An Act of Villainy

by Ashley Weaver

  “Hello, Inspector,” I said with a sigh.

  “You’ve stumbled upon another body, I hear,” he said.

  “Inspector, might we dispense with the pleasantries until Amory’s had a chance to collect herself,” Milo said, his tone just short of polite. “It’s been rather a shock.”

  Inspector Jones looked at Milo with his calm, steady gaze. “I can appreciate that, Mr. Ames, but I’m sure you can appreciate that time is often of the essence in these cases.”

  “It’s all right, Milo,” I said, my hand on his arm. “I’m all right.”

  “I need to go inside for a few moments,” Inspector Jones said. “Perhaps you can wait for me somewhere?”

  I nodded. As long as I didn’t have to go inside the theatre. I imagined she was still there, hanging limply from that curtain rope, the gold tassel suspended against her chest like some ghastly lavaliere, that grotesque expression frozen on her face. My stomach turned.

  “Do you want to go back inside?” Milo asked, and I knew he meant the building next door. However, I couldn’t imagine going back into the gala, either. I couldn’t pretend that everything was all right. I was sure my face must be white.

  “No,” I said. “Let’s stay out here.”

  “All right.”

  Inspector Jones nodded at us and went into the theatre, followed by several uniformed policemen, and a man in a suit who I assumed must be a doctor.

  I leaned into Milo again, relishing his warmth, as I was suddenly very cold. I was glad for his arm around me, for the support, both physical and emotional.

  Though I tried not to think about what I had just witnessed, in the back of my mind, I could feel the wheels beginning to turn as questions began to form. Who had had access to the theatre? Who had been away from the gala?

  “I couldn’t vouch for anyone’s whereabouts tonight,” Milo said, echoing my thoughts. “Everyone was moving around so much.”

  I nodded. “Perhaps if they can determine how long she’s been…” I stopped, that sick feeling coming again. It was almost unbelievable that she was actually dead. That lovely, vibrant, talented woman who had electrified the audience with her performance only hours before was gone forever.

  A few moments later, one of the policemen stepped outside. “Inspector Jones would like you to come in,” he said.

  “You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” Milo told me.

  “It’s all right,” I said, mustering up my resolve. If we were to find Flora Bell’s killer, I was going to have to face the facts.

  We went through the front doors and the policeman closed them firmly behind us. The theatre was no longer dark. In fact, it seemed as though every light in the place had been thrown on, every corner of it illuminated.

  Though I didn’t want to, I couldn’t help myself: I glanced up at the stage. Mercifully, Miss Bell’s body had been removed. Inspector Jones stood in the spot where she had died, examining the curtain rope that had been tied around her neck.

  “Have a seat, Mr. and Mrs. Ames,” he called as we came in. “I’ll be with you in a moment.”

  Milo and I moved into a row of seats in the back of the theatre and sat down, Milo’s hand taking mine. I hadn’t realized how weak my legs were until I felt the rush of relief at being able to sit.

  I watched Inspector Jones as he moved around the stage, occasionally stopping to jot things in his familiar and ever-present notebook. I wondered idly if he had a stock of them somewhere, just waiting to be filled with notes about murders. Did he keep them when he was done or toss them away once the case had been solved?

  Despite everything that had happened tonight, I was intrigued by his processes. There was something in the calm and methodical way he moved around the scene of the crime that soothed me.

  After a few more moments, he came down from the stage and joined us where we sat.

  A thought occurred to me suddenly. “What a lucky coincidence it was you who was sent to us,” I said.

  “It wasn’t a coincidence,” he said. “Mr. Ames asked for me specifically.”

  I glanced at Milo, a bit surprised. I knew that he and Inspector Jones did not have the warmest relationship. Then again, as Milo surely realized, Inspector Jones had always been exceedingly efficient and fair-minded. I realized how exceptionally relieved I was that he was here.

  “I know this has been upsetting, Mrs. Ames,” he went on, “but I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you a few questions.”

