Murder at the Brightwell: A Mystery (24 page)

Not having a description of the item for which I was searching, I was at a loss for where to begin. The object had been small enough to fit in his pocket, which meant it could be in any number of places.

I decided to start with the obvious. I moved to the writing desk, which had two drawers. In the first, I found nothing more interesting than the hotel stationery, a few odd writing implements, a silver-handled letter opener, a gold lighter engraved with an
H
and a package of cigarettes. The second drawer contained a stack of envelopes. These were likely the letters that Mr. Hamilton had received since arriving at the Brightwell. I hesitated for only a moment.

I suppose I should have felt some sense of guilt as I sat at Mr. Hamilton’s desk and began rummaging through his private correspondence, but honesty compels me to admit that I did not. If that man was a murderer, I had no qualms about proving it. If he was not a murderer, he was still a nasty man whom I disliked intensely.

Unfortunately, there was no proof to be had. A cursory inspection proved the letters to be nothing more than dull business correspondence. I did not take the time to peruse them, but they seemed to be on the up-and-up from what I could make out. It was very disappointing.

Dropping to my hands and knees, I looked beneath the bed. There was nothing to be seen there but the ivory-colored carpeting.

Sighing, I rose and walked to the wardrobe. It was a massive thing, nearly floor-to-ceiling. I opened the doors and found it mostly empty, save for a few suits of clothing and some shirts. It seemed Mr. Hamilton had packed lightly for his trip to the seaside. The clothes were expensive and well tailored, but slightly flashier than was strictly necessary.

The drawers of the dresser revealed only handkerchiefs, neckties, socks, and underthings.

I sighed again and turned to run my eyes over the room one more time. I had expected it would be difficult to search the room for a hidden object. I hadn’t anticipated there would really be so few places to look. If it had been the weapon that Mr. Hamilton had scooped up, it would have to be large enough to inflict sufficient damage on a human skull. Such an object could not be swept under the rug.

Perhaps he hadn’t hidden it here after all. It was possible that he had disposed of it on his way up the steps, tossed it away into the tall grass that bordered the stairway.

Not willing to admit defeat just yet, I went into the bathroom. It was no less neat than his room had been. Everything was aligned with soldierlike precision on the shelf. I found a leather shaving kit, a razor, and a bottle of pungent cologne. The medicine cabinet revealed one thing of interest: a bottle of very strong sleeping tablets. I wondered if it might have been Mr. Hamilton who had drugged me. I grudgingly admitted to myself that he was not the only person in the world with access to such medicine.

Lost in thought as I exited the bathroom, I was not prepared for what awaited me.

“What are you doing here?”

I started, barely stifling a gasp. Milo was standing in the door that separated the two rooms. He leaned casually against the door frame, as though these were our rooms and not those of two near strangers whose privacy we were invading.

“What are you doing here?” I demanded.

“I believe I asked you first.”

“How did you get into Mrs. Hamilton’s room?” I asked, determined not to answer his questions before he answered mine. “I tried the lock.”

“But you didn’t have this,” he said, holding up a key.

“The key to Mrs. Hamilton’s room?”

“Yes, you might have told me you were coming up here. Though it appears you had little need for my assistance.”

“The door was unlocked,” I said. “Wherever did you get her key?”

He smiled. “From the lady herself.”

It seemed too incredible, even for Milo. “She didn’t give you the key to her room … as an invitation?”

“No,” he admitted, stepping into the room. “You may find it hard to believe, my love, but there are women with whom my charm extends only so far. We were chatting after breakfast this morning when she mentioned the draft in the sitting room, and I offered to come up and get her shawl.”

I raised a brow. “And neglected to return her key?”

“I misplaced it along the way and got another from the desk clerk. They’re very obliging about their keys.”

“Very clever of you,” I said.

“I thought so.”

I sighed. “Well, there seems to be nothing here. I can’t find anything that might have been used to murder Rupert.”

“Perhaps you haven’t looked in the right place.”

“If you think you can do better, you’re certainly welcome to try,” I said irritably. I was still angry with Milo, but I had decided Mr. Hamilton’s bedroom was probably not the best place to have it out.

