Adrift at the Edge: A Tapestry in Treachery

By Lloyd Z. Pierce

South American gold, smuggling, a love triangle, art collections, and high fashion are all parts of a murder or murders. Amid the backdrop of Jazz Age London, Scotland  Yard Inspector Fitzhugh must weave through high society without tipping his hand about the suspects and causing a financial panic. Is the killer one of the elite, or just a

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lloyd Z. Pierce
• Release date: Sep 26, 2019
• ISBN: 9781535616546

Lloyd Z. Pierce

Lloyd Z. Pierce is a lifelong Chicagoan. He is a father of four sons and has worked in a variety of occupations, including business consulting, sales and marketing management, stock brokerage, education, and radio advertising. He started writing for work, but soon found that the bedtime stories he told his kids were helping his creativity and quality at work. His sons encouraged him to try longer formats, like full-length novels. He has also coached speech and drama at the secondary level. He would also like to thank his wife, Mary, for her patience and Ellen Thornton for help with the initial editing.

Book preview

Chapter 1

There’s Been a Murder!

The soft breeze caressed the beach with mind-numbing idleness. It was one of those summer days when even the most highly strung personalities would be lulled into momentary lapses of daydreaming and free-roaming thought. Eudora was on the beach to get some color in her cheeks. Weeks inside a London studio trapped amid the beautiful people of high fashion had left her looking pallid and feeling socially overdosed. A getaway to a secluded place like this would be the elixir to wash out all the angst of the pressure-packed job atop one of the fastest-growing cosmetics houses in all of Europe.

My God, not here! she mumbled in response to a distinctively loud auto sound. It just seemed impossible to leave the city behind. The abrupt cessation of this sound was magnified by the subtle rush of waves breaking on the isolated shore. For a few moments tranquility ruled. Then the warm hand of the sun was interrupted by a large shadow. As Eudora opened a squinting eye, all she could see was the outline of a person standing above her. The glow of sunlight around the figure created an aura-like appearance.

Mrs. Eudora Cosgrove? The voice was akin to slow-rolling thunder.

Yes? Eudora responded as she leaned forward, supporting herself on her elbows and forearms.

Is your husband with you?

No, he’s not, she replied, sinking back onto the sand. He’s in London. And who would you be? Her droll smugness clung to every word.

Inspector T.S. Fitzhugh, Scotland Yard, madam, came the crisp introduction.

Scotland Yard? she retorted with renewed interest as she rose again to her half-upright position. Her soft brown locks framed her face. I assume that you have some identification. What in the world would Scotland Yard want with Geoffrey?

The Inspector presented his official identification, dutifully.

Would you know, madam, where we might find him?

At our home in Kensington Court, I suppose. Inspector, what is it that you want from Geoffrey?

At this point, only some information and some answers.

Answers to what? What is this all about? Her voice was filled with quizzical indignation.

Murder!

The short response hung cold in contrast to the peaceful setting. Now rising to her feet, Eudora stepped forward to the Inspector.

Whose murder?

A Miss Kerrington Parker; I believe you know her.

In a fraction of a second Eudora went limp, falling to her knees. The Inspector grabbed her limp body, breaking the fall.

Let me help you up.

Not Kerry. No…who…why? The staccato questions were blurted out.

That, madam, is why we need to speak with Mr. Cosgrove. The Inspector’s strong yet tender support was welcome assistance to Eudora, who was clearly shaken.

l’m sorry to have been the bearer of such grave news, the Inspector added.

Have you tried to contact Geoffrey at Kensington Court? Eudora asked.

Sadly, we have not found him at home, at his office, or at his club. That is why I came here to see you.

It was plain to see the Inspector’s concern by the very look in his eyes. The sight of two people holding each other beneath a benign sun on the beach would have conjured up romantic images if it were not for such downcast expressions on their faces.

I don’t know how I can help you, Inspector. I’ve haven’t spent much time with Geoffrey at all during these past few weeks. With all of his business dealings and my own business involvements there just hasn’t been any time. She found her usually well-ordered mind racing, her thoughts chaotic.

I realize this has come somewhat abruptly to you. Perhaps you would like a few minutes to compose yourself? the Inspector asked.

Thank you, Inspector, that would be most kind, replied Eudora. Looking down at her watch, she remarked, We could discuss this further over tea in about thirty minutes. It will allow me some time to dress and––she paused momentarily, with a sheepish look––gather my thoughts. This has been most distressing.

The Inspector looked down on her face with gentle caring. As you please.

Eudora continued, I shall meet you on the hotel veranda, then, in thirty minutes.

He nodded an acknowledgement.

She turned, picked up her towel, and started off across the sand toward the main hotel pavilion.

The Inspector stood, hands in pockets, watching her retreat, in his mind saying to himself, This Geoffrey Cosgrove must be mad to have a woman so beguiling and not spend any time with her.

The Inspector strode onto the veranda with pensively slow steps. The maître d’ led him to a table near the front edge facing out to the ocean. As he sat gazing at the surf, a beneficent wisp of sea air brushed his face with refreshment from the summer heat. The pause was pleasant but he could not escape the barrage of questions cluttering his mind.

Inspector?

Startled from concentration, he looked up to his right.

Deep in thought?

Eudora’s words passed him like an express train unnoticed. He gazed at her, verging on staring. Catching himself, he quickly reacted, rose, and responded.

My apologies, madam. Please have a seat.

The waiter, who had accompanied her to the table, withdrew a chair from the setting, held it steady as she sat, slid it forth, and withdrew. The Inspector, normally strong and reserved, seemed almost boyish in his reaction to Eudora. She sat elegantly in a summer dress of light, fluttering white ruffles. Her broad sunhat haloed her face. Only the pink ribbon of her hat contrasted.

lnspector, are you all right? Eudora queried.

Oh, perfectly, madam. I was just considering some details. His answer, a careful cover-up of his true thought, gave way to a more resolute professionalism. He set out to clear his thoughts and gain the answers to his unrelenting questions about the details of what was growing into a high-profile case.

Now, I’d like to begin with some basic information, and then we can get into more detail later if warranted. Mrs. Cosgrove, what is your relationship to Miss Parker?

"Kerry is…was the primary model that I used in all of my advertising, along with my clothing line. She was the ‘Escape’ girl."

Escape? The Inspector’s puzzled look cued a broader explanation.

Escape is a line of cosmetics and perfumes that my company manufactures. Kerry was in all of my ads the last three years except my most recent.

Really? Why not this most recent ad?

She wasn’t well. She had gone on holiday earlier in the year, but when she returned, she kept complaining of stomachaches. Some were quite severe. I wasn’t sure if the work was too much strain or if she had some infection, so I referred her to my personal physician, Dr. Boyle.

Would you have his address?

I’m not sure of the number, but it is on Atterbury Street West.

So what did Dr. Boyle find out?

Not much that I know of. He told her to rest for a while, which is why she could not do our last ad. After we finished with the photo work and assignment of the distribution of the ads, I came here directly.

You did not stop at home to see your husband? The Inspector’s tone betrayed shock at such unladylike behavior.

Inspector, it’s the 1920s, not the 1880s. No, Inspector, our relationship is not at all traditional. Geoffrey’s business, like mine, often takes him from home for weeks at a time. Other men would not tolerate their wives’ involvement in business. But Geoffrey believes that it is better for me to work than to sit idly by while he is away. When he bought the company four years ago, it was nearly bankrupt. But he had so much faith in me that he signed over ownership to me completely. He told me that if I wanted a business, I had one to do whatever I wanted with. Since then, I’ve built the company up. And with the money I make, I can come and go as I please. I am completely independent. Her pride in her accomplishments was glowing. A liberated woman, far ahead of societal changes, was unique in this time and place.

The Inspector followed. And so when was the last time you saw your husband? And what did he say at that time?

That would have been two days prior to my departure. Eudora paused for a moment, recollecting. He said that he had business in Surrey that needed his attention and that he would return in a couple of days.

A couple of days, the Inspector darted back. A couple of days? Why wouldn’t you have waited and come here together?

Eudora burst into a short fit of laughter. Geoffrey. Here. Never! You see, Inspector, Geoffrey’s not like that. For him to come here would be ‘unproductive rubbish.’ He has his distractions and I have mine. Mine are the seashore and nature.

And his?

His would be Napoleon brandy and artifacts. Especially gold from South America.

Odd.

What’s odd, Inspector?

South American gold, you say.

Yes. He loves it. I don’t care for most of it, but he gave me one piece that I did really like.

What was different about it that made you like it?

It is a rather fanciful piece. It is a feathered serpent of gold and it has emeralds for eyes. It is just somewhat unique, I guess.

About how big is it?

I don’t know exactly, about six or eight centimeters. Excuse me, Inspector. With all of these questions, I have one to ask you. You still haven’t told me how Kerry died, or what makes you think she was murdered?

The Inspector leaned back in his chair like a card player with a pat hand.

Poisoned. He watched her face, scanning for hints of motive.

Poisoned. How horrible! But who could do such a thing? And why Kerry? She was quiet and pleasant, not someone I can even imagine getting murdered.

