“There are far too many bubbles for you to catch a glimpse of anything enticing,” I said with mock tartness.
“Then I shall just have to wait here until the water is cold and you decide to get out.”
“Go away, Milo.” I laughed. “Let me bathe in peace.”
“Very well,” he said, beginning to rise. “I only wanted to share with you what I learned from Mr. Alden this afternoon.”
“Sit down,” I demanded, and he lowered himself again to the edge of the tub. “Did you ask him about the break-in?”
“He mentioned it, in fact. There were more than one. Someone broke into his office, but apparently realized there was nothing worth stealing there. That was after they tried, and failed, to break in to the warehouse itself. He said it was in the little addition in the back of the building that contains a collection of automobile tires and other items used to repair the shipping trucks.”
“Automobile tires?” I repeated. “Why on earth should anyone want to steal those? What’s more, how did they intend to make off with such bulky items?”
Milo shrugged. “Perhaps they didn’t know what was held in that particular area. As I said, it was in the back of the building. They may have thought there would be less chance of their being discovered there.”
“Perhaps,” I mused. “I learned something rather interesting today.”
I relayed what Mr. Brown had told me about Grant Palmer and Jemma Petrie’s visit to the warehouse.
“They were denied entry, and when I mentioned the warehouse to Miss Petrie today she claimed she hadn’t been there in years. Do you suppose they might have been breaking in for some reason?” I asked.
“It’s possible, I suppose.”
“Furthermore, it’s possible that Mr. Alden knew it was Mr. Palmer and, for some reason, he decided to kill him.”
“It seems a bit far-fetched, but I suppose not entirely implausible.”
I sighed. “It doesn’t seem we’re any closer to solving the mystery than we were at the beginning.”
“I expect that grim detective will be around soon enough. Perhaps you can charm some information from him.”
I gave a bitter laugh. “I very much doubt that.” I had no illusions that I would ever be able to form any kind of bond with the dour Detective Andrews. “Although, it’s funny you should mention it. I did see Detective Bailey as I came back to the house. He seems to doubt it was gangsters who killed Grant Palmer.” I related what he had said, leaving out the vague warning he had given me.
“The speculation about the gun is a bit telling,” Milo said. “But don’t worry, darling. I’m sure the truth will come to light in time. Clearly, the detectives are doing their job. Try to enjoy your time with Tabitha.”
This reminded me of the other issue that was weighing on my mind. “What do you make of Tabitha and Tom’s relationship?”
“I don’t know that I make anything of it,” he replied.
Milo, I had come to learn, was singularly disinterested in the machinations of other people’s hearts. He could really not care less whether other people were happily or unhappily married or if they parted ways and their hearts were broken.
I, however, could not so easily dismiss the memory of Tabitha’s worried countenance this afternoon.
“I suddenly have an uneasy feeling about them.”
He shrugged dismissively. “You’ve seen them together. They can barely keep their hands off each other. I think they’re going to be very happy.”
“There is more to marriage than…”
I paused as Milo’s brows rose expectantly.
“Physical compatibility,” I finished.
“Naturally. But it makes the long days of marriage much more palatable when one has the nights to look forward to.”
I had half a mind to splash him for his impertinence, but I laughed instead. “You’re a wretch, Milo.”
“But I’m your wretch, darling.”
“Lucky me. Tabitha said she knew the moment they met they were going to marry. Do you think that’s possible?”
“I suppose it might be,” he said. “What did you think the moment you first saw me?”
“That I would do well to steer clear of you,” I replied truthfully.
He laughed. “You see? Your first instinct was probably the right one.”
“All the same,” I replied. “I’m glad I didn’t listen to that instinct.”
“So am I,” he replied. “Because, your beauty aside, I married you because you’re smart and clever and you challenge me in ways no other woman could have.”
My breath caught a little at this unexpected declaration. “You do say the sweetest things, Milo.”
His eyes caught mine. “I mean them, you know.”
It was unlike him to be blatantly romantic, and when the moments occasionally arose they took me off guard. I pressed my lips together to keep the tears from coming to my eyes.
“I’m glad,” I whispered.
He leaned to rest his hand on the opposite edge of the tub and lowered his mouth to mine.
“Here’s your robe, madam. I … oh … oh!” Winnelda stopped in the doorway to the bathroom, turned halfway around, then turned back, holding up the robe like a shield against indecency.
“It’s all right, Winnelda,” I said, before she spun herself dizzy. I pushed Milo back, leaving a wet handprint on his white shirtfront. “I’ll take the robe.”
She came in, eyes averted as though we might try to scandalize her further. It wasn’t the first time she had walked in to find us kissing, but it never ceased to embarrass her. She was now a bright shade of red.
Milo withdrew his hand from the other side of the tub and rose unhurriedly from its edge. “I shall leave you in peace to take your nap.”
He exited then, through the door that led to his room, and I couldn’t help but feel just a bit disappointed.
Winnelda held up the robe for me, and I stepped from the tub, wrapping it around myself.
“I didn’t mean to … to interrupt, madam.”
