Murder at the Brightwell: A Mystery (13 page)

That was not to say that I acted without misgivings. If I was honest with myself, I was forced to acknowledge that I was venturing into territory in which I had no business. Rupert Howe’s murder, however unfortunate, was really none of my concern. Detective Inspector Jones seemed extremely competent. Nevertheless, his leading questions regarding Gil’s whereabouts at the time of the murder had alarmed me. There was always the chance he might come to the wrong conclusion, and that was a risk I was unwilling to take. If there was some way I could help clear suspicion from Gil, then I would do it.

Of course, my motive posed its own problems. It was all very well to tell myself that I wanted to aid Gil, to be certain that he didn’t get swept up in the murder of his sister’s fiancé, but I had not confronted the reason I wanted to do so. What was Gil to me? A friend or something more? Even now, when I attempted to sort out my uncertain feelings toward him, I could come to no other conclusion than that I still wondered what might have been. Five years was a long time and much had changed, and yet some things still felt so very much the same …

With a sigh, I set pen to paper and began my letter.

Dear Laurel,

I promised to write to you, thinking my seaside excursion would produce very little that would prove to be newsworthy. How wrong I was. This trip has been more than I had bargained for. I am sure you have heard of the death of Rupert Howe, Emmeline Trent’s fiancé. This terrible news has been exacerbated by the fact that his death was nothing less than murder. It was I who discovered the body, and tomorrow I must attend the inquest. Knowing how you love a mystery, I am sure you will be envious. Do not be. Murder is not nearly as romantic in real life.

As if matters needed to be further complicated, Milo has arrived, swooping down upon us unannounced. I have no idea of his purpose for coming here, but I am certain no good can come of it. He and Gil already appear very cool to one another, and in the midst of an investigation does not seem the proper time to contemplate the state of our marriage.

A hurried set of steps alerted me to someone’s approach.

“Oh, excuse me.”

I looked up to see Olive Henderson standing in the doorway. I had seen little of her the past two days, and I had been surprised at dinner to see how wan she was. She looked even more distressed now, her face ghastly pale, save for her red-rimmed eyes.

“I didn’t mean to disturb you,” she said softly. Her eyes looked almost pleading, as if she longed for a confidant as much as I did. I was surprised she would choose me; she had never seemed very fond of my company before.

“You aren’t disturbing me at all,” I answered, folding my letter, to be finished later. “I would be glad of the company, in fact.”

She entered the room and sank into the sofa, her white hands clenched in her lap. “Things are perfectly ghastly here, aren’t they?” she said, almost to herself.

“It has been a rough couple of days.”

Without further provocation, she burst into tears. “I’m so dreadfully unhappy,” she said, sobbing into a handkerchief that had appeared from nowhere.

Having grown up in a reserved, emotionally distant family and subsequently being married to Milo, flagrant shows of emotion were foreign to me and, truthfully, somewhat uncomfortable. I moved to sit beside her on the sofa and did my best to affect a soothing manner.

“I’m sorry you’re distressed. Is there anything I can do?”

She shook her head. “No. You wouldn’t…” She looked up at me suddenly, her gaze intense. “Have you ever been truly, madly in love?”

I hesitated only a moment. “I thought so once.”

“Then perhaps you know how it feels to lose someone…”

Steps sounded outside the door, and I looked up to see Gil standing there. Olive stiffened beside me and dabbed her face rather aggressively with her handkerchief.

“I’m sorry to interrupt,” Gil said. “Shall I come back?”

“No,” Olive said, rising. “I was just leaving.”

Without a backward glance at either of us, she left the room. I couldn’t help but feel that her sudden and unexpected confidence had been surprising. I should have thought I would be the last person to whom she would unburden her heart, but perhaps there had been no one else.

It seemed obvious she was referring to Rupert. He had spoken of their past relationship with decided flippancy; obviously, Olive’s feelings had been much stronger. Had she loved him that desperately? If so, things could not have rested easily between them, not with his being engaged to Emmeline. I recalled her apparent sadness that first night at dinner. Might it have turned to anger? It was certainly something to consider.

Gil regarded me with raised brows. “She seemed upset.”

