The Wedding of Ginger & Basil: a 1920s historical cozy mystery (A Ginger Gold Mystery) by Lee Strauss

Author:Lee Strauss [Strauss, Lee]
Language: eng
Format: azw3, epub
ISBN: 9781988677859
Publisher: La Plume Press
Published: 2018-08-16T00:00:00+00:00

SCOUT

Eleven-year-old Scout Elliot had done something bad. For a while, he’d thought he’d got away with it, thought his idea was a good one, and that he’d get what he wanted. Now, he understood that all it would get him was a stint in prison.

He shouldn’t be so surprised; crime ran in his family. Perhaps he would see Cousin Marvin again . . . if they were lucky enough to be in the same prison.

“I’m gonna miss you, Goldmine,” he said as he brushed the flanks of the exceptionally beautiful creature—an Akhal-Teke, with hair as fine and golden as an angel’s.

Of all his chores, Scout loved the stable work the best. The smell of fresh grain, even the scent of horse sweat and dung. Carrying water to fill Goldmine’s trough, forking hay for him to eat, shovelling the manure—he loved it all.

Recently, Scout had asked Mr. Clement a very important question. “Do you fink I could grow up to be a jockey?”

Mr. Clement’s gaze had moved from the top of Scout’s newsboy cap to the toes of his scuffed-up boots. “You’re small enough in stature,” he’d said.

The one thing Scout had rued mightily was how slight and short he was for his age. He thought that maybe being small was one of those rotten bits of life that could turn into something good. “Right, I am,” he’d replied with a new note of pride in his voice. “I just need to learn to ride fast.”

Mr. Clement’s leathery face had cracked into a smile. “I’ve no doubt you shall succeed at that if you work hard for it.”

“I shall, sir! I shall!”

Scout’s lip quivered at the memory as he fought the tears that burned the back of his eyes. He’d no longer get to be a jockey. Not after what he’d done.

A sour swallow scorched Scout’s throat. He drew a smooth flannel sleeve under his nose.

Yup, he was no better than Marvin. Scout had been so cross with his cousin when he fell in with those bad folk and got taken away. Their ol’ uncle had died, and Marvin was supposed to take care of him. But Marvin had been stupid, and Scout was left alone to fend for himself.

Until the missus came and took him to Hartigan House. Gave him a bed, and food, and dumb schooling, but most of all she made him feel safe. No bad guys would come and slit his throat during the night.

Now, he was the bad guy.

“I’m so sorry, missus,” he muttered.

He should’ve left the stable by now, but the thought of going out on his own was paralysing. First, where should he go? Back to east London? Second, how was he to get there? He couldn’t afford a taxicab and didn’t know how to take the bus or tube. It was too far to walk, and he was bound to get lost if he tried.

Scout patted Goldmine’s long nose as the large animal’s great streamer of a tail swished back and forth to swat at flies.

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