  I nodded. I had been prepared for this. It was, after all, not the first time I had been in such a situation. Again I thought how glad I was that Inspector Jones would be the one to do the interview. It would have been trying and wearisome to relate this story to a stone-faced stranger barking brusque queries in my direction.

  “Why don’t we start at the beginning,” he said. “How was it that you happened to be here tonight?”

  “Gerard Holloway is an old friend,” Milo said. “We purchased a box for the performance, as the event was to benefit a charity. The gala next door was held afterward.”

  “And so, to use Mrs. Ames’s term, it’s just coincidence that you happened to be here,” Inspector Jones pressed. I might have known that he would suspect there was more to it than that. Of course, I had to admit that it might be conceived as strange that Milo and I ended up at the scene of so many murders.

  “It isn’t exactly a coincidence that we were here either,” I admitted.

  He waited.

  “Tell him about the letters,” I told Milo.

  “Letters?” Inspector Jones inquired expectantly.

  “Yes, it seems that Flora Bell had been receiving some threatening letters,” Milo said. He related the details as they had unfolded. As he spoke, I contemplated the significance of those letters. They had seemed like idle threats, something meant to frighten. I had had no idea that they would lead to something like this. I realized now that, even in my uneasiness, I had not really thought that Miss Bell’s life was in danger. How stupid it was to have underestimated the menace in those anonymous missives.

  “Did Mr. Holloway notify the police?” Inspector Jones asked when Milo had finished.

  “I don’t believe so,” Milo said. “Miss Bell was opposed to the idea.”

  I couldn’t help but wonder if things might have ended differently if we had.

  “I wanted to notify you,” I said, looking up at Inspector Jones. “I suggested to her that I might ring you up and tell you about it, but she wouldn’t let me.”

  As I spoke the words, I realized that I felt guilty that I had been convinced not to contact him. If I had, perhaps none of this would have happened.

  Inspector Jones seemed to realize what I was thinking, for when he spoke, his voice had taken on a gentle note that I had seldom heard there. “It was her decision, Mrs. Ames. If she didn’t want you to contact the police, you had little choice but to respect her wishes.”

  “But if I had told you…”

  “I might have come to the play,” he said. “But then I would have been in the gala with the rest of you. Apparently, she slipped away from the party and very few people seemed to have noticed.”

  “Except for the killer,” I said.

  “Did Mr. Holloway or Miss Bell say who they thought might be behind the letters?”

  “No, they didn’t know. Although, there seem to be several people that might have had motive to send them.”

  “That’s very interesting. We’ll come back to that,” he said. “In the meantime, do you know where these notes are now?”

  “I think Holloway must have them,” Milo said.

  He nodded. “I’ll ask him. Now, Mrs. Ames, if you’ll relate to me how it was that you came to discover the body.”

  I drew in a slow breath, dreading reliving it all, but knowing that I must.

  “Georgina—Mrs. Holloway—had told me earlier in the evening that she wished to speak with me before I left, but when it came time to leave, I couldn’t find her. It was
Mr. Holloway who mentioned that she might be in the theatre.”

  “Then Mr. Holloway was the one who suggested you come here.”

  “Yes.”

  He made no comment, but jotted something down.

  “And how did you get into the theatre?” he asked.

  “Through the front entrance. Mr. Holloway gave me his key,” I said.

  “Did you see anyone?”

  “No. Everything was very quiet when I came in, but I supposed Georgina might still be there somewhere.”

  “Then what?”

  “It was very dark, and I didn’t know how to turn on the lights, so I made my way toward the stage. There was a little light, and I was trying to reach the corridor where the dressing rooms are located.”

  “You thought it advisable to venture into the dark auditorium alone?” he asked.

  “It didn’t cross my mind that anything like this would have happened,” I replied, a bit defensively. After all, I had certainly not thought that Miss Bell would be murdered. I had been so unsuspecting. It seemed almost ridiculous now that I had ventured into the dark building and onto the stage without a thought. In all likelihood, the killer might still have been in the building, perhaps even watching me. I shuddered, and Milo squeezed my hand.