“I believe she was.” I didn’t elaborate. There would be plenty of time to think things over alone in my room tonight. A bit of familiar company would be soothing just now. I indicated the sofa beside me. “Care to sit?”

He sat, leaned back, then sat forward again, turning to look at me. “I owe you an apology, Amory.”

“Nonsense.”

“Yes, I was terse with you today, and there was no call for it. I asked for your help, and you were nothing but kind. And then, because things didn’t go as planned, I acted badly. I’m sorry.” He looked so forlorn, I fought the urge to embrace him.

“Think nothing of it. We’re all tense at the moment.”

“It isn’t just that. Your husband … dash it all, Amory.” He sighed. “I think you should know that I…”

“Gil,” I stopped him with my hand on his, longing to hear what he had to say but not wanting him to go on. “I don’t think now is the best time.”

He looked at me, his brown eyes serious yet warm and golden in the yellow light. “You’re probably right, but there may not be another time.”

“There’s plenty of time,” I said. I didn’t want to encourage him, to give him any sort of false hope. But at the moment I was so unsure of everything, and Gil was the closest thing to security I had ever known. I hadn’t known that when I threw it all away, but I realized it now and was hesitant to completely relinquish it, whatever my feelings for Milo might be. “When all this is over, Gil, we will talk. But I also think you should know that I…”

It was his turn to squeeze my hand. “Don’t tell me now, Amory,” he said with a tired smile. “Let’s wait until this is all over.”

11

THE FOLLOWING MORNING,
the day of the inquest, was suitably gloomy. The rain splattered against my window as I rose and dressed. I had tea and toast in my room, for I was in no mood for company. The thought of encountering Nelson Hamilton was especially unbearable.

The inquest itself was remarkably brief, such a cold, formal way to account for the ending of a man’s life.

It was held at the local inn, attracting a small crowd of locals curious about the mysterious death at the Brightwell and a handful of reporters, eager for some hint of scandal. Few from our party were there. Most of them had nothing to contribute, and the rain seemed to have dissuaded those with only a casual interest in attending.

Emmeline, her face white, sat in one of the hard wooden chairs until it was her turn to speak. She gave her halting account of the events that had led up to our gruesome discovery, and it was obvious that only the very greatest of efforts was keeping her from hysteria. When she had finished, Gil helped her to her seat. Grief and fatigue had left her weak and ill, and I was very sorry for her that her dreams of happiness had vanished in an instant.

When it was my turn to speak, I gave a statement regarding my role in the discovery of Rupert Howe’s body. There was precious little to tell, and I was brief.

The coroner reiterated what I had learned from Inspector Jones. Rupert had been hit on the head with a blunt instrument before being tossed over the railing. The blow itself had not had sufficient force to kill and might have been administered by either a man or a woman.

Inspector Jones gave his evidence, but I learned from him few details that I did not already know. No one reported having seen Rupert exit the hotel. No one could be certain when he fell.

The verdict came quickly and confirmed what we all already knew: murder by person or persons unknown.

*   *   *

“MRS. AMES, MIGHT
I have a word with you?” Inspector Jones approached me outside as I moved toward the hotel car. The rain beat a steady drumming on our umbrellas as we stood huddled in a rather forlorn little group.

I turned to Gil, who had just settled Emmeline inside. “Will you wait a moment, Gil?”

His eyes flickered to the inspector and back to me. “Of course.”

“If you’d like, Mrs. Ames, I can give you a ride back to the hotel. I had intended to pay a visit there this afternoon in any case.”

I turned to Gil. “You had better take Emmeline back. I’ll be along soon.”

He hesitated only briefly, then nodded. “Very well.”

The car pulled away, and the inspector indicated his car, which was parked at a short distance. “Shall we?”

We walked toward it. The grass was sodden, and I could feel the dampness seeping into my shoes. They were entirely inappropriate for the weather, but in packing for this trip I had brought very little to wear in the rain and even less to wear to an inquest.

“I admired your recounting of events,” Inspector Jones said as we walked. “You were clear and concise in relating your information. You’d make a very credible witness.”

“Witness to what, exactly?” I inquired. His tone indicated that there was more to what he was saying than his words suggested. There was something very clever, in a devious sort of way, about Inspector Jones.