“It’s perfectly all right,” I assured her.
“I didn’t know … that is, I didn’t think … Mr. Ames is always where one least expects him to be,” she said.
I suppressed a smile at this apt description. “Think no more of it, Winnelda.”
She followed me into the bedroom and laid out a silk nightdress for me to nap in as I went behind the changing screen to finish drying off and put on my underthings.
“Will you be going out this evening?” she asked.
“Yes. Will you lay out the beaded black evening gown?”
She went to the wardrobe and sorted through my gowns as I slipped the nightgown over my head and came around the screen.
“What’s he like, madam?” Winnelda asked, turning with the gown in hand.
I was momentarily confused. “Who?”
“Mr. De Lora.”
I stared at her, wondering how on earth she knew I was going to see him.
She seemed to interpret my question. “I won’t tell Mr. Ames,” she said, lowering her voice. “I know he wouldn’t approve, but I feel that duty to one’s employer is the most important thing. And we women ought to stick together.”
I smiled, despite feeling as though I had been caught doing something I oughtn’t. “I appreciate your loyalty, Winnelda.”
“You will be careful, though, won’t you, madam? I should hate to feel that I might have done something to help you if something goes wrong.”
“I’ll be careful,” I said. “I haven’t been doing anything dangerous. After all, a great many reputable people visit De Lora’s. It’s something of an open secret, I daresay.”
She nodded. “Well, I shall be glad to keep your confidence, madam. And if you wish to give me a secret word to let me know that you’re in trouble, you might be able to telephone and I can then pass the message on to Mr. Ames.”
“We’ll consider that,” I said.
“Is he as
handsome as they say?”
“He’s very handsome,” I admitted. “But there is an air of quiet menace about him, as though he wouldn’t mind at all doing something very wicked.”
I was embellishing a bit to feed Winnelda’s love for the lurid, but I realized that the impression I gave her was not entirely an exaggeration. I knew that Leon De Lora, despite his charm, was a dangerous man. He seemed friendly enough toward me so far, and I could only hope that the trend would continue tonight.
* * *
I ENJOYED MY nap and woke up very much refreshed.
There was still a bit of time before I needed to dress for dinner, so I put on a dark rose-colored blouse and a lightweight gray tweed skirt and went downstairs, looking for company.
I was walking toward the drawing room when I heard the sound of male voices. I recognized the speakers as Milo and Tom. I was just about to go and join them when Mr. Smith’s words caught my attention.
“I’m sorry to ask you this, but there really isn’t anyone else for me to talk to.” There was a pause, and then he rushed ahead. “Have you ever done anything you oughtn’t, something that it would hurt your wife very much to discover?”
I paused, torn between discreetly taking my leave and listening to Milo’s answer. Naturally, my curiosity won out.
Milo gave a dry laugh that made my eyes narrow. I suspected that the list was fairly comprehensive, and I listened with rapt attention for his answer.
“I suppose there have been a few things in my past of which Amory wouldn’t approve,” he said easily.
“And don’t you ever feel as though you should tell her?”
“I’m afraid I haven’t a confessionary nature.”
Tom sighed. “I’m afraid I do. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to rest until my conscience is clear.”
I felt again that hint of unease that was always in the background when I thought of Tabitha marrying Tom. I had sensed that there was something he was hiding, and this seemed proof of it.
“Then that’s a decision you’ll have to make,” Milo said.
“It’s just that Tabitha has been acting strangely lately. It’s almost as if … as if she suspects something. But it isn’t just that. It’s a matter of principle. Don’t you … don’t you think it’s the right thing to do?”
Tom obviously wanted reassurance, the encouragement that confession was for the best, but if he was looking for sound marital advice, I thought he ought to have looked a little further than Milo.
I waited to see what Milo would say. If I hoped that he would tell Tom that an open and honest relationship with the woman one loved was the key to a happy marriage, I was to be severely disappointed.
His answer came at last, his tone light. “The best advice that I can give you is this: what wives don’t know won’t hurt them.”
I didn’t want to hear any more. I turned and walked quietly away from the room and went upstairs.
18
I TRIED VERY hard not to let the words affect me, but I found it impossible not to be hurt by the flippancy with which Milo treated the question of honesty between partners.
Whenever I began to believe that he had truly put his wild ways behind him, he did something like this to remind me of them. Of course, I understood what he meant, or at least what I hoped he meant: that there was no use burdening one’s wife with the sins of the past.
I felt, however, that it had been couched in such terms as to recommend that the young man might do things without ever having to worry about the consequences.
In the early days of our marriage, I might have let the matter drop. I would have hidden my hurt and tried to find excuses to minimize my internal struggle with his behavior.
But those days had past. As things stood between us now, I felt that I had to confront him.
When he came up to dress for dinner, I was ready.
“I overheard some of your conversation with Tom this afternoon,” I said, as he tied his necktie.
His brow rose sardonically, and I could sense that he was not entirely amused. “Did you?”
As I ought to have expected, he displayed no sign of guilt whatsoever. I had frankly begun to believe that Milo was immune to that particular malady.
