Murder at the Brightwell: A Mystery (18 page)

He met my gaze. “I don’t believe for a moment that you are, Mrs. Ames. Far from it. But consider it from my position. If you had reason to believe a man was guilty, would you take the word of a woman who had, if you’ll pardon my saying so, rather a vested interest in the outcome of this investigation?”

I wondered if he assumed there was more between Gil and me than I had let on. “There is nothing between Gil and myself but an old friendship,” I said.

“Whether it is an old friendship or something more is really none of my concern,” he replied smoothly. “The fact of that matter is that I did not arrest Mr. Trent solely on the information you related to me. There are other factors to be considered.”

I remembered then what he had said in my room the night before. “Who told you they had seen him on the terrace with Rupert that afternoon?”

He smiled placidly. “As I said last night, I’m not at liberty to divulge that information at present.”

He really was the most infuriating man.

I was not going to concede so easily. “Supposing someone did see him on the terrace. That doesn’t mean he killed Rupert.”

“That, in itself, is not sufficient, no. When combined with a good motive, supplied by you, and backed by an apparently long history of bad blood between the two men, it puts things in a different light.”

“But wasn’t his arrest rather premature? Did you even speak with the other members of our party? They all seemed startled to learn it was murder.”

Inspector Jones reached to the corner of his desk and held up a file, thick with paper. “My dossier on the guests of the Brightwell, Mrs. Ames. Thorough histories, including those of you and your husband. Very interesting reading.”

I didn’t know what inference he was attempting to make, so I ignored it. “Then you must know there are others with motive.”

He looked at me speculatively for a moment. “I’d be interested to know what it is you think you know, Mrs. Ames.”

I mentally chided myself for revealing my hand once again. He really was much too perceptive, this inspector.

“I’ve heard things,” I replied evasively.

“Yes, I expect you have,” he said, leaning back in his seat. “Anything in particular?”

As if I should be inclined to take him into my confidence now. “I doubt rumors would be useful to you, Inspector.”

“Perhaps not. Then again, many a murderer has been caught with useful information gleaned from rumors.”

“Then you agree that Gil is not the only one who could have done it,” I said, pouncing upon his admission.

“Certainly … which is why I’ve instructed all the members of your party not to leave the hotel just yet.”

This bit of news came as a surprise to me. I hadn’t heard that the guests had been told not to leave. “Then you’re not convinced it was Gil?”

“I arrested Mr. Trent because he appears to be guilty. I would be remiss in my duties if I did otherwise. I cannot ignore the evidence. But rest assured, Mrs. Ames. I have not closed the book on this investigation just yet.”

Was he trying to tell me something? I couldn’t be certain. He was so exasperatingly hard to read, almost as bad as Milo. One thing I did know: he wasn’t going to give me any more information at present.

“Is Mr. Trent all right?” I asked.

“He is being very well cared for.”

“May I speak with him?”

“I’m afraid that won’t be possible just now. Perhaps if you’d come back tomorrow?”

I rose, knowing there was no point in detaining him further. “I shall be here in the morning.”

He smiled. “I am sure you will, Mrs. Ames.”

*   *   *

I WAS WEARY
and disappointed as I returned to the Brightwell. If I had expected to swoop in and discover a murderer within a few hours, I had greatly overestimated my abilities. I had hoped to glean something from Inspector Jones, but he was determined to play his cards close to his chest. I would have to see what I could learn on my own.

The lobby was fairly empty, for it was a beautiful day and most of the guests were taking advantage of the beach after the day of rain. I knew that Rupert’s death had elicited great curiosity at the Brightwell, but thus far people had been content to watch and whisper from afar.

I stopped at the desk, where I was given a letter from Laurel. I put it in my pocket, looking forward to reading it. Laurel always had a way of lifting my spirits, and I was sorely in need of a bit of encouragement at the moment.

I was walking toward the lift when I caught the sound of conversation and laughter coming from a table in the corner. Almost immediately, I recognized the speaker was Milo. Curious to see whom he had engaged in conversation, and hoping it would prove to be in connection with our investigation, I walked to where I could have a vantage point without being seen.

