Murder at the Brightwell: A Mystery (17 page)

*   *   *

IT OCCURRED TO
me as Milo left my room that our party was diminishing day by day. First Rupert’s death, then Gil’s arrest, and now Olive Henderson’s suicide attempt. It was an alarming prospect.

Yet another reason why I should do what I could to investigate.

I bathed and put on a smart dress of navy chiffon with white polka dots over a navy underdress. Though I still felt a bit under the weather, my reflection revealed that, though a bit wan, I looked rested. I still couldn’t fathom what might have put me into such a deep sleep. I was fairly certain that the tablets had not been aspirin. In fact, it felt as though I had been given a strong sedative.

I picked up the bottle and opened it, pouring a few of the round, white tablets into my hand. I studied them closely, and I was soon convinced that I was right. They were very similar to aspirin tablets, but I was fairly certain that they were not, in fact, aspirin. How had they come to be in my bottle? Perhaps it wasn’t even my bottle. Had I somehow acquired someone else’s tablets by mistake? I tried without success to think how such a thing might have happened. It didn’t seem at all likely.

The alternative, however, was much less appealing. If it wasn’t a mistake, then someone had deliberately tried to drug me. I could think of no reason why Milo should have done such a thing or why anyone else would have. It was very odd. Another piece of the puzzle that I could not seem to explain.

I dropped the pills back into the bottle and slipped it into my handbag. Perhaps I could find some way to have them examined. Apparently, they had been harmless enough, but it was chilling to think the bottle could easily have contained something much less anodyne than sleeping tablets.

If they had been giving some such medicine to Emmeline, it was no wonder she had been unable to see anyone. Thinking of Emmeline, the thought suddenly occurred to me that she was no doubt in a state this morning. If, that is, she had heard of Gil’s arrest. If she hadn’t, it would probably be best that I break it to her gently. I needed to see her immediately.

When Milo tapped on the door of my room, I was ready for him.

“I’ve forgotten Emmeline,” I said as I stepped into the hallway, trying not to notice how very handsome he looked, cleanly shaved and wearing a light-gray suit. “The poor dear probably has no idea what’s become of Gil. I’m going to speak with her.”

“Before breakfast? First, you have me up at this absurdly early hour, and now you want to deprive me of sustenance.”

“No, dearest,” I told him. “You shall have your breakfast. It will be your duty to spy upon our fellow travelers.”

“Really, darling…” He was protesting, but I was certain I saw amusement in his eyes. I suspected that the idea of inserting ourselves into a murder investigation appealed to his reckless streak. Though it was entirely possible he would be more of a hindrance than a help, I thought we just might yield results if we collaborated. Together, we were quite a capable pair.

Though I didn’t like to admit it, I suspected that this was at least part of the reason I had drafted him into service; it would be nice to feel like partners in some endeavor, however fleeting it might be.

“Come now,” I said. “You know you will enjoy it, and you may as well make yourself useful.”

“Very well. I’m sure I shall be able to provoke Mr. Hamilton into making some sort of revealing statement.” He grinned. “Shall I take notes?”

He was going to enjoy this, perhaps too much.

“Just see what you can find out,” I said, walking toward the lift.

“And after breakfast, your room or mine?”

“Mine. Veronica Carter may still be hanging about yours.”

“I didn’t invite her to my room, you know.”

I turned, wondering if I could trust the sincerity in his expression. “Let’s not talk about it now, though I’d like very much for us to finish this conversation at some point.”

“Yes, Amory. I should like that, too.”

*   *   *

MILO DISPATCHED TO
the breakfast room, I went to see Emmeline. She opened the door to her room almost immediately when I knocked.

“Oh, Amory,” she said. An aura of distress hung about her like a cloud. Her face was pale and taut, and she was visibly trembling. The poor thing looked as though a slight breeze could topple her.

I entered the room, shutting the door behind me, and took her arm, leading her to the sofa. “Do sit down, dear. You look all in.”

“Amory,” she clutched my arm with frigid fingers. “Have you heard about Gil?”

“Yes, I’ve heard. It will be all right.”

“The inspector came by last night to tell me … Gil didn’t kill Rupert. He would never…”

“I know, dear.”

