Murder at the Brightwell: A Mystery

by Ashley Weaver

“This is like a nightmare,” I said, dropping my head into my hands. “It’s all too horrid for words.”

  Milo sank onto the sofa beside me. “It’s a nasty business, isn’t it,” he agreed as he lit a cigarette and proceeded to smoke it, relaxed as ever. Some little part of me was disappointed that he didn’t pull me to him in a comforting embrace. I desperately needed a bit of reassurance at the moment.

  Milo’s sangfroid was not rubbing off on me. I stood, too nervous to sit, and began to pace. “Why should someone wish to kill Mr. Hamilton?”

  “I haven’t the faintest idea.”

  “It could have been anyone. He left his door unlocked.”

  “Yes, you got in easily enough.”

  “But it would have had to be timed impeccably well. How should they know that he was preparing to bathe? Only Mrs. Hamilton might have known, and she wouldn’t have been able to do such a thing.”

  “Amory darling, do sit down. You’re wearing a path in the rug.”

  “Perhaps they meant to kill him and just happened to take advantage of the bath,” I said. “That seems more likely. But who could have done it? We didn’t hear anything.”

  I stopped pacing as another horrible thought occurred to me. “Milo, whatever are we going to tell the police?”

  He shrugged. “The truth, I suppose.”

  “Tell them what, exactly? That we were hiding in the wardrobe?” I asked, aghast at the suggestion. “I suppose you think Inspector Jones would applaud us for our discretion.”

  “I really think you should sit down. You’re very pale.”

  “I’m perfectly well,” I replied, but I dropped onto the sofa next to Milo anyway. The truth was that I didn’t feel at all well. Though my hands had ceased to tremble, my insides felt all aquiver. I could not understand why I had taken this so hard. I had not been so affected by the death of Rupert. Then again, I had only seen his body from afar. Mr. Hamilton’s body had been much more of a shock. The image of his staring eyes was something I was not likely to forget for a long time to come.

  We sat in silence as we waited. Milo smoked with the appearance of perfect contentment as I wrung my hands, lost in thought. It just didn’t make sense. Who could have killed Mr. Hamilton? Even more perplexing was the question, Who would want to?

  It seemed an eternity before the officious rap sounded at our door.

  Milo rose and went to open it, and I stood expectantly.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Ames,” Inspector Jones said as he entered, hat in hand. His tone was calm, but something about his posture seemed poised and alert, like a cat about to pounce. “I understand there has been another … unfortunate incident.”

  “Have you been to Mr. Hamilton’s room yet?” I asked.

  “Yes,” he said. He turned to Milo. “I understand you reported the body, Mr. Ames.” Inspector Jones, I had discovered, possessed the peculiar talent of being able to say a great deal without saying anything at all. Somehow, the simple question managed to convey skepticism mingled with curiosity at just what Milo had been doing in Mr. Hamilton’s bathroom.

  “Yes,” Milo answered. “I did. Or we did, rather.”

  “I see.”

  “It was dreadful,” I said.

  The inspector’s gaze came back to me, and I thought I saw concern flicker there. “Mrs. Ames, perhaps you should sit down.”

  I sighed and sat. Inspector Jones indicated the sofa, and Milo sat, too, as the inspector took a seat in one of the chairs.

  “Now then,” he said, pulling his notebook and pen from his jacket pocket. “How exactly was it that you discovered the body?”

  I glanced at Milo. He had suggested the truth, so the truth it would be. “We were in the room when it happened,” I said.

  The inspector’s pen stilled, and he looked up sharply. “In the room?”

  “Yes … we were hidden.”

  “Hidden?” he repeated.

  “Yes,” Milo said, “and while we’re confessing, I expect you’ll find that Amory’s fingerprints are scattered about the premises.”

  “Blast,” I murmured. “I didn’t think of fingerprints.”

  “You should have worn gloves,” Milo said.

  Inspector Jones’s jaw clenched, and he was silent for a moment before he spoke. “May I ask why your fingerprints are scattered about Mr. Hamilton’s room, Mrs. Ames?”