Milo ambled to the wardrobe and opened the doors. “The chap hasn’t got many clothes,” he noted.

“Most gentlemen don’t require as many clothes as you do when traveling,” I said tersely.

“You’re angry with me,” Milo said suddenly, turning to face me. “You weren’t nearly so cross at breakfast.” A satisfied smile crept across his face. “I think perhaps you didn’t get enough sleep. In that case, I suppose I am to blame.”

I clenched my teeth against an angry retort when I heard a most unwelcome sound. Voices were approaching in the hallway. My eyes met Milo’s and we both stilled to listen.

Though I couldn’t make out any words, the loud, boisterous tones left no doubt as to who stood outside the door. Mr. Hamilton had finished his lunch.

I glanced at the door to Mrs. Hamilton’s room. Perhaps there was still time to slip into it and escape into the hall. That hope was quickly crushed as I heard a soft answer that must have been hers. They were both in the hallway about to enter their rooms.

I watched in utter horror as the doorknob rattled and began to turn. Mr. Hamilton was entering his room, and there was nowhere to go.

20

I HAVE OFTEN
heard the expression about one’s blood running cold, but I cannot say I ever truly experienced it until that moment. It seemed like an eternity that I stood frozen, my mind racing over the possible consequences of being discovered.

Fortunately, Milo took action. With smooth, rapid motions, he quietly closed the door between the two rooms and, returning to where I stood, grabbed my arm, pushing me into the wardrobe. He slipped in after me and pulled the doors closed behind us, just as I heard the door to Mr. Hamilton’s room open.

The wardrobe was apparently of impressive construction, for no light slipped in the seams of the doors; it was black as pitch inside and immediately stuffy. I also couldn’t help but notice that the size of the space seemed to have diminished drastically from when I had gazed in moments before. My back was against the sidewall, and Milo stood directly in front of me. He was too tall to stand up straight, so he leaned toward me, his hands on the wall on either side of me. My hand rested on his chest, and I could feel the slow, steady beat of his heart, which was in marked contrast to the mad racing of my own.

Outside the wardrobe, I could barely make out the sounds of Mr. Hamilton moving about the room. Mrs. Hamilton had apparently entered her own room, for I heard no sound of her voice. Now that the moment of crisis had passed, at least for the time being, I began to reflect on exactly how preposterous our situation was. Even if we were not caught suspiciously ensconced in Mr. Hamilton’s wardrobe, I might well be stuck here for hours with Milo quite literally breathing down my neck.

As if on cue, my husband took this moment to exasperate me further.

“Rather cozy in here, isn’t it?” he whispered into my ear.

“This is all your fault,” I hissed.

“My fault? How is it my fault?”

“Be quiet. You’re using up all the air.”

We were both silent for a moment. Very few signs emanated from the room, and I was terrified Mr. Hamilton might fling the wardrobe doors open at any moment.

I wanted to cry with relief when I heard the unmistakable sound of Mr. Hamilton drawing a bath. If only he would go into the bathroom and shut the door, we could make our escape. Yet it seemed that luck was not on our side. Though the water continued to run, Mr. Hamilton could be heard whistling to himself as he moved about the room. At least the running water would help to conceal our voices.

“Good heavens,” I whispered. “I hope he doesn’t decide to lay out the clothes from his wardrobe before he takes a bath.”

“It would be a bit awkward,” Milo agreed. “We might have talked our way out of being discovered in his room, but being discovered in his wardrobe is a different matter entirely.”

“This is your fault,” I said again. “If you hadn’t been here…”

“You would have been caught.”

“I would not.”

The whistling faded as Mr. Hamilton presumably made his way back into the bathroom. The sound of the water did not diminish, however, so it seemed he had not yet shut the door.

“It occurs to me,” Milo said after a moment, “that there may be distinct advantages to the situation in which we have found ourselves.”

“Such as?”

“Use your imagination, Amory,” he murmured. He leaned to kiss my neck, and I stiffened.

“Don’t,” I said.

His arms moved around me, and he pressed closer. “Haven’t you ever wanted to be kissed in a dark wardrobe?”

“There’s no need. Gil’s not here to see you now.”