Did you have any ‘problems’ with her? The Inspector chose his words carefully.

Inspector, you’re not intimating…

The question dangled for only a second.

Madam, it is my job to ascertain the facts of the case. The guilt or innocence of anyone is left to the courts to decide. The Inspector’s expression was one of required detachment from any emotional involvement.

The waiter arrived at what seemed a most appropriate moment, breaking the short but increasing tension. Tea was served, followed by a short volley of cream and sugar. Eudora was still irked at the thought that she could be a suspect.

Leaning forward and arching her back up in righteous indignation, Eudora said, Let me make myself clear, Inspector. If you are looking for a killer, you are looking in the wrong place! The fiery gaze in her eyes would have been message enough to show her irritation, but also showed the possibility of anger hidden beneath a placid façade of non-involvement.

Mrs. Cosgrove, I cannot assume innocence, nor pass any judgment. My job is clear. Find all pertinent information, uncover required evidentiary clues, and apprehend the suspect. At that point the rest of the legal system is engaged. My job is done. His retort, though stern and forceful, reset the mood. Eudora sat back, quietly sipping her tea as the sea air created tessellations with the ruffles of her dress. The Inspector sat back, knowing he had recreated the pleasantry of social formality. This allowed both to regain their emotional confidence and sense of well-being. The Inspector opened the next course of conversation.

More tea?

Eudora’s gentle No, thank you begged continuance.

This is excellent tea. Is the food here of comparable quality? he inquired.

Yes, quite, she replied. Steering out of social chit chat, the Inspector returned tactfully to his questioning.

Geoffrey, what type of man is he?

Oh, you mean the other suspect? Eudora smiled as she acknowledged the return to the necessary interrogation with playful yet pointed humor.

Yes, that’s the fellow. The Inspector’s recognition was a light-hearted response.

Eudora, setting her cup on the table, continued, Geoffrey is not like any man and like every man that I’ve ever known.

The Inspector was perplexed at the response, but said nothing. Eudora expanded, You see, Geoffrey has distinctively different thinking from all other men in areas such as business and art, yet he is so typical of men in terms of emotions.

How exactly do you mean? Fitzhugh pried.

When working with a project or examining a piece of art, he can describe it with passion and zeal, but if he were starving and down to his last farthing and you asked him how he was, he’d tell you, ‘Marvelous, improving with every day.’ He is never one to expose an emotional weakness. As I said, just like every man.

Do you think we’re all so insular? the Inspector queried.

So it seems to me.

And Miss Parker, what was Geoffrey’s relationship with her?

Geoffrey knew her. Actually it was his idea that I hire her. But beyond knowing her as an employee, I would say he had little or no relation to her at all.

Eudora’s response triggered a quick follow-up from the Inspector. He had no contact with her to your knowledge?

No, why would he? He has no interest in my company’s products or advertising. As long as I am satisfied, he completely ignores it.

You say that Geoffrey has no interest in your company. Yet he was the one to recommend that you hire her. The Inspector’s quick observation was linked to an expression of doubt in his face.

But that was years ago and quite by accident, said Eudora.

Perhaps you could explain what you mean…

Eudora paused before responding. She wanted to tell the truth but still not paint her husband in a bad light.

You see, Inspector, back then, my company needed an image…a face that would represent how good my products were. I had mentioned that to Geoffrey. About a week after, we were taking a carriage ride in the park, when he brought it up again. He made some simple suggestions about possible choices and then suddenly directed the driver to stop the carriage. He held his hand out the window, pointing, and said, ‘Her, how about her?’ I leaned over and looked out the window at this girl sitting on a bench in the park. I said, ‘You mean the girl on the bench?’ He said, ‘Yes, that one.’ I told him that I was looking for a professional model. A person who was used to sitting motionless for hours while artists drew, not some stranger in the park. He said that was rubbish and got out of the carriage and walked up to her and started speaking to her without so much as an introduction. It was rather improper, yet she agreed to try it. It wasn’t until two or three weeks later that I found out that she was an artist’s model! How fortunate! Eudora’s recounting of Kerry’s hiring was spirited. The Inspector, however, looked more curious.

Inspector, you have this strange look in your eye.

The Inspector leaned slightly forward, stopped for a second, and leaned back. The pause seemed quite long to Eudora, though it was only seconds.

And after she was hired, how was Geoffrey?

Eudora’s expression became more serious. Inspector, what is it that makes you think that Geoffrey had anything at all to do with Kerry’s death?

Does he? came quickly. The Inspector slid forward in his chair, staring deeply into Eudora’s eyes. Does he have any connection to her that you are aware of?

"That