I was more than surprised to discover that the laughter belonged to Larissa Hamilton. She and Milo were seated where I could see them in profile. It was the first time I had ever seen Mrs. Hamilton look completely at ease. Her posture was relaxed as she sat across from my husband, a smile lighting her face, making her look prettier than I had ever seen her.

Milo leaned toward her and said something, and the soft peal of laughter broke out again.

If I had not heard it and not known Milo, I wouldn’t have believed it. She was positively aglow. It seemed my faith in Milo’s charms was justified.

I moved away before either of them could spot me.

I had just turned back toward the lift when I saw Mr. Rodgers enter the hotel sitting room. Now seemed as good a moment as ever to do a bit of investigating of my own. I might not possess Milo’s charisma, but I felt fairly confident that I could learn something … if, that is, there was something to be learned.

I entered the room on the pretext of finishing the letter I had begun writing to Laurel.

“Oh, Mr. Rodgers,” I said, feigning pleasant surprise upon encountering him. “How are you?”

“Well, thank you,” he replied. “Though I have some rather urgent business to attend to.”

I expected that was a hint that he wished to be left alone, but I pretended not to notice.

“It’s a shame it must interfere with your holiday,” I said, taking a seat at the writing table.

“Yes, well…” His voice trailed off as he began to read over the paper in his hand.

This was not working as well as I had hoped. He seemed to have very little interest in conversation. I decided perhaps a direct approach would fare best. “What do you think of this murder business?”

He looked up at me. “I think it’s highly unlikely that Gil Trent had anything to do with it,” he said. “I’ve wired Sir Andrew Heath, one of the best barristers in London.”

“Gil will be grateful you’ve selected someone for him,” I said.

“Gil asked me to send for Sir Andrew,” Mr. Rodgers replied, his eyes back on the document before him.

This bit of news caught me by surprise. “Gil asked you … when?”

“Yesterday morning.”

“Before he was arrested?”

“Yes,” he looked up at me again, very little interest in his tone or expression. “He must have guessed that that inspector suspected him. He asked me right after breakfast if I knew of a good barrister. I suggested Sir Andrew at once.”

I was silent while I digested this latest bit of information. Why would Gil have requested the advice of a barrister before he knew he was going to be arrested? It just didn’t make sense. It must have been something to do with what Gil had been trying to tell me last night. I would need to see him as soon as possible. Perhaps he could tell me what was going on.

Mr. Rodgers and I lapsed into silence. He seemed disinclined to continue our conversation, and I felt that any further attempts on my part might be perceived as intrusive. I began a second letter to Laurel without opening the one she had sent me. I knew she would be intrigued by the latest developments. I had just finished writing it when Veronica Carter entered the sitting room.

She acknowledged me with a nod, not the least bit self-conscious that she had tried to seduce my husband only the night before. Under the circumstances, I found my feelings were barely civil. I returned her nod because I was bred to be polite.

She glanced at Mr. Rodgers, but he did not look up from his papers. I was rather surprised when she came and sat in the chair beside the writing desk. She said nothing for a moment, and I wondered what this was leading up to.

She looked a bit less haughty than usual, as though she had deflated somehow, and I felt an unwanted twinge of sympathy for her.

At last, she seemed to have formed the words she was seeking. “It’s dreadful about Olive, isn’t it?” she said. Though her features were perfectly composed, there seemed to be genuine sadness in her eyes, and the usual cool confidence of her voice had faded into a sort of soft uncertainty.

“Yes,” I agreed. “I was sorry to hear about that. I understand she should be all right, which is good news.”

“I went to the hospital. They wouldn’t let me see her.” I was surprised that she should have gone out of her way to visit Olive, but perhaps I was judging her harshly.

“I can’t understand why she would do such a thing,” she went on, almost as though she was speaking to herself.

“Perhaps … because of Rupert?” I suggested.

Her gaze came up to me, somewhat sharply, I thought. “No, it couldn’t be. Olive didn’t care for Rupert,” she said.

I wondered how well Veronica really knew her friend. Olive had seemed quite upset when I had spoken to her in the sitting room. Perhaps she had loved Rupert more than anyone was aware. Or perhaps she had another reason …

“I understood that they cared for one another before Rupert met Emmeline.”

“Oh, perhaps a little flirtation, but nothing serious. But Rupert was like that. Even in Monte Carlo, he…” She stopped, as though aware she might be saying too much, but then finished airily. “He was always something of a flirt.”

Rupert had been in Monte Carlo as well? Milo had never mentioned that to me.

“And now he’s gone, and Olive … It’s dreadful here now, isn’t it?” she said. “I would leave at once, if that awful inspector hadn’t insisted we remain.”

“It will be over soon enough,” I said.

“Yes, I suppose it will.” She stood then, and the indifferent mask had slipped back into place, but not before I realized that perhaps we were not so very different, after all. For the first time, I realized that Veronica Carter was much like me: a young woman from an affluent family, facing a difficult situation without the benefit of anyone on whom she could completely rely.

*   *   *

BY THE TIME
I left the sitting room, Milo and Mrs. Hamilton were no longer anywhere to be seen. I wanted to know if he had learned anything from Mrs. Hamilton, but there would be time for that later. I simply didn’t feel up to Milo at the moment.

I returned to my room, contemplating the events of the morning. The inspector’s criticism had done little to shake my confidence in Gil’s innocence, but this newest development regarding the barrister was difficult to explain away. Perhaps Mr. Rodgers was correct. Perhaps Gil had been aware that suspicion was likely to shift in his direction and had chosen to be prepared.

And then there had been something in the inspector’s manner that had puzzled me. He seemed as though he knew more than he was saying. I could not rid myself of the feeling that he had meant to tell me something, though I couldn’t begin to imagine what it was. I hoped that he would prove to be my ally in this; if he was not set on Gil’s guilt, perhaps he could find who had really killed Rupert Howe.

I opened the door to my room, still lost in thought. Then I stopped. Something was amiss, out of place. It took me only a moment to realize what it was. It was not that something was missing but that something had been added. A glance into the bathroom confirmed my suspicions. Stepping to the wardrobe and flinging it open, I felt a surge of indignation.

Milo had had all of his things moved into my room.

16

I CHECKED IN
on Emmeline before I went downstairs and found that she was eating a quiet dinner in her room. Her color had improved, and she seemed in slightly better spirits. “I don’t know how I shall make it without … without Rupert, but I couldn’t bear it if something should happen to Gil,” she said. “I feel so much better knowing you’re doing what you can to help him.”

I only hoped it would be enough. I felt the great weight of her confidence upon my shoulders.

“Emmeline,” I ventured after a moment, “can you think of any reason anyone might have killed Rupert?” I had been hesitant to ask her anything concerning his death, but who was in a better position to know?

She paused and, to my relief, appeared to calmly consider it. “I’ve thought and thought about it, but I just don’t know why anyone would … would do such a thing. He got along with everyone, except perhaps Olive. They had been … close at one point.”

“You knew about that?” I asked, surprised.

“Yes, it was common knowledge, though Rupert said there was really nothing to it. And I don’t think for a moment that Olive would have done anything so dreadful.”

I thought of what Mrs. Hamilton had told me and decided to press ahead with my questions. “But didn’t Olive say she wanted to meet with Rupert that night? I was given to understand they were talking as you all came up from the beach. Perhaps they met and quarreled.”

Emmeline frowned and shook her head. “No, I don’t think she said any such thing. We all walked up at the same time and perhaps Olive and Rupert fell into step together, but they usually tried to avoid one another. I’m certain they cared nothing for each other. You see, she…” She hesitated a moment, as if about to say something, and then shook her head again. “Well … they just didn’t care for one another. They certainly wouldn’t have wanted to meet.”

I kept my opinion on this to myself. I was relieved she didn’t ask where I had acquired my information. I knew how uneasy Mrs. Hamilton had been in relating the story. Perhaps she was right in doubting herself. She may have misheard, or perhaps she had been correct in her assessment that the noise from the sea had been too loud for Emmeline to overhear the conversation.