“I sometimes forget how very good your hearing is, darling.”
“I wasn’t eavesdropping, if that’s what you’re implying.”
“It’s what you implied, I believe.”
I knew what he was doing. He was building up his defenses, trying to shift some sort of blame back to me. It wasn’t going to work.
I plunged ahead with the real issue at hand. “You know the troubles we’ve had, Milo. Don’t you think it’s best not to advise Tom to keep secrets from Tabitha? I would have thought you might have learned something from our own difficulties.”
“I didn’t tell him to keep secrets from Tabitha. I said that there are some things better left unsaid.”
“It amounts to the same thing.”
“If there are some misdeeds in his past that would hurt her to learn about, what good is it going to do for him to tell her?”
It was a logical enough question, I supposed, but I didn’t like the implication of it. I told myself there was no point in getting angry. It wouldn’t make a difference to Milo anyway.
“Did he tell you what his secret was?” I asked.
“No.” Was he lying to me? I couldn’t be sure, but, in any event, I wasn’t certain I wanted to be burdened with Tom’s secret.
We looked at each other. Inwardly, I tried to formulate my argument. I did not want things to escalate to a heated row or shouting match. Not that Milo ever shouted. In every argument we had ever had, he was always maddeningly calm. That was the worst part of quarreling with him: the way he became completely devoid of emotion when his temper rose. His anger was never white hot as mine was; instead, the angrier he was the colder he became. The higher his emotions ran, the more tightly he controlled them. It made it terribly difficult to come to a resolution between us.
Thankfully, we had not had many arguments of this nature. Most of the time we managed to disagree very civilly with each other. I was not one to hold a grudge, and Milo’s charm made him easy to forgive.
I met his gaze, trying to get some hint of what he was thinking. I didn’t want to lose my temper now. I wanted to be able to discuss this in a calm and rational manner. The problem was that I felt precariously close to bursting into tears. I didn’t know what was wrong with me. I had never had trouble containing my feelings, especially not where Milo was concerned. Indeed, I had made something of a habit of doing just that for the better part of our marriage.
I felt suddenly very weary. Why must there always be so many secrets? It seemed no matter where I went, people were always hiding things and making them worse with their deceit. Lies never worked out well in the end; they always managed to hurt people more than the truth might have.
“Can’t anyone be honest?” I asked Milo suddenly.
His expression was still guarded. “To whom are you referring?”
“Everyone,” I said. “I don’t know why everything must always be a big muddle. If people weren’t always so secretive, life would be much easier.”
“You know I’m not much of one for philosophical debates, darling.”
He was also not much of one for compulsive truth telling. I was not going to find any sympathy from him. But I felt suddenly that this was very important, that I needed to resolve this issue and couldn’t move forward until we did.
“Let’s be honest with each other, Milo,” I said. “From now on. Let’s tell each other the truth, no matter how unpleasant it might be.”
His eyes met mine, and I knew that he could see how much this meant to me. “All right, darling. If that’s what you want.”
“It is.”
There was a tap at the door just then, and I didn’t know whether to be dismayed or relieved to have this conversation interrupted.
“Come in,” I ca
lled.
Winnelda came into the room, her face a bit flushed, her eyes bright with excitement.
“Oh, madam. I just heard something I thought you’d like to know. From Annie, one of the maids.”
“Yes, what is it, Winnelda?” I was still half-preoccupied with my conversation with Milo, so it took me a moment for her next words to sink in.
“It’s about a gun.”
“What about a gun?” Milo asked.
She drew in a breath and let the words out in a rush. “Annie says that … that Miss Tabitha used to keep a pistol in the drawer with her…” She paused, glancing at Milo. “Her … unmentionables.”
“What about it?” I pressed.
“Well, Annie says the gun is gone now.”
* * *
IT WAS JUST the Aldens and Milo and I at dinner that evening. Tom Smith wasn’t there, and Tabitha didn’t make his excuses. I wondered again if some kind of rift was developing between them, but Tabitha seemed in good spirits and I thought perhaps my imagination was playing tricks on me.
Winnelda’s latest revelation was still very much on my mind. What had become of the gun in Tabitha’s drawer? Winnelda had said she would attempt to get more information from Annie, but in the meantime the only way I could find out the truth was from Tabitha. I wanted very much to ask her about it, but I wasn’t sure how I could go about introducing the topic. Besides, just because she had been in possession of a gun at one point didn’t mean she had used it to kill Grant Palmer.
Nevertheless, I was having a difficult time dismissing the potential significance of a missing gun when a murder had been committed with one. I would just have to find a way to bring it up.
We had just begun drinking our after-dinner coffee when Calvin appeared in the doorway of the drawing room.
“Mr. Elliot is here.”
“It’s all right, Calvin. I can tell them myself,” Rudy Elliot said with a smile, coming into the room. “Hello, everyone. I’m sorry to drop by unannounced, but I thought Tom might be here.”
“He’s not,” Tabitha told him shortly.
He glanced at her with what might have been a searching look. “Yes, I see that. Should I leave?”
A Dangerous Engagement Page 19
