Episode 16 - "We Must Begin Again" Part 4
Monday, June 8, 1931
Seaview Terrace
Hew Haven, Connecticut.
Seaview Terrace
Hew Haven, Connecticut.
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Yvette enters the Hotel Bar to find that it is strangely empty for this time of day. She spots the empty shelves at the back of the room as a strange feeling begins to come over her. Mr. Umber stands behind the bar with a frustrated, upset expression on his face. He is boxing up cups and glasses.
“Can I get a gin and tonic?” Yvette leans her forearms on the marble top of the bar.
“I’m sorry, the bar’s dry,” Mr. Umber says tapes a cardboard box closed and stacks it behind the counter.
“Please, I need something,” Yvette is desperate, “Anything!”
“Inspector Brown put a stop to the Hotel’s liquor distribution,” Mr. Umber says, “I knew it was only a matter of time.”
Yvette sulks, sinking down onto a bar stool, “Well, Inspector Brown doesn’t have to know. Come on, I’m with Blackwell Grange.”
“That’s not something to brag about. To us,we see Blackwell Grange and it’s lengthy investigation to be the cause and effect that lead to the untimely end of our liquor sales,” Mr. Umber is unamused by the French girl’s persuasion attempt, “Inspector Brown made my boss empty every single bottle in front of him. Believe me, if there was anything left, I’d be sucking it down myself. After I finish up in here, I have to go out into the Lobby and deal with the spoiled bastards who doesn’t understand the word no. You look like you’ve been through hell, I wish I could help you, but I just don’t care...”
“I’m used to going through life without anyone caring,” Yvette throws her head back with a dark laugh, “I can’t sleep. Not since all that blood was spilled. I thought the seaside would help me feel better, but after all the horrible things that happened at Blackwell Grange... If the world ended right now, I’d embrace it and accept it with long-deserved peace of mind. I know that’s horrible to say but I can’t get past it. How can I? I honestly do not know how any of us are supposed to move past it.”
“Then you probably never will,” Dr. Julia Kell enters the bar with a confident, intimidating presence. Her high heels click against the hardwood floors as she walks directly towards Yvette and Mr. Umber.
“Can I get a gin and tonic?” Yvette leans her forearms on the marble top of the bar.
“I’m sorry, the bar’s dry,” Mr. Umber says tapes a cardboard box closed and stacks it behind the counter.
“Please, I need something,” Yvette is desperate, “Anything!”
“Inspector Brown put a stop to the Hotel’s liquor distribution,” Mr. Umber says, “I knew it was only a matter of time.”
Yvette sulks, sinking down onto a bar stool, “Well, Inspector Brown doesn’t have to know. Come on, I’m with Blackwell Grange.”
“That’s not something to brag about. To us,we see Blackwell Grange and it’s lengthy investigation to be the cause and effect that lead to the untimely end of our liquor sales,” Mr. Umber is unamused by the French girl’s persuasion attempt, “Inspector Brown made my boss empty every single bottle in front of him. Believe me, if there was anything left, I’d be sucking it down myself. After I finish up in here, I have to go out into the Lobby and deal with the spoiled bastards who doesn’t understand the word no. You look like you’ve been through hell, I wish I could help you, but I just don’t care...”
“I’m used to going through life without anyone caring,” Yvette throws her head back with a dark laugh, “I can’t sleep. Not since all that blood was spilled. I thought the seaside would help me feel better, but after all the horrible things that happened at Blackwell Grange... If the world ended right now, I’d embrace it and accept it with long-deserved peace of mind. I know that’s horrible to say but I can’t get past it. How can I? I honestly do not know how any of us are supposed to move past it.”
“Then you probably never will,” Dr. Julia Kell enters the bar with a confident, intimidating presence. Her high heels click against the hardwood floors as she walks directly towards Yvette and Mr. Umber.
“I didn’t mean to eavesdrop,” Dr. Kell says, “But the walls in these hallways are paper thin.”
Yvette looks down in embarrassment.
“Tell me it isn’t true,” Dr. Kell puts her hands on her hips, “They haven’t taken away the liquor?”
“I’m afraid so,” Mr. Umber sighs.
“How on earth am I supposed to put on a low maintenance production of Cleopatra with a sober audience?” Dr. Kell is cross, “These ametuers are playing their swan songs. They’ll never act again. They are terrible. I cast them all out of pity. I figured with the low alcohol tolerance of this dry, miserable country, the Hotel could lube up the audience and my ametuers will grind through the show with overall neutral reviews when we’re finished.”