  “What made you come out onto the stage?” Inspector Jones asked.

  “It’s the quickest way back to the dressing rooms. I thought Mrs. Holloway might be there, freshening up her makeup.”

  “And did you see or hear anything unusual?”

  I frowned, considering. That was an excellent question. I thought back. My mind had been all in a jumble, but now the vaguest memory was beginning to surface. “I think I heard something,” I said. “The smallest bit of movement.”

  Inspector Jones watched me, waiting.

  I realized, with sudden horror, that it might have been the sound of Flora Bell’s body swaying on its rope. But no. It had been more than that.

  “Now that I think about it,” I said at last, “I think perhaps there was someone else here. I thought, just now, that it might have been Miss Bell … but it couldn’t have been. She … appeared to have been dead for some time when I found her.”

  “I know it might be difficult, but would you come up onto the stage and show me how it was that you came across her?”

  I nodded, my throat tight.

  We all rose and walked to the front of the theatre, taking the little set of steps up to the stage. Milo’s hand never left my arm.

  “I came up here,” I said, pointing to the way I had gone up to the stage. “I didn’t see her right away. And when I did, at first I thought … that she was just standing on the stage. It took me a moment to realize…”

  He jotted down a note, then looked up, his brown eyes on my face. “When you first saw the body, did you have any sort of impression as to how it might have happened?”

  “An accident or some such thing, do you mean?” I replied. I shook my head slowly. “There was no way it could have been. The cord was … knotted tightly. It was done deliberately.”

  He nodded. I wondered if it had been a test of my observational powers. If so, it seemed that I had passed it.

  “You saw nothing else?” he asked.

  I shook my head. “After I realized what had happened, I hurried out.”

  “And you saw no one nearby?”

  “No. The first person I encountered was Milo.”

  “What were you doing outside, Mr. Ames?” he asked.

  “Holloway told me that Amory had gone in search of his wife, so I came to look for her.”

  “I see. And did either of you notice when Miss Bell left the gala?”

  I thought back. I hadn’t been paying particular attention to her whereabouts.

  “No,” I said. “I … don’t know. I didn’t notice.”

  “Nor did I,” Milo said.

  Inspector Jones nodded. “Well, thank you. I know this was unpleasant, Mrs. Ames, but you’ve been most helpful. We’ll see to the others now. It’s likely to be a long night, but I don’t think you need stay any longer.”

  “Has … has someone told Mr. Holloway?” I asked.

  “Yes.” Something in the way he said the single word let me know that Mr. Holloway had not taken the news well.

  “Is someone with him?” I asked.

  “There’s an officer with him,” Inspector Jones said. “I’m going to have a word with him next. Since you found her, I thought I would talk to you first. Besides, we do have a bit of a history, don’t we?” He offered me the barest hint of a smile, and I felt a sense of relief, almost comfort, as though I had laid a heavy burden in his hands.

  He turned to Milo. “Perhaps you’d better take her home now, Mr. Ames.”

  I did not miss the shared look between Milo and the inspector, and I felt a glimmer of irritation. I did not want to be coddled. Discovering the body had given me a start, yes, but I was not going to faint or fall into hysterics, and I did not need to be treated as though I might.

  “I’m all right,” I said firmly, though, to my annoyance, my voice wobbled ever so slightly when I said it, undermining the words.

  “Certainly you are. You’re a very strong woman,” Inspector Jones said. “But I think you’ve told me all I need to know for tonight. Why don’t you let Mr. Ames take you home and we can discuss this more at a later time.”

  I nodded. I wanted to protest, to tell him that we could discuss it all he liked now, but the truth was that I felt horrible, the surge of shock and fear having abandoned me to a trembling I couldn’t seem to overcome. I would be glad to go home, though I knew I would not be able to stop thinking about what I had seen tonight.

