

“Mrs. Gold, you never fail to amaze me.”

“The war,” Ginger said in way of explanation. She’d learned a great many unorthodox skills while serving in France. “Come, Boss.”

The room looked much the same as it had that morning. Ginger took the opportunity to sneak a search of the drawers. Plain Victorian underthings—bloomers, stockings, corsets—no face powders or jewellery, just a few hat pins. Mrs. Walsh was a no-nonsense woman.

Haley took a peek in the wardrobe. “Anything?” Ginger asked.

“Nothing out of the ordinary,” Haley said. “Several well-made dresses in dark shades of blue, grey, and black.” She gave Ginger a look. “Well-stocked widow fare, if she was preparing for such a thing, and a variety of black tie-up boots. Mrs. Walsh might not have your fashion sense, but she has a good tailor.”

“Do you think her wardrobe indicates premeditation?”

“That or her sense of style is legitimately worse than mine.”

At the back of the stocking drawer, Ginger discovered a shiny silver square.

“Well, look at this,” she said. With gloved hands, she held up a cuff link engraved with a fleur-de-lis.

“The captain’s cuff links?” Haley said.

Ginger ran her fingers along the bottom and edges of the drawer. “Cuff link. There’s only one.”

“It’s not so unusual for a wife to be in possession of her husband’s belongings,” Haley said.

As Ginger had hoped, the door between the two rooms was unlocked, which surprised her, considering Miss Guilford admitted to being a frequent visitor. Surely the captain had had enough respect for his wife that he would’ve at least locked the door.

Then again maybe he had locked the door and it was the wife who had unlocked it and entered.

The room was an inverse duplicate of Elise Walsh’s. A quick search through the drawers and wardrobe produced a male version of the same sort of belongings.

“Surely we’re not the first to poke around,” Haley said.

Ginger agreed. “The good Chief Inspector must be doing something to earn his reputation. Certainly this was the first place he came.”

Ginger found a fine mahogany box filled with a nice assortment of cuff links. “No solos in here,” she said.

Boss sniffed the carpet in an area behind a chair next to the window and whined.

“What is it, Bossy?” Ginger followed him to a barely noticeable dark splatter that marred the pattern of the red carpet.

“Looks like something bad happened here,” Ginger said.

Haley joined them and squatted to take a closer look. “Blood.”

Ginger pointed to the sideboard. “One of the candleholders is missing.”

“I thought they were secured?”

Ginger leaned over and squinted. “It appears they can be unfastened. Probably so the maids can clean them.”

Haley straightened and brushed out her skirt. “I’d wager a bet that the missing candleholder is the murder weapon.”

“So, this is the scene of the crime,” Ginger mused. “But how did the killer get the body to the cold pantry three decks below? Even a strong man would get winded with dead weight over his back like a sack of potatoes.”

“A laundry cart perhaps, or a service trolley?”

“Ah, good thinking, Haley. The captain would quite likely arrange for something to be brought up if he planned to entertain.”

“We have to consider that it’s possible we’re dealing with more than one killer,” Haley said. “Two working together for a common goal.”

“Or maybe not a common goal,” Ginger said. “Perhaps there are two motives and the killers discovered that they each wanted the captain dead for different reasons and colluded.”

“Good hypothesis,” Haley said. “Let’s say you’re right. Who would our couple team players be?”

“Nancy Guilford and MacIntosh? Elise Walsh and Babineaux?”

The sound of voices travelled from Mrs. Walsh’s room. Ginger stared at Boss and held a finger to her lips. She was going to have to give him an extra treat when they got back to their room.

The door adjoining the rooms was left open a crack, enough for Ginger and Haley to witness Mrs. Walsh alone with Babineaux.

“I may have despised him,” Elise said, “but that doesn’t mean I wanted him dead.”

“Le monde verra cela comme tragique, mais pour nous, chère Elise, cela signifie la liberté.”

Ginger gave Haley a raised brow and whispered, “The world will see this as tragic, but for us, dear Elise, it means freedom.”