“That’s quite the dream. I wish I could help, but I’ve got my own nuisances. Talk to Mr. Cerise,” Mr. Umber comes around from behind the bar, “Maybe we can restock the bar when the detectives leave.”
“In the mean time?” Dr. Kell checks her wristwatch impatiently.
“Ask around,” Mr. Umber says, “I’m sure someone has something stashed away.”
Dr. Kell bites her lip as she exits the Bar, nearly running over Ruby on her way out.
Yvette looks down in embarrassment.
“Tell me it isn’t true,” Dr. Kell puts her hands on her hips, “They haven’t taken away the liquor?”
“I’m afraid so,” Mr. Umber sighs.
“How on earth am I supposed to put on a low maintenance production of Cleopatra with a sober audience?” Dr. Kell is cross, “These ametuers are playing their swan songs. They’ll never act again. They are terrible. I cast them all out of pity. I figured with the low alcohol tolerance of this dry, miserable country, the Hotel could lube up the audience and my ametuers will grind through the show with overall neutral reviews when we’re finished.”
“That’s quite the dream. I wish I could help, but I’ve got my own nuisances. Talk to Mr. Cerise,” Mr. Umber comes around from behind the bar, “Maybe we can restock the bar when the detectives leave.”
“In the mean time?” Dr. Kell checks her wristwatch impatiently.
“Ask around,” Mr. Umber says, “I’m sure someone has something stashed away.”
Dr. Kell bites her lip as she exits the Bar, nearly running over Ruby on her way out.
“Please, watch where you are going,” Dr. Kell scoffs, “This is a twelve-hundred dollar suit.”
“There’s a bit of a situation going on at the front desk,” Ruby ignores Dr. Kell and quickly rushes over to Mr. Umber’s side, “Some very wealthy guests are unhappy with the current dry spell.”
“Yes, I’m mentally preparing for them.” Mr. Umber clenches his fists, “Lock up the Bar for me. There’s no use for an empty Bar.”
Yvette lazily stands up from her bar stool as Mr. Umber leaves the room.
“You look like you could’ve used a drink,” Ruby chuckles.
Yvette looks over at her with a hint of hope, “Do you have any?”
Ruby reaches under her short, red skirt and pulls a flask off her thigh.
“Go easy on it,” Ruby says, “I’ve got to make it last.”
Yvette takes a gulp of gin and hands it back to Ruby with a harsh cough.
“Did you know any of the people that were murdered?” Ruby asks, wiping down the bar with a rag
Yvette frowns and silently nods.
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked that,” Ruby notices Yvette’s sadness and drops the rag on the table, “It’ll get easier with time.”
“Will it?” Yvette asks.
“Of course it will, kid. You just need to distract yourself.” Ruby sits down next to Yvette.
“You don’t understand,” Yvette closes her eyes, “Dr. Black tortured innocent young girls like us. There was no a reason; he picked those girls at random. Those girls were targeted based on nothing more than the ease of their kidnapping. Homeless women, prostitutes, women who worked odd hours at factories...”
“It didn’t happen to you,” Ruby hushes the frightened girl, “It’s all over now.”
Yvette closes her eyes, “Last night I opened my window and leaned out so far. The ledge was pressing so deeply into my stomach that it hurt.I could have jumped - my room is on the seventeenth floor.”
“Hey, stop that!” Ruby takes Yvette’s arm gently, “You can’t think like that. If you kill yourself, you’re letting the monster that killed all those girls win. You survived, you beat him, now you get to live and enjoy your life.”
Yvette looks down, sniffling, “It’s a lot harder than you’ll ever be able to realize. One of those women he killed was my mother. Her name was Lorraine.” Yvette takes out a photograph of a frizzy-haired woman, gruesomely skewered to a painting with crossbow bolts and a saber, “I stole this when we brought the paintings in. I didn’t want my mother’s murder in the newspapers... I didn’t want people to just look at her and say: oh how awful, I’m glad that didn’t happen to me.” Yvette closes her eyes and begins to cry, “This is the only picture I have of her. This is all that I have. This macabre, bloody figure that was used to fulfill some dark, sadistic pleasure! The only reason I didn’t throw myself from the seventeenth floor of this Hotel is because I’m not done. There’s still one thing left to do,” Yvette looks down at the photograph, “I have to track down the real Emily Peach and make sure she never comes to Blackwell Grange.”