  “I … I was doing a search,” I said.

  “A search.” His jaw clenched again, and I thought he must be trying very hard to contain either extreme anger or amusement. I hoped for the latter but rather suspected the former.

  I briefly explained the events that had led up to my inspection of Mr. Hamilton’s room, including observing Mr. Hamilton pick up something on the beach and my suspicion that it might be the weapon. Inspector Jones, after staring inscrutably for a moment, returned to jotting methodical notes and interjecting the occasional terse question.

  “I could find no sign of anything that might be a weapon in his room,” I told him.

  “You thought you had information regarding the murder weapon, and you didn’t think this was pertinent enough to share with the police?” he asked. His eyes had taken on a decidedly hard cast, and I realized that this might not bode well for us, especially since he had yet to hear the rest of our tale.

  “I didn’t want to bother you with trifles,” I answered. “Not until I was certain.”

  “Do you realize you could be arrested for breaking into someone’s room?”

  “The door was unlocked,” I said. The inspector frowned but did not reply to this. Instead, he turned to Milo.

  “And what part did you play in this, Mr. Ames? You obviously didn’t try to discourage your wife from her endeavors.”

  “One does not dissuade Amory from anything,” Milo said dryly. “But, in fact, I didn’t know she was going to Mr. Hamilton’s room. I just happened to encounter her there in the course of my own investigations.”

  I was fairly certain I heard the inspector swear beneath his breath.

  “I know this must sound frightfully far-fetched,” I admitted.

  Inspector Jones sighed. “Go on, Mrs. Ames.”

  I related how Milo and I had met up in the room and how we had heard Mr. and Mrs. Hamilton approaching. “We couldn’t get out of the room. So, we … well…”

  “We hid in the wardrobe,” Milo supplied.

  The inspector blinked once. “You were in the wardrobe when the incident occurred,” he said slowly. “What did you hear?”

  “He was whistling to himself as he filled the bathtub,” I told him. “We could hear him walking around, and then he entered the bathroom.”

  “And after that?”

  “Well, we were a bit preoccupied,” Milo answered casually.

  Inspector Jones digested this bit of news with perfect equanimity. I, on the other hand, was horrified.

  “You needn’t make it sound so sordid, Milo.”

  “Good heavens, darling. You’re blushing like a schoolgirl.”

  “I am not,” I replied coolly.

  Inspector Jones cleared his throat. “You heard no other voices?”

  “No,” I answered, relieved at the change of subject. “I believe I heard Mrs. Hamilton in the hall, but I didn’t hear her enter the room. There was a bit of splashing, and then nothing.”

  The inspector jotted this down and closed his notebook. “That should be sufficient for now.”

  “How is Mrs. Hamilton?” I asked.

  He looked at me, his gaze suddenly sharp. “Why do you ask?”

  I was startled by the question. “I assume she has taken Mr. Hamilton’s death very hard. Or haven’t you told her yet?”

  His expression relaxed ever so slightly. “No, Mrs. Ames. We haven’t told her yet. We are still hoping we will be able to.”

  I frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “Mrs. Hamilton was drugged, heavily. The doctor is with her now. We haven’t been able to wake her up.”

  21


  SOMEHOW, I PERSUADED Inspector Jones to allow me to accompany him to the hospital. His mood was not at all agreeable, but he had not protested when I asked to ride with him.

  Mrs. Hamilton had not yet regained consciousness. Though I knew it would likely be some time before I was allowed to see her, I wanted to be there when she awakened. She had no close friends here to comfort her, and I thought someone should be with her. Though Mr. Hamilton had not treated her well, I knew she would take the news hard.

  The atmosphere in the inspector’s car was chilly in the extreme. Disapproval rolled off him in waves larger than the ones that pounded against the shore at the base of the cliff. I had the vague suspicion that had we not developed a somewhat amiable rapport early on, he would not have been entirely opposed to arresting me for trespassing.

  I glanced out the window. The wind seemed to have picked up, and there were dark clouds on the edge of the horizon.