“I am speaking in generalities,” he said. “A policeman values a witness who knows how to recount events without embellishment or excessive emotion. Pure, simple truth is always admirable.”

I stopped and turned to face him. “You are quite right. And I would appreciate the same directness now, Inspector. Whatever it is that you have to ask or say to me, perhaps it would be best if you came out with it.”

The barest of smiles touched his lips. “Very well, Mrs. Ames. But perhaps we should get out of the rain.”

We walked to his car, and he opened the door for me before going around and sliding in behind the steering wheel. He inserted the key but didn’t turn it. Hands on the wheel, he turned to look at me.

“You would like me to be blunt, so I shall be. I think there is something you are concealing from me.”

I was somewhat surprised by this accusation, but I fancy that I was able to hide it. “Oh? And why do you think that?”

“Come now, Mrs. Ames,” he said. “When one has been at this job as long as I have, one begins to develop a sense about these things. Twice I asked you if you knew of anyone who would have reason to harm Rupert Howe. There was something you hesitated over. I would like to know what it is.”

“It was nothing of consequence.”

“Why don’t you let me be the judge of that?”

I hesitated. I truly believed Gil was innocent, but the inspector might not feel the same way. If I told him that I had heard Gil arguing with Rupert Howe the night before his murder, it could go very badly for Gil. But perhaps the truth was the wisest course of action. Inspector Jones appeared to be very thorough and conscientious in his methods, and I doubted my information would form his opinion of the case one way or the other. This was my chance to rid myself of the nagging sensation that I was doing something wrong in concealing information. Furthermore, if I told Inspector Jones all I knew, perhaps he could begin to focus his attention in a direction more likely to bring results.

I spoke quickly, as though in doing so I could minimize the damage. “The night before Mr. Howe’s murder, I happened to … overhear an argument between him and Gil … Mr. Trent. As I said, it was nothing of consequence.”

“What sort of argument?”

“Gil wanted Mr. Howe to end his engagement to Emmeline. Gil wasn’t happy about the match. He had told me as much. It wasn’t a secret.”

“What did you hear?” I was wary of the calm, casual way he asked the questions. His ever-present notebook was nowhere to be seen, but I hadn’t the slightest doubt he was jotting neat little notes somewhere in his mind.

“Did Mr. Trent threaten Mr. Howe?”

“Gil wouldn’t…”

“Did he threaten Mr. Howe?” There was a smooth persistence to his questioning that I found unnerving.

I thought back. Had Gil threatened Rupert? Not in so many words. “No. He told him that men like Mr. Howe always have their price. I didn’t overhear the entire conversation. I had fallen asleep and awoke to catch just a bit of it.” This was not the unvarnished truth, but it was not a lie.

“I’m sure it was nothing,” I concluded.

“There must have been some reason you chose to conceal it until now.”

“I didn’t want you to draw the wrong conclusions. Gil and Mr. Howe weren’t overly fond of one another, but there was nothing violent about their argument. Besides, if they’d argued outside my window, it seems unlikely Gil would have waited until the next afternoon to do harm to Mr. Howe.”

He didn’t reply to this bit of logic.

The rain drumming against the window was the only sound for a long moment. Then he asked, “Where exactly does the relationship between you and Mr. Trent stand?”

I stiffened ever so slightly. “That’s a rather personal question, isn’t it, Inspector?”

“Perhaps. But that makes it no less relevant.”

Despite the situation, I smiled. “You’re very good at your job, aren’t you?”

He returned the smile. “I like to think so.”

I sighed. “Gil and I were once engaged to be married.”

If he was surprised, he didn’t show it. Then again, perhaps he already knew.

“Who ended it?”

“I did. I … met my husband.”

“I see. And the current state of affairs?” His choice of words was not lost on me.

“Gil asked me to come to the seaside with him on the pretext that I had left Milo. I don’t know if my husband’s name is familiar to you, Inspector, but he has something of an unsavory reputation.” His brief nod conveyed that he was well aware of Milo’s exploits. I went on. “Gil thought I might lead by example. He felt Emmeline might be able to see the error of her ways having been witness to my own misfortune. In hindsight, it was all quite ridiculous and completely hopeless.”