Murder at the Brightwell: A Mystery (23 page)

“For the time being.” He smiled a very tired smile that didn’t warm his eyes. “My barrister is top-notch, it seems.” He gave a laugh that was completely devoid of humor. “My barrister. How odd that sounds. I’m to be tried for murder, Amory. It doesn’t seem real.”

I noticed suddenly that he was pale and had dark circles about his eyes, and he looked older than he had two days ago. I felt a stab of compassion and more than a little guilt. I reached out and took his hand. “It’s going to be all right, Gil. I’m so glad you’ve been released. I tried to come and see you, but Inspector Jones wouldn’t let me.”

“I’m glad. It wasn’t a very nice place. I shouldn’t have liked you to visit.” His hand dropped from mine.

“Do you want to eat something?” I asked, at a loss for anything more to say. There was little I could say to comfort him, especially now that I could sense a distance between us. In the midst of everything else, neither of us was willing to address the fact that Milo seemed to have come between us once again. Though, in theory, I had done nothing wrong, it must have been a very unwelcome surprise for Gil, fresh from prison, to arrive back and find me wrapped in Milo’s arms.

“Thank you, no. I’m very tired. I didn’t sleep well. I think I shall go see Emmeline and then rest for a while.”

“Of course. She’ll be glad to see you. Everything has been so hard on her.”

“Yes. I’ll see you later then.” He started to walk away, and I felt unaccountably miserable as he turned his back to me. I couldn’t keep myself from stopping him.

“Gil, wait.”

He turned, and I was no longer sure what I wanted to say. This was neither the time nor the place for an intimate discussion. Nevertheless, there was one thing, at least, for which I could attempt to make amends.

“I never meant for Inspector Jones to misconstrue what I had told him,” I said. “I should have spoken with you about your conversation with Rupert before I mentioned it; I never thought it would cause you any harm. I’m very sorry.”

“Please don’t apologize,” he said. “You mustn’t feel it’s your fault that I was arrested.”

“But it was my fault, wasn’t it,” I stated flatly.

He stepped toward me, his expression gentle, and this time it was he who took my hand in his. “It was I who dragged you into this mess. I’m the one who should apologize. I don’t know what I was thinking, asking you to … Perhaps I wasn’t thinking. If I hadn’t asked you, you would have been spared all of this.”

“No, I was happy to help, and I still am.” I squeezed his hand. It was, as ever, warm and dry, his grip firm and reassuring. “I know it will come out all right in the end.”

He smiled but did not look assured. “Thank you.”

“I’m going to find who did it, Gil. I know you didn’t want me to, but I’ve been asking questions and…”

A shadow crossed his eyes, and his grip on my hand tightened. “Please, Amory. I meant it, what I said before. You mustn’t do that. You can’t put yourself in danger.” He glanced around, as though he feared being overheard, but we were speaking quietly, and there was no one within earshot. “I don’t want you to involve yourself. Do you understand? Keep back and let the police take care of it.”

“I can’t stand by and let you take the blame for something you didn’t do.”

His eyes met mine, and there was an intensity in them that had not been there a moment ago, a spark that warmed the weary coolness of his gaze. “Do you really believe I am innocent?”

“With all my heart.”

He smiled, a real smile, and I felt my chest constrict with that familiar affection. “That means a great deal, Amory.”

“Did you honestly believe I could think you capable of such a thing?”

“I…” His gaze flickered away before returning. “I wasn’t sure. It’s been a long time, Amory. We’ve both of us changed.”

I knew that he was thinking of how we had been happy and content before Milo had appeared to alter both our lives. “Things are different, yes,” I said. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t believe the best of you.”

“Thank you.” His gaze was searching for a moment. “There’s more to be said, isn’t there? But I expect it will keep.”

“Yes,” I said, relieved both that he had brought up the conversation that loomed before us and that it was to be postponed for the time being. “It will keep.”

“Promise me you’ll leave this murder business be, Amory.”

“I can’t do that,” I said, meeting his gaze. “You know I can’t.”

“Then at least promise me you’ll be careful. If something happened to you…”

“I’ll be careful, Gil. I promise.”

He nodded and released my hand. “I had better see to Emmeline.”

Gil departed, and I decided to walk for a moment on the terrace to clear my thoughts. My emotions were in a greater state of turmoil than ever. I was no longer sure what was true of anyone; worse, I was no longer sure what was true of myself.