  “It seems a storm might be looming,” I said.

  “Indeed,” he replied, and I thought that he did not mean the weather.

  I felt instinctively that it would not be beneficial to allow the inspector to brood for too long. Perhaps there was still a chance to repair at least some of the damage. I adopted a soft, semirepentant tone. “I do hope you are not too angry, Inspector Jones. I understand that it was, perhaps, imprudent for me to search Mr. Hamilton’s room. However, if I had come across the weapon…”

  “You have no business assuming the duties of the police,” he interrupted, his tone clipped.

  “I didn’t mean any harm by it,” I replied, allowing a bit more contrition to seep into my tone. I was not really as abashed as I hoped I sounded, but I knew that it would do no good to make him angrier.

  “Perhaps not,” he replied, and I was pleased to note that his voice was not quite as steely as it had been a moment before. “Nevertheless, what you did was not only injudicious, it was very dangerous. Do you realize you might have been hurt yourself? What if the killer had discovered your hiding place?”

  I didn’t care to think about that. Then I realized the term that the inspector had chosen to employ.

  “Killer,” I repeated. “You think he was murdered, then?”

  “I think we can safely assume Mr. Hamilton did not slip and fall while getting into his bath.”

  “That is, in essence, the same thing my husband said.”

  He glanced at me. “You seem to have patched things up with Mr. Ames.”

  I hesitated. Despite our recent collaborative endeavors, I was still not at all certain where things stood between Milo and me. “He is having one of his agreeable phases,” I said at last. “There is no guarantee that it will last.”

  “I see. And where does that leave Mr. Trent?”

  I was surprised by the sudden turn our conversation had taken. The confusion I still felt regarding Milo and Gil was not something I wished to discuss with a policeman with whom I was barely acquainted. I had learned, however, that Inspector Jones always had very good reasons for the questions that he asked.

  “These questions are getting rather personal, aren’t they, Inspector?” I replied lightly.

  “Yes, Mrs. Ames. I suppose they are.” Something in his tone said that he still expected me to answer them.

  I looked out the window. “I am … very fond of Gil. I always have been. But in the end, I married Milo. That’s really all there is to it.” Was it really that simple? I wasn’t sure.

  Inspector Jones was a very perceptive man. He must have picked up on my uncertainty. “I think, perhaps, the gentlemen in question might not find it so straightforward.”

  I looked at him. “Perhaps you’re right. You see, I came to the seaside with Gil, in part because I have always wondered how things might have been different if … Gil is so very steady; with Milo it is either bliss or misery, nothing in between. So there you have it.” I managed a flat smile. “You must think me a very fickle sort of woman.”

  “On the contrary. As evidenced by your marked proclivity for intruding where you don’t belong, I find you to be a very decisive woman, and an intelligent one.”

  “Thank you, Inspector,” I replied, pleased by the compliment despite the terms in which it had been couched.

  “If I may venture a word of caution,” he said, his tone still pleasant. “I should choose my allies carefully, were I you.”

  I looked at him sharply, surprised by the sudden warning. “That is rather a cryptic remark.”

  “It was not intended to be. I only mean that things are uncertain right now; watch yourself carefully.”

  I frowned. There was something he was not saying, and I could tell that he did not intend to explain further, at least not now.

  I intended to take his advice. The danger had become all too clear today. If someone had killed Mr. Hamilton and drugged his wife …

  I drew in a breath. I could not believe that I had not thought of it before now. It was just possible I may have had my own very narrow escape. Mr. Hamilton had been drugged and murdered. If someone had substituted my aspirin for sleeping tablets, perhaps they had meant to kill me, too.

  “Inspector, there’s something else…” I reached into my handbag and pulled out the bottle of aspirin that had been in my room. “I think someone may have tried to drug me as well.”

  He glanced at me sharply before returning his eyes to the road. “What do you mean?”