“Ah,” he said, his mouth still pressed beneath my ear. The understanding implicit in the single syllable irritated me further.

“You did it on purpose,” I said, pushing against his chest.

He leaned back ever so slightly but didn’t bother to deny it. “All’s fair in love and war, darling.”

“And which, exactly, is this, Milo?”

“It was only a kiss, Amory. It wasn’t as though I ravished you in the lobby.”

“You needn’t feign attraction to me for Gil’s sake.”

“You little idiot.” He kissed me in earnest then, and it was a long moment before I pushed him away.

“Stop, Milo. Listen.” A series of splashes reached our ears. It seemed that Mr. Hamilton entered his bath. The water was still running, however, and it did not sound as though the door had been closed. Did the man intend to bathe with the bathroom door open? We waited.

Finally, Milo disentangled himself from me, and pushed the door open the slightest crack. A moment later, he pushed it open farther. The light shone across his face as he frowned. “Wait here a moment,” he said.

“I don’t…” He slipped out and closed the door before I could finish my sentence. I sighed into the darkness.

He was gone what seemed to be an inordinately long time. Then I heard another splash. I hoped Milo had not been discovered, but there was no sound of voices, so I waited a moment longer. I was about to step out and investigate for myself when Milo pulled the doors open. His expression was uncharacteristically solemn, and I felt that his sleeves were wet as he assisted me from the wardrobe.

“What’s the matter?” I whispered.

He nodded toward the adjoining door, and I saw that water had seeped out of the room onto the carpet. And still the water was running in the bathtub.

“What…” My eyes met his, and suddenly I knew.

I stepped toward the bathroom.

“Amory, perhaps you’d better not.”

I ignored him and went to the door, looking in to the room I had rummaged through not long before. It was just as I had feared.

Mr. Hamilton, still dressed in his undershirt and trousers, was half-submerged in the bathtub full of water. His legs hung over the edge, and his face, eyes bulging wide, stared blankly up from beneath the surface.

I stifled a gasp with my hand. I turned to Milo, my eyes wide.

“I’m afraid the plot thickens,” he said.

*   *   *

IT WAS ALL
very like some horrible bout of déjà vu.

Gazing down at the body of someone who had been alive only minutes before was awful indeed. Doing it twice in one week was utterly appalling. Though I had thoroughly disliked the man, seeing him floating in a tub like so much driftwood left me feeling shabby about my uncharitable thoughts.

“Perhaps we should pull him out,” I said numbly.

“Better leave him for the police,” Milo answered.

“Are you sure he’s … dead? Perhaps we can still do something.” I knew even as I spoke that it was far too late to do anything.

“I pulled his head out a moment ago to check. He’s quite dead.”

The nonchalance with which Milo spoke of handling the corpse made me feel a bit ill. I shuddered as I recalled the brush of his wet cuffs against my skin.

“We’d better call the police,” I said.

Milo walked past me, his shoes sloshing in the water that ran across the floor. He pulled his handkerchief from his pocket and used it to turn off the water.

The room suddenly seemed very quiet. I glanced back at Mr. Hamilton. His eyes were blue; I had never noticed.

Milo made his way back to my side.

“Let’s go, Amory.” He took my elbow and guided me from the room.

The next few moments passed rather in a blur. Back in the lobby, Milo told the desk clerk to call the police while I tried to collect my wits. Then we went back to our room to wait.

As Milo removed his damp shirt, I sat on the sofa, attempting to calm my nerves. I didn’t know what had come over me. My hands were shaking, and my legs felt like rubber.

Milo pulled on a fresh shirt, and I watched his fingers as he deftly buttoned it. His hands were steady. If stumbling across a body in a bathtub had rattled him, he certainly didn’t show it.

“How do you think it happened?” I asked at last.

“That, my dear, is a very good question,” he replied, knotting his tie.

“Perhaps he fell and hit his head,” I suggested, wanting desperately to believe it.

Milo smoothed his tie and regarded me with a bland expression. “Come now, Amory. You’re much too clever to believe that.”

He was right; I didn’t believe it. Not for a moment.

“This is like a nightmare,” I said, dropping my head into my hands. “It’s all too horrid for words.”