  The words came to me again. Poor Flora Bell.

  * * *

  I FELT TIRED and very shaken when I returned home. Milo told Winnelda to make tea and then took the tray from her in the doorway to our bedroom, preventing her from asking questions. I knew she must be concerned, but she had witnessed, in her short time in my service, enough of the aftermath of violent tragedy to know that Milo would be able to take things well in hand.

  Milo poured my cup of tea, stirred in sugar, and brought the saucer to where I sat on the edge of the bed. I had changed from my evening gown into a comfortable nightdress of gray silk, but I hadn’t been able to bring myself to lie down. I knew I would not yet be able to rest.

  I took the teacup, glad to see that the residual shaking had subsided and my hands were steady.

  Milo sat next to me, his eyes searching my face. “Are you all right, darling?” he asked.

  “Yes,” I said softly. “It was just so awful.”

  “You’ve rather rotten luck when it comes to this sort of thing,” he said.

  “I suppose it’s my own fault for pursuing matters of this nature, but I did so want to help. I thought that we would be able to do some good. She needed help and…” I stopped rubbing a hand across my face, the weight of guilt suddenly very heavy. “I feel so terrible.”

  “It’s not your fault, darling. We couldn’t have known that something like this would happen.”

  “But if we had taken the letters seriously…”

  “We did. It was Miss Bell who didn’t,” he said. “There’s nothing that we could have done. And there’s no changing it now that it’s happened. The only thing to do is move forward.”

  I nodded miserably, taking a sip of the scalding tea.

  “People will say it was Gerard Holloway,” I said suddenly. “They apparently quarreled after the performance. Mr. Landon told me about it, said that everyone heard them.”

  “A quarrel isn’t conclusive proof of anything.”

  “No, but…” I gasped, suddenly remembering Mr. Landon’s words. “He said that Mr. Holloway threatened to wring Miss Bell’s neck.” I felt a surge of queasiness at how close that description was to the way she had died.

  “It’s not an unusual phrase,” Milo said.

  “But when one considers how she was kil
led…”

  “What were they quarreling about?”

  “Mr. Landon didn’t know. Even if it was something trivial, I suppose it will be looked upon as a motive. I’m concerned for Mr. Holloway.”

  “For that matter, he might have done it,” Milo said.

  I looked up, surprised. “You don’t really believe that?”

  He shrugged. “If I’ve learned anything this past year, it’s that it’s very difficult to tell who might be a killer.”

  That was very true. One just never knew. I found it difficult to believe, however, that Gerard Holloway might have killed the woman with whom he seemed so enamored. Then again, a great many murders had been committed in the heat of passion.

  A second thought occurred to me. The police might also believe it was Georgina. There was a good deal of talk about the rift Flora Bell had caused in the Holloways’ marriage. Though it seemed that strangulation was a brutal way to kill someone, it would not have been difficult for a woman to accomplish, I supposed. One would have only had to wrap the cord around tightly and then hang on.

  I shuddered.

  “Why don’t you try to sleep, darling. You’ll feel better if you get some rest.”

  “I doubt I’ll be able to,” I said, but I set aside the cup and saucer on the bedside table and rose to turn down the blankets. Milo went around to his side and we got into bed.

  “There’s something I think we should discuss,” Milo said, when we were settled.

  I turned my head on the pillow to look at him as he turned to me, his dark head propped up on his hand.

  “What is it?”

  “I know how that brain of yours works,” he said. “I know you’re already running through the list of suspects and trying to determine a way in which we might catch the killer.”

  “Of course,” I said. “I feel as though we have an obligation to Flora Bell.”

  “That’s debatable, but I know you feel strongly about it, and I’m not going to ask you to keep out of this.”

  I was surprised. I had expected protests from Milo, not this easy acceptance.

  “I know you won’t let it drop anyway, no matter what I say,” he said. “But if we are going to look into this matter, we’ll do it together. I won’t have you putting yourself in danger.”