  “It was the night Gil was arrested. I took two aspirin from this bottle, and I fell asleep almost immediately. In the morning, I was exceptionally muzzy. I’m quite certain they aren’t aspirin. I know it may sound far-fetched, but…”

  “Why didn’t you mention this earlier, Mrs. Ames?” he interrupted. His voice had not lost its edge, and I rather felt like a poor pupil being reprimanded by a stern headmaster.

  “Truthfully, I forgot about it. It seemed highly unlikely at the time. Really, it was only a vague suspicion on my part, but now…”

  “Are there any tablets left?”

  “Yes. There are several still in the bottle.”

  He held out his hand, and I gave it to him. He slipped it inside his jacket.

  “I shall have them tested,” he said. “It may not be as far-fetched as you think.”

  “But why should someone want to drug me? It doesn’t make sense.”

  “There are a great many things that don’t make sense at the moment, Mrs. Ames, but they are beginning to.”

  We said nothing further until we reached the hospital. I started to get out, but the inspector’s hand on my arm stopped me. “A final word, Mrs. Ames.” His expression was still pleasant, but I could tell by the firmness of his gaze and the officious tone of his voice that he was about to give instructions he expected to be followed.

  “Thus far, I have been … lenient, shall we say, because I like you and, quite frankly, the frivolous prosecution of the wealthy and well connected does not sit well with my superiors. But let me warn you: if either you or your husband interferes again, I shall not hesitate to take whatever measures necessary to ensure both your safety and the success of my investigation. No more independent enquiries. Do I make myself clear?”

  “As clear as crystal, Inspector,” I replied.

  * * *

  INSPECTOR JONES WENT to look in on Mrs. Hamilton, telling me I should wait. I knew it would perhaps be a while before I could see her, so I took a seat in the area designated for waiting. I’m afraid patience is not one of my more dominant virtues, so it was not long before I rose from my seat and began to take stock of the building.

  The hospital was a clean, quiet facility with long white walls. The scent of the sea mingled with the more astringent smell of disinfectant, and there was a relaxed sort of air to the place, as though people did not often get sick at the seaside. Unfortunately, that did not seem to be the case at the Brightwell Hotel. “Dropping like flies” had been Milo’s succinctly inappropriate, if accurate, pronouncement.

  Though it seemed impossible
now that she could have had anything to do with the murders, I had intended to talk to Olive Henderson, and this seemed the ideal time to do so. I approached the solid, humorless-looking woman that sat behind the desk. “Might I see Miss Olive Henderson?” I asked.

  She looked up at me with a flat expression. “Miss Henderson is no longer receiving visitors today, by the doctor’s orders,” she said crisply.

  “Surely she’s well enough for me to drop in for just a moment.”

  “Miss Henderson was upset by an early visitor, and the doctor specifically instructed that she receive no more visitors today.”

  I frowned, suddenly alert. “What visitor?”

  “I’m not at liberty to divulge information. I can only tell you that Miss Henderson is currently under close observation and is not allowed to receive visitors.” She began sorting papers on her desk, and I knew that I had been dismissed.

  I turned from the woman, lost in thought. Who might have visited Olive Henderson today? In all likelihood, it was one of the guests from the hotel. What had upset her? It was all very mysterious.

  I briefly considered sneaking into her room, but the inspector’s warning was still fresh in my mind. I did not believe for an instant that his had been an idle threat, and I did not relish the thought of being locked up in some dank, dark cell.

  The air in the waiting area seemed to grow more oppressive by the moment, and I stepped outside. The wind had picked up, but the sky above me was still a bright blue, dotted with wispy white clouds. Though dark clouds still showed in the distance, they did not seem to be approaching very rapidly. If rain was coming, it would likely not arrive until evening.

  The hospital overlooked the sea, and I enjoyed a few moments of quiet as I gazed out at the view. Then I looked toward the village. It was not a great distance off, and it looked inviting. Inspector Jones would likely tell me when Mrs. Hamilton awakened. In the meantime, I might try a walk to calm my nerves.

  I reached the village a few minutes later. I wandered around for a while, looking in the windows of various shops. Among the villagers and holiday goers, I could almost forget all the terrible things that had occurred in the past week. Almost.