“How could anyone believe that he could do such a thing?” Though I was no medical expert, I thought she seemed on the edge of nervous collapse.

“Has the doctor been here this morning, Emmeline?”

“I … think so, yes.” She rubbed a hand across her face. “I … I’m so tired, Amory.”

The poor thing was extremely distraught. She seemed as though she might break down completely at any moment, and I found the prospect a bit alarming.

“Have you eaten, Emmeline?” I asked.

“No. I’m not hungry.”

“That will never do,” I said. “You’ve got to keep your strength up.”

I moved to the telephone and ordered a light breakfast. It was only a matter of minutes before the food was brought up, a little tray with some porridge, toast with butter and jam, and a dish of fruit.

“Now, dear, you must eat some of this,” I said.

“I couldn’t.”

“You must keep your strength up. For Gil’s sake. He may need you.”

She wavered, then nodded. “Yes, you’re right, Amory.”

I supervised while she took tiny bites of each of the dishes in turn. It was not a hearty breakfast by any means, but at least it was nourishing. Emmeline looked as though she had lost a good deal of weight in just the last few days.

I wondered if she had heard about Olive Henderson, but I felt that this was not, perhaps, the best time to bring it up.

“Why do they think he did it?” she asked.

I hesitated. There was really no need to conceal the truth. “They think he didn’t want you to marry Rupert.”

“Oh, I know he didn’t,” she said, to my surprise. “Gil never liked Rupert, not from the start. The day they met, there was a noticeable coolness between them, as though Gil had already made up his mind about Rupert…”

“Did you…” I hesitated, not wanting to upset her. “Did you ask him what he had against Rupert?”

Had Emmeline paused before she spoke? Her eyes darted away for a moment before coming back to mine. “I suppose it was just in Gil’s nature to be protective of me.” It was a careful answer, and I realized that despite her distress she was still very much on her guard.

I was beginning to find it immensely frustrating to be met with such chariness at every turn.

“There must have been some reason.” I pressed. “Gil isn’t the type of man to take an instant dislike to anyone without reason.”

“I … I don’t know,” she answered, and, to my horror, her eyes began to fill with tears. “I only know that I was the only one who really understood Rupert, and now he’s gone…”

“I’m sorry, Emmeline. I didn’t mean to upset you,” I said. This was very distressing. Perhaps I should have sent Milo to speak with Emmeline. He would have handled the situation with much more finesse, I was sure.

“I don’t mean to cry. Everything is just so terrible.” She swiped at her tears. “But you must know that Gil’s innocent. He never would have killed Rupert just because he didn’t like him … He didn’t kill him. He didn’t.”

“I know,” I said, rising from my seat. “And rest assured, Emmeline, I’m going to find out who did.”

*   *   *

WALKING AWAY FROM
Emmeline’s room, I realized that I had made quite a commitment. Finding Rupert’s killer would be difficult, and there was every possibility that it could be dangerous. Nevertheless, I remained undaunted. I did not believe for a moment that Gil was guilty of this crime, and I did not intend that he should hang for it.

Milo was waiting in my room when I arrived, lounging on my sofa and thumbing disinterestedly through the novel I had been reading.

“Well,” I said without preamble, “did you learn anything?”

He tossed the book aside. “It seems Olive Henderson went at her wrists with a razor blade. I had a tray sent up for you.” He indicated the silver tray that sat on the table. I lifted the lid. It was cold porridge, which I abhorred, but I thought it sweet of him to think of me.

“Her wrists? How ghastly.” I sat down on the chair opposite him, the rapid pace of the morning beginning to catch up with me. I was still somewhat drowsy, though the heavy lethargy seemed to have worn off.

“I thought it rather theatrical myself.”

“How terribly insensitive of you,” I remarked. “After all, the girl might have died.”

“Well, she didn’t. Eat your porridge, Amory. You look as though you need nourishment.”

“I’m not hungry, thank you. She’ll live then?”

“Yes, she did a poor job of it, it seems.”

“What do you mean?

“Either she had reservations about actually seeing it through or she’s weak as a kitten. The wounds weren’t deep enough to do serious harm. They probably won’t even require stitching.”

I was actually quite impressed. “Milo, how in the world did you manage to discover all of this?”

He smiled. “A truly competent investigator never reveals his sources.”

“Oh, so you’re an investigator now, are you?”

“I thought I might as well try my hand at it,” he said, sitting back in the sofa, that familiar gleam in his eyes indicating one of his rare bouts of enthusiasm. It had been a long time since I had seen him look that way. I felt an unwarranted bit of satisfaction, as though I was somehow responsible for capturing his interest.

“Anything more?” I asked.

“Not much. Miss Henderson was the sole topic of conversation this morning; no one was talking of anything else.”

“Well, I must say you did well,” I told him.

He smiled. “This is shaping up to be more amusing than Monte Carlo. And what of you? Did you learn anything from Emmeline?”

I sighed. “She’s nearly gone to pieces. I’m not sure how much longer she shall be able to hold it all together. She seems to be in a constant state of near hysteria. Of course, she’s been through so much. Were our situations reversed, I’m sure I should not be in a much better state.”

“Nonsense,” Milo said. “You’d bear up.”

I wasn’t sure if it was a compliment or a criticism, so I replied with a light tone. “Do you think so?”

He tossed me a grin. “Naturally. If I were to be murdered, I would leave you with heaps of money and free to do as you please.”

I stood and turned toward the door. “You needn’t be murdered for that,” I replied, looking back over my shoulder. “I could just as easy accomplish it with a divorce.”

“Touché, my love,” he said.

15

MY FIRST COURSE
of action after parting ways with Milo was to visit the police station to see Inspector Jones. I didn’t feel he had dealt fairly with Gil, or with me for that matter, and I intended to see what I could do about it.

Milo’s objective would be to gain whatever information possible from the rest of the guests. His usual lack of interest in what people had to say could prove invaluable in this situation. I hoped people would be willing to speak to him, thinking it of little consequence. There was always the possibility that someone might give away a telling bit of information without meaning to.

Inspector Jones was occupied when I arrived, but the helpful sergeant gave him my message, and it was only a few moments before I was ushered into his office. The space was well kept and orderly, as I would have expected his office to be. There were few personal items to be seen, save a photograph of the inspector with a pretty dark-haired woman I thought might be his wife. He sat behind a desk covered in neat stacks of paper. Everything about the place bespoke quiet efficiency.

He rose when I entered. “Mrs. Ames,” he said. Though he didn’t smile exactly, there was a pleasant expression on his face, as though he were not altogether displeased to see me. I had the feeling that he was amused by me, which I found grating, and the begrudging sense of admiration I had felt for his competence had been shaken by Gil’s arrest. Nevertheless, he was obviously an intelligent man, and I hoped that he would come to see reason.

The heat of anger with him had faded since last night. Nevertheless, I was still disinclined to be friendly. “I think you know why I’ve come, Inspector,” I said coolly, seating myself in the hard wooden chair he had indicated.

“You feel that I abused my position when you spoke in confidence to me,” he said without preamble. “That’s understandable, and I’m sorry you feel that way. Nevertheless, if Mr. Trent is guilty of murder, it is my duty to see that he is arrested and charged for it.” There was something in his calm logic that diffused my indignation. I couldn’t very well fault the man for carrying out his duty, however misguided he might be.

“Very well. I can accept that,” I replied. “But you’ve made a very grave mistake. Gil Trent no more killed Rupert Howe than you did.”

He regarded me for a long moment before speaking. “May I be frank with you, Mrs. Ames?”

“I wish you would be, Inspector.”

He chose his words carefully. “I think, perhaps, that you are letting your, shall we say, affection for Mr. Trent influence your judgment.”

I considered this possibility for only a moment before dismissing it. “I know Gil, Inspector,” I replied. “He didn’t do it.”

“Were you there when Rupert Howe was killed?”

“No.”

“Then you cannot tell me with any certainty that you know what did or did not happen on the cliff that day.”

I realized then that anything I could say was only vain repetition of last night’s sentiments, but I could think of no other way to convince him of my sincere belief in Gil’s innocence.

“I am not just some meddling fool, Inspector.”