“There’s a bit of a situation going on at the front desk,” Ruby ignores Dr. Kell and quickly rushes over to Mr. Umber’s side, “Some very wealthy guests are unhappy with the current dry spell.”
“Yes, I’m mentally preparing for them.” Mr. Umber clenches his fists, “Lock up the Bar for me. There’s no use for an empty Bar.”
Yvette lazily stands up from her bar stool as Mr. Umber leaves the room.
“You look like you could’ve used a drink,” Ruby chuckles.
Yvette looks over at her with a hint of hope, “Do you have any?”
Ruby reaches under her short, red skirt and pulls a flask off her thigh.
“Go easy on it,” Ruby says, “I’ve got to make it last.”
Yvette takes a gulp of gin and hands it back to Ruby with a harsh cough.
“Did you know any of the people that were murdered?” Ruby asks, wiping down the bar with a rag
Yvette frowns and silently nods.
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked that,” Ruby notices Yvette’s sadness and drops the rag on the table, “It’ll get easier with time.”
“Will it?” Yvette asks.
“Of course it will, kid. You just need to distract yourself.” Ruby sits down next to Yvette.
“You don’t understand,” Yvette closes her eyes, “Dr. Black tortured innocent young girls like us. There was no a reason; he picked those girls at random. Those girls were targeted based on nothing more than the ease of their kidnapping. Homeless women, prostitutes, women who worked odd hours at factories...”
“It didn’t happen to you,” Ruby hushes the frightened girl, “It’s all over now.”
Yvette closes her eyes, “Last night I opened my window and leaned out so far. The ledge was pressing so deeply into my stomach that it hurt.I could have jumped - my room is on the seventeenth floor.”
“Hey, stop that!” Ruby takes Yvette’s arm gently, “You can’t think like that. If you kill yourself, you’re letting the monster that killed all those girls win. You survived, you beat him, now you get to live and enjoy your life.”
Yvette looks down, sniffling, “It’s a lot harder than you’ll ever be able to realize. One of those women he killed was my mother. Her name was Lorraine.” Yvette takes out a photograph of a frizzy-haired woman, gruesomely skewered to a painting with crossbow bolts and a saber, “I stole this when we brought the paintings in. I didn’t want my mother’s murder in the newspapers... I didn’t want people to just look at her and say: oh how awful, I’m glad that didn’t happen to me.” Yvette closes her eyes and begins to cry, “This is the only picture I have of her. This is all that I have. This macabre, bloody figure that was used to fulfill some dark, sadistic pleasure! The only reason I didn’t throw myself from the seventeenth floor of this Hotel is because I’m not done. There’s still one thing left to do,” Yvette looks down at the photograph, “I have to track down the real Emily Peach and make sure she never comes to Blackwell Grange.”
In Hotel Room #907, Ginger Brunette stands in front of the tall floor mirror. She is completely naked. There are deep purple scars down her back from prior lacerations. She applies a salve onto her scars while staring into her own sad brown eyes in the mirror. She turns to the bed and looks at the dark orange evening dress laid out on her bed.
She slowly slips into it, thinking about the scars on her back and how she received them. Tears fill her eyes as she pulls the zipper up over her disfigured back.
There is a sudden knock at the door of her room.
Ginger quickly rushes to the door and pulls over a chair so she can peek out the transom. The person at the door is too short for Ginger to see. She slowly unlocks the door and crack it open.
She is confused when she sees Yvette at her door.
She slowly slips into it, thinking about the scars on her back and how she received them. Tears fill her eyes as she pulls the zipper up over her disfigured back.
There is a sudden knock at the door of her room.
Ginger quickly rushes to the door and pulls over a chair so she can peek out the transom. The person at the door is too short for Ginger to see. She slowly unlocks the door and crack it open.
She is confused when she sees Yvette at her door.
“Oh,” Ginger smiles with an uncomfortable laugh, “What a surprise! How are you doing?”
“I need you to tell everything you know about Emily Peach.” Yvette pushes into the bedroom.
“I need you to tell everything you know about Emily Peach.” Yvette pushes into the bedroom.
From the shadowy second floor mezzanine of the Theater one can view the lower Theater, stage, and orchestra pