Staying Fit
Illustration by Dongkyu Lim
Chapter 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.
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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.
Not having a description of the item for which I was searching, I was at a loss for where to begin. The object had been small enough to fit in his pocket, which meant it could be in any number of places.
I decided to start with the obvious. I moved to the writing desk, which had two drawers. In the first, I found nothing more interesting than the hotel stationery, a few odd writing implements, a silver-handled letter opener, a gold lighter engraved with an H and a package of cigarettes. The second drawer contained a stack of envelopes. These were likely the letters that Mr. Hamilton had received since arriving at the Brightwell. I hesitated for only a moment.
I suppose I should have felt some sense of guilt as I sat at Mr. Hamilton’s desk and began rummaging through his private correspondence, but honesty compels me to admit that I did not. If that man was a murderer, I had no qualms about proving it. If he was not a murderer, he was still a nasty man whom I disliked intensely.
Unfortunately, there was no proof to be had. A cursory inspection proved the letters to be nothing more than dull business correspondence. I did not take the time to peruse them, but they seemed to be on the up-and-up from what I could make out. It was very disappointing.
Dropping to my hands and knees, I looked beneath the bed. There was nothing to be seen there but the ivory-colored carpeting.
Sighing, I rose and walked to the wardrobe. It was a massive thing, nearly floor-to-ceiling. I opened the doors and found it mostly empty, save for a few suits of clothing and some shirts. It seemed Mr. Hamilton had packed lightly for his trip to the seaside. The clothes were expensive and well tailored, but slightly flashier than was strictly necessary.
The drawers of the dresser revealed only handkerchiefs, neckties, socks, and underthings.
I sighed again and turned to run my eyes over the room one more time. I had expected it would be difficult to search the room for a hidden object. I hadn’t anticipated there would really be so few places to look. If it had been the weapon that Mr. Hamilton had scooped up, it would have to be large enough to inflict sufficient damage on a human skull. Such an object could not be swept under the rug.
Perhaps he hadn’t hidden it here after all. It was possible that he had disposed of it on his way up the steps, tossed it away into the tall grass that bordered the stairway.
Not willing to admit defeat just yet, I went into the bathroom. It was no less neat than his room had been. Everything was aligned with soldierlike precision on the shelf. I found a leather shaving kit, a razor, and a bottle of pungent cologne. The medicine cabinet revealed one thing of interest: a bottle of very strong sleeping tablets. I wondered if it might have been Mr. Hamilton who had drugged me. I grudgingly admitted to myself that he was not the only person in the world with access to such medicine.
Lost in thought as I exited the bathroom, I was not prepared for what awaited me.
“What are you doing here?”
I started, barely stifling a gasp. Milo was standing in the door that separated the two rooms. He leaned casually against the door frame, as though these were our rooms and not those of two near strangers whose privacy we were invading.
“What are you doing here?” I demanded.
“I believe I asked you first.”
“How did you get into Mrs. Hamilton’s room?” I asked, determined not to answer his questions before he answered mine. “I tried the lock.”
“But you didn’t have this,” he said, holding up a key.
“The key to Mrs. Hamilton’s room?”
“Yes, you might have told me you were coming up here. Though it appears you had little need for my assistance.”
“The door was unlocked,” I said. “Wherever did you get her key?”
He smiled. “From the lady herself.”
It seemed too incredible, even for Milo. “She didn’t give you the key to her room ... as an invitation?”
“No,” he admitted, stepping into the room. “You may find it hard to believe, my love, but there are women with whom my charm extends only so far. We were chatting after breakfast this morning when she mentioned the draft in the sitting room, and I offered to come up and get her shawl.”
I raised a brow. “And neglected to return her key?”
“I misplaced it along the way and got another from the desk clerk. They’re very obliging about their keys.”
“Very clever of you,” I said.
“I thought so.”
I sighed. “Well, there seems to be nothing here. I can’t find anything that might have been used to murder Rupert.”
“Perhaps you haven’t looked in the right place.”
“If you think you can do better, you’re certainly welcome to try,” I said irritably. I was still angry with Milo, but I had decided Mr. Hamilton’s bedroom was probably not the best place to have it out.
Milo ambled to the wardrobe and opened the doors. “The chap hasn’t got many clothes,” he noted.
“Most gentlemen don’t require as many clothes as you do when traveling,” I said tersely.
“You’re angry with me,” Milo said suddenly, turning to face me. “You weren’t nearly so cross at breakfast.” A satisfied smile crept across his face. “I think perhaps you didn’t get enough sleep. In that case, I suppose I am to blame.”
I clenched my teeth against an angry retort when I heard a most unwelcome sound. Voices were approaching in the hallway. My eyes met Milo’s and we both stilled to listen.
Though I couldn’t make out any words, the loud, boisterous tones left no doubt as to who stood outside the door. Mr. Hamilton had finished his lunch.
I glanced at the door to Mrs. Hamilton’s room. Perhaps there was still time to slip into it and escape into the hall. That hope was quickly crushed as I heard a soft answer that must have been hers. They were both in the hallway about to enter their rooms.
I watched in utter horror as the doorknob rattled and began to turn. Mr. Hamilton was entering his room, and there was nowhere to go.
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