Murder at Madame Tussauds: a 1920s cozy historical mystery (A Ginger Gold Mystery Book 23) by Lee Strauss

Author:Lee Strauss [Strauss, Lee]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781774092606
Publisher: La Plume Press
Published: 2023-05-29T16:00:00+00:00

It was late afternoon with dusk approaching as Ginger drove along the streets of London on her way home. The newer electric street lamps were lighting up, the older gas lamps being attended to by men whose job was to climb ladders and light them. One day the whole city would be lit by electricity, a thought foreign to most people, including Ginger, only a decade earlier. Even so, plenty of stretches of road lacked sufficient light, especially with fog beginning to thicken. Ginger had to use the brake pedal more than she’d like, but at least her Crossley had good headlamps.

Ginger’s mind wasn’t on the patchy lighting or growing fogginess. Her mind was on Nevomax. The poison caused a rapid onset of painful and distressing symptoms, starting with heart palpitations, followed by paralysis, and ultimately respiratory failure, bringing death.

The poisoning and death had to have occurred inside or at least out of view of witnesses. This meant the women found in side streets had been moved there after death. Dinah Oakley had been moved after her death.

So where were these women dying? At the brothel? No. The chances of being caught out were too great. The killer must’ve enticed them to come to his home or another private lodging after dark, so that they wouldn’t be seen. This wouldn’t be difficult for women such as these, who were used to using discretion.

The method of injection, the two-pronged object, was a mystery. Ginger couldn’t imagine such a device—

Her thought was interrupted by a bang and a crash which brought the Crossley to a sudden stop.

“Oh mercy,” she said aloud. One headlamp had gone out, and the other shone dimly. Unfortunately, Ginger found herself in a foggy stretch, and the road she’d taken without thinking was particularly dark.

With a sigh, Ginger stepped out of the Crossley. A quick examination confirmed a dented bonnet, the result of encountering a gas streetlight that hadn’t been lit.

There was nothing left to do but abandon the motorcar and walk for help. Digging a small torch out of her handbag, she took a shortcut down a lane that would take her to the next busy street where she’d be sure to spot a taxicab and wave it down. With darkness drawing nigh, all good citizens were indoors, and if not, walked in groups of two or more.

Ginger’s situation was neither of those. The lane grew darker as she moved away from the lighted street behind her, the shadows cast by the overgrown plane tree looked eerily human. Ginger stilled at what sounded like a snapping twig. She spun to see who was behind her, her pulse jumping at the thought that she was being followed. Her hand moved to her handbag, feeling for the Remington, her chest tightening at the realization that she hadn’t thought it necessary to carry it with her.

“Who’s there?”

Only the wind answered her, shaking the branches of the plane tree. Ginger let out a breath. It was only her imagination. She picked up her pace, nearly jogging to the light at the end of the lane.

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