Murder at the White Stag Inn: A Gallery Café Mystery by Sydney Tate

Author:Sydney Tate [Tate, Sydney]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: anonymous
Published: 2024-08-02T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Fifteen

The flashlight flickered across Ginger's face, casting wavering shadows that mirrored the fear in her eyes. She leaned back against the vine-covered wall of the inn, trapped between our unrelenting questions and the imposing brick facade behind her.

"Please, you don't understand," she pleaded, wringing her hands anxiously, any trace of her usual polished confidence gone. "Just let me be on my way. I need to get out of this place!”

I stepped closer, hearing the desperation tinging her voice. Our persistence had cracked through her facade. We were on the verge of a revelation here. I could feel it in my gut. Or maybe that was just hunger pangs from missing dinner to chase her down.

"I'm afraid we can't do that, Ginger," I said firmly. "Not until you tell us what you're so afraid of."

Ginger wrung her hands, clearly conflicted.

"Let's continue this conversation inside, shall we?" I said calmly but firmly, taking her arm. This time, she didn't resist as we guided her back toward the looming inn.

The parlor was dim and still when we entered, the dying embers in the fireplace casting an eerie glow across the antique furniture. I gently guided Ginger down onto the vintage settee while Polly lit a few candles to brighten the room.

"Now Ginger, let's start at the beginning," I said, keeping my tone gentle but probing. "What were you really doing alone outside at this hour?"

Ginger shuffled in her seat under my scrutiny, eyes darting around the room like a trapped rat searching for an escape.

"I already told you everything I know," she insisted in a voice that sounded about as convincing as a toddler with chocolate smeared on their face, denying they ate the cake.

I shook my head. "Now Ginger, you seem like a smart lady. Do I really look gullible enough to believe your little 'just needed some fresh air' story?"

I softened my tone, hoping to come across as impartial rather than accusatory. "Please, if you have any details that could help us find justice for Russ, you need to share. We only want to understand the full truth of what happened."

Ginger chewed her lip anxiously, clearly wrestling with some internal conflict. She opened and closed her mouth a few times, but no words came out.

"There are things you don't understand," she finally whispered. "Things I never wanted to be part of."

I leaned forward intently. We were getting somewhere. "What things, Ginger? We want to understand."

But just then, the parlor doors burst open, making us jump. Winston stormed in, face purple.

"Confound it. What is going on at this unholy hour?" He glared at Ginger and us. "While you all carry on, some of us are trying to sleep!"

Ginger stood abruptly. "Yes, yes, it's late. We should continue this chat tomorrow." Before I could object, she scurried from the room.

I sighed in frustration as Winston continued his tirade about disrupted beauty rest, his bellowing voice grating on my last nerve. He seemed to go on forever, and I was already beginning to miss my beauty rest.

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