Ginger and Haley eased out of the main door from the captain’s room and into the corridor.

Keeping her voice low, Haley asked, “Was that an admission of guilt by Babineaux?”

“It certainly could be interpreted as such,” Ginger said. “However, he didn’t actually say he did it.”

“Your suspicions about Babineaux and Mrs. Walsh were spot-on,” Haley said. “His affection for her could be considered motive.”

Ginger nodded. “I agree.”

“So, what now?”

“I’m not sure. I’ll take Boss for a little walk and think on it.”

“I’ll meet you back in the room later.” Haley turned in the direction of the port side and Ginger continued on.

On deck, many of the passengers took advantage of the sunshine. Mr. and Mrs. Fairchild waved when they spotted Ginger. She waved in return but picked up her pace, pointing to the dog to indicate she was in a hurry to take him below—a ruse to prevent a lengthy social entanglement.

After more than one frown and a mutter of disapproval at Boss’s presence, Ginger lifted him into her arms, allowing the crêpe-de-chine of her bell sleeves to conceal him. An upswing of wind caught hold of the rim of her hat, and if it hadn’t been for her excellent reflexes, she might have lost it. She pressed it firmly in place with one hand.

She was debating her next move when fate intervened. Patty Applebalm hurried by, a white-gloved hand also trapping her hat on her head.

Ginger turned on her heel and followed.

“Miss Applebalm!”

The lady shot a startled look over her shoulder.

“Hello!” Ginger said with a friendly smile. “I don’t think we’ve been officially introduced. I’m Mrs. Gold.”

Patty Applebalm hesitated before answering. “How do you do?”

“Just fine, thank you. You?”

“Very well.”

Ginger stepped into stride beside the lady, who wore a day dress in a shade of peach that did not flatter her skin colour. Ginger was surprised that Miss Guilford hadn’t pointed it out. Or maybe she had, and Miss Applebalm ignored her advice. Though the assistant had a mousy, unassuming air about her, one couldn’t work for someone like Nancy Guilford if one didn’t have at least a little spunk.

“Have you worked for Miss Guilford long?” Ginger asked. “It must be such an exciting job, assisting a famous film star.”

Patty Applebalm considered Ginger as if she wasn’t quite sure about the level of intelligence she was dealing with. “I’ve known Miss Guilford all her life.”

Ginger noted that Patty didn’t actually answer either question.

“Are you her aunt?”

Patty glanced at her sharply. “Why do you ask that?”

“Well, you said you’ve known her all her life, and I do see a slight resemblance.” It was a very slight resemblance, as in hardly at all, but Ginger hoped her exaggeration would draw the woman out. She was rewarded.

“It’s not widely known, but Nancy is my twin sister’s child. Sadly, my sister is no longer with us.”

“I’m sorry. It’s fortunate that Miss Guilford still has you at her side.”

“I love her as my own. It’s very gracious for Nancy to employ me. There are hundreds of young girls who’d be happy to take my job, and more qualified too.”

“A mutually beneficial arrangement, then.”

“Well, yes.”

Boss wiggled in Ginger’s arm, and Patty Applebalm’s hand flew to her chest. “Good golly! I didn’t notice your dog.”

“Oh, please do excuse him. He didn’t mean to frighten you. He’s really such a gentleman.”

“He is a . . . funny-looking sort of thing.”

Ginger blinked but retained her smile, ignoring the insult to her beloved pet. “He’s a Boston terrier, a terrier and boxer mix. The breed is all the rage in America.”

Patty harrumphed.

“You’re not a dog person, I take it?”

“I prefer cats,” Patty said. “I had to leave Peanut and Butter at home. It’s not so easy to transport cats.”

“I’m sure they miss you.”

Ginger caught sight of the rising waves, and her stomach turned as the ship lilted. She dreaded the thought of being tossed about at sea. Once in a lifetime was enough.

“I really must hurry back,” Patty Applebalm said. “Miss Guilford is expecting me.”

“Of course. Please give my regards to Miss Guilford.”

Ginger and Miss Applebalm parted ways, leaving Ginger alone. It was then that she heard someone hissing.

“Psst!”

Ginger stilled and turned to the sound.

“Psst, miss.”

Ginger scanned the deck for young Scout, knowing the lad would be in deep water if he was caught in first class. She had to give him credit—though she heard him, she couldn’t see him anywhere. He was as invisible as he’d claimed.

She could’ve had Boss sniff him out, but she didn’t want to draw attention.

“Meet me by the engine room,” she said aloud to seemingly no one, catching the odd look from a grey-haired couple strolling past.

Ginger meandered languidly, keeping an impassive expression on her face, but inside she raged with curiosity. Young Scout must have something important to tell her if he felt it merited the huge risk he took to find her.

Scout sat on a bench across from a stack of wooden, whitewashed lifeboats. He was so small—much smaller than a boy his age should be—that his bare feet dangled in the air. Ginger’s heart pinged. Her dog’s life was better than this young boy’s. The unsatisfied maternal piece of her soul longed to sweep him up and take him home. Give him a warm bath and a hot bowl of soup. A haircut and a toothbrush. A teddy bear and a hug. But she knew there were hundreds more just like Scout in London, and she’d left as many behind in Boston. At least she could help this one by giving him these little jobs.

“Scout,” she said as she approached.

He stretched out to pet Boss. “’Ello, ol’ boy.” Then to Ginger, “’Ello, miss.”

“Why don’t you call me Mrs. Gold,” she said. “We’re friends now, aren’t we?”

“Yes, miss—I mean, missus!”

Ginger smiled. Scout’s enthusiasm was contagious. “What do you have for me, young man?”

She expected him to produce the missing silver cuff link, for which she was prepared to compensate him with a generous tip.

Scout stood and twitched with restrained excitement. “Ya told me ter tell ya if I saw summit ’spicious, right?”

“Yes.”

“Oi, I seen summit real ’spicious-like.”

“What did you see?”

“I saw a lady throw summit over the rails.”

“Did you see what it was?”

Scout frowned. “No, but it were about this long.” He held out his small hands to the length of a loaf of bread. “And heavy-like. She throw’d it over and . . . and it made a good splash.”

“Where did this happen?”

“Right over there, missus. Be’ind the engine room.”

“Did you recognise the woman?”

“Nah. She had ’er back to me and a big ol’ ’at on ’er ’ead. The sun were in me eyes.”

His grubby hand extended forward, holding a palm-sized square sheet of paper. “She dropped this.”

It was a photograph of a toddler dressed in trousers and a simple white shirt. Ginger flipped it over, and the handwriting on the back was simply a child’s name. Joseph Jr.