CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

The kitchen was busy, and Babineaux straightened in surprise at the sight of Ginger and the chief inspector walking into what he considered to be his personal domain. He collected himself and tossed a towel into one of the big stainless-steel sinks. “Chief Inspector, Meesus Gold, how can I help?”

“I can see how busy you are. Sorry to disturb you,” Chief Inspector Reed said. “I would like to ask you a few questions if you could spare a few minutes.”

“Of course. My office eez private and more comfortable.” Babineaux spoke to his kitchen crew in French, giving them instructions and telling them he’d be away momentarily. Then, in English, he asked Ginger and the chief inspector, “Can I offer you coffee or a tea?”

Both Ginger and the chief inspector declined. Babineaux poured himself a cup of coffee, drinking it black.

The chief inspector took a seat at the desk opposite Babineaux. Ginger claimed the empty chair next to the chief inspector.

“I can assume the reasons as to why you are here, Chief Inspector,” Babineaux said. “But if I may, why in the company of Mrs. Gold?”

Even though the question was directed at the chief inspector, Ginger took the liberty of answering. “To observe as a witness, should there be a need for this conversation to come up in court.” Her response surprised both the cook and the chief inspector, but neither said anything to refute her.

“You discovered the body”—Basil Reed made a point of staring into his notebook—“at 8:00 a.m. yesterday morning.”

“Yes, sir. I was thinking about the menu and eet occurred to me that maybe the strawberries were fini.”

“I see,” Basil Reed said. “What attracted you to the pickle barrel?”

“I have already told you all of this, Chief Inspector,” Babineaux said, looking uncomfortable.

“Please humour me. A lot was going on at that time, and I want to make sure that I jotted down my facts straight.”

Babineaux’s shoulders seemed to relax a little. “I was about to retrieve the last pickles in the barrel, when I noticed a sticky patch on the floor. The kitchen and pantry are always kept in teep-top order. I was about to gather a mop when I saw the lid on the barrel was ajar.”

“Tell us about your relationship with Mrs. Walsh,” Ginger asked.

Babineaux jerked, spilling his coffee. Chief Inspector Reed pursed his lips as if he was holding in his annoyance, then nodded to the cook, indicating he’d like an answer.

Babineaux mopped up his spill with the hem of his apron. “Mrs. Walsh and I are acquainted because she eez the wife of the captain. She frequently travels with her husband to America. All of the kitchen staff know her. In fact, she enjoys cooking and likes to lend a hand on occasion.”

“And Captain Walsh was all right with this arrangement?”

The cook grunted. “To be quite honest, Captain Walsh was not the most attentive husband. At least not until this trip.”

“Why do you say that?”

“It was the first time the captain noticed his wife een the kitchen. He shouted at her and ordered her out. He said the wife of a ship’s captain should not associate with the likes of us.” Babineaux could no longer hide the disdain in his voice.

“You didn’t like the captain, did you?” The chief inspector said.

“Matters not if I liked the man or not. I deed my job.”

“It does where the captain's wife is concerned,” Chief Inspector Reed said.

The cook flushed red and began to babble. “Meesus Walsh deserved better than heem . . . Captain Walsh was good at his job, but as a husband—merde.” His gaze cut to Ginger. “Excuse my French, madame.”

“And if the captain was to suddenly disappear?” Chief Inspector Reed said. “Surely it would free your ‘friend’ from what you view as mistreatment.”

“I do view it as mistreatment!”

Haley would like this guy, Ginger thought.

Babineaux blundered on. “I deed not keel the captain if that ees what you are implying.”

“Not even for love?” Ginger said. Her question caught the cook off guard. He was mid-sip of his coffee, and he spat it out, hitting the chief inspector in the face. Ginger blinked in disgust as spittle landed on her dress.

“Excusez-moi!” Babineaux called for help from the kitchen, and a sailor scurried over with a towel. He awkwardly attempted to pat the coffee off the chief inspector. Basil Reed snatched the towel from the sailor’s hand and dabbed at the coffee on his suit and his face. He gave the cloth to Ginger. She pouted, wondering if her Canton crepe was now ruined.

“Eet just went down the wrong way,” Babineaux explained. “I do apologise.”

“It’s quite all right, ol’ chap,” The chief inspector said, standing. “If I have any more questions, I will find you.”

Out of earshot of the kitchen staff, Ginger leaned in to the chief inspector and said, “That was very suspicious, wouldn’t you say?”