For that one sunny moment this morning as Milo kissed me, I had allowed myself to believe that, perhaps, we could make a go of it. Perhaps my leaving for the seaside without him had been enough to inspire some semblance of connubial devotion, to make him realize that he really did care for me, after all. And then, when I looked up to find Gil there, watching my husband’s cleverly staged scene, I had realized, not for the first time, that Milo was always playing the game. It had left me oddly sick to my stomach.

And what of Gil? Milo had asked if I loved Gil, and though my first impulse had been to deny it, I could not pretend, even with myself, that there was not some link between us. Whether it was the bond of an old and comfortable friendship or something more, I couldn’t be certain. I only knew that I saw in Gil something that Milo lacked.

One thing I could be very sure of, however. The emotional tumult I found myself in was not going to provide any assistance in finding Rupert Howe’s killer. Breathing deeply of the fresh, salty air, I forced myself to focus on the task at hand.

I walked to the edge of the terrace and looked down. The seaside terrace sat empty below, the white tabletops gleaming brightly in the morning sun. The terrace had been cleaned and reopened once the police had done their part, but there was no one sitting there. I could not blame the guests for staying clear of it. It seemed ghastly to take tea on the spot where a man’s life had spilled out.

My gaze dropped from the terrace to the bottom of the cliff. What had Mr. Hamilton been searching for last night? It seemed he had found it, whatever it was. My conjecture that it had been the weapon had seemed logical, but now I frowned as a thought came to me. It seemed clear to me that, if it had been the weapon that struck the fatal blow to Rupert, he would want to dispose of it. Why then, if Mr. Hamilton had discovered it among the debris at the base of the cliff, had he not flung it into the sea? That is most certainly what I would have done; yet he had put the object in his pocket. There was only one reasonable explanation for such a thing. It was something he wished to keep. It followed, then, that the object would still be in his possession. There was one logical place to look and only one way to look there.

I was going to have to find a way to sneak into Mr. Hamilton’s room.

19

THERE WAS, I
decided, no time like the present to begin my machinations. I was unsure of Mr. Hamilton’s whereabouts at present, but I did not intend to break into his room just this moment. That would be best accomplished during lunch, when most of the others were away from their rooms. The fewer potential witnesses to my misdeeds, the better.

That meant that right now, or at least before the luncheon hour, I needed to acquire a key or some other method of ingress. Just because Milo and I were habitually negligent in locking our doors didn’t mean Mr. Hamilton would be so incautious. I will admit that several ideas, some more incredible than others, crossed my mind. In the end, I decided it would be equally impossible for me to impersonate Mrs. Hamilton to the desk clerk, dress as a maid, or scale the wall to his window. I would simply have to hope he left his room open or attempt to pick the lock, an area in which I feared my skills would be woefully inadequate. I could only pray that my ventures would meet with success.

I asked the desk clerk for Mr. Hamilton’s room number and learned that his wife had a separate but adjoining room. This was good news for me. It could mean another possible means of entry, yet it also meant another person to avoid in my snooping endeavors.

I spent the remainder of the morning sipping tea on the terrace and writing a long, woe-filled letter to Laurel. Sealing the envelope and bringing it to the desk to have it posted, I remembered then that I had forgotten to read the letter she had sent to me. I had never taken it from my pocket. Well, it would have to wait for later. I had no intention of returning to my room at present, since I had no desire to encounter Milo. I wished that I had insisted he keep to his own room, but it didn’t seem very likely that I would be able to evict him now.

Thinking of him only made me angry, so I forced my thoughts to return to the task at hand. It had been my intention to call upon Inspector Jones, but Gil’s arrival had given me pause. I suspected the inspector would not be in a cooperative mood, seeing as Gil had been released, albeit not indefinitely. I would make a trip to see Inspector Jones tomorrow, provided some insidious errand did not bring him back to the Brightwell.

I also felt it would be the proper thing for me to visit Olive Henderson in the hospital. I had not heard a recent update on her condition, and I wondered how she was faring. If I was completely honest with myself, it was not solely her welfare that interested me, though I sincerely hoped that she was all right. What I was most curious to learn was what had prompted her to cut her wrists. If, as Veronica Carter claimed, Olive had not loved Rupert, what possible motive could she have for attempting to do away with herself? It was most puzzling. I could see no reason why she should wish to confide in me, but I could try.

At last, the luncheon hour approached, and I left the terrace and entered the hotel. Crossing the lobby, I made my way toward the lift. It was my intention to sneak a surreptitious glance into the dining room to ascertain that the Hamiltons had come down before I headed upstairs to try my hand at unlawful entry. As luck would have it, the doors to the lift opened and Mr. and Mrs. Hamilton stood before me.

“Hello, Mrs. Ames,” Mr. Hamilton said. He dragged his eyes over me in an appraising way. “The … sea air seems to have done you well. You’re looking hale and hearty this afternoon.”

I managed a tight smile at his unabashed reference to my moonlit rendezvous with Milo. Vulgar man.

“That’s a lovely dress, Mrs. Hamilton,” I said, turning to his wife, who stood silently by his side. Indeed, she looked very pretty in a gown of dusky rose. The color suited the softness of her complexion. She really was a lovely woman; I felt sorry she should be tied to so odious a man.

“Not the latest fashion, of course,” Mr. Hamilton said, before she could reply. “Larissa’s never had much eye for the newest things. Perhaps you could give her the name of your dressmaker. You always seem very well turned out.”

She flushed, intensifying my desire to find some sort of nasty weapon in his room. If only he could be guilty. Gil would be freed, and so would Larissa Hamilton.

“Mrs. Hamilton needs no help from me,” I told him coolly. I turned to her, hoping warmth and not pity showed in my smile. “In my opinion, you always look quite lovely, Mrs. Hamilton.”

“Thank you,” she said.

“Not having lunch?” Mr. Hamilton asked.

“Not just now. I’ve a headache.”

“I am sorry,” Mrs. Hamilton said. “I have some aspirin…”

“A touch too much sun, I think. I’ll lie down for a while.”

I entered the lift and was relieved when the doors closed behind me. I had never before encountered such a frightful excuse for a husband. Compared to Mr. Hamilton, Rupert was beginning to look like quite the gentleman, and Milo seemed on the verge of sprouting a halo and wings.

The lift stopped on the Hamiltons’ floor, and I exited cautiously. My room was not on this floor, and, though most of the Brightwell guests were not likely to know that, I still did not care to be spotted. If something should go amiss, I would not want anyone remembering that they had seen me here.

Just at that moment, a gentleman exited his room and came down the hall. I resisted the urge to freeze guiltily in place as he tipped his hat to me and continued on.

I waited until he had entered the lift and then, with as much nonchalance as I could muster, I strolled down the hall and approached the door to Mrs. Hamilton’s room. I put my hand on the knob and was bitterly disappointed to find it locked. Not that I really expected to find it open. Mrs. Hamilton struck me as a cautious, dependable sort of person. It seemed only natural that she would make sure that her things were in order.

I sighed. There was only one hope left now, and the odds did not seem good. If Mr. Hamilton had hidden some incriminating object in his room, it was very unlikely that he would have left the door open for any person to waltz inside.

My hand stilled for just a moment on the knob before I slowly turned it. The handle gave, and, with the slightest pressure on my part, the door swung open.

I let out a little breath I didn’t know I had been holding and slid inside, shutting the door silently behind me.

Locking the door, I stood for a moment, taking stock of the room. The layout of Mr. Hamilton’s room was somewhat similar to mine, though my room rested on the southeast corner facing the sea and Mr. Hamilton’s was midway along the west side of the building. A large wardrobe and dressing table stood against the wall to my left. A sitting area sat near the window, and the bed rested against the wall that separated Mrs. Hamilton’s room from his. A writing desk and the door to the bathroom on the wall across from the bed completed the picture. The room was surprisingly tidy. I had been expecting an ogre’s den, no doubt, but everything was orderly, almost impersonal.

Before beginning my search, I moved to try the door to Mrs. Hamilton’s room and found it bolted from Mr. Hamilton’s side. I slid back the bolt and opened it, peering into Mrs. Hamilton’s room. The layout was the mirror image of this one, her bed against the wall to his room. I closed the door but left it unlocked. Should I hear Mr. Hamilton coming back, it would be that much easier for me to slip into her room, where I could possibly make an escape. Of course, they might both arrive at their rooms together. In that case, there would be no escape. I determined that I would be gone long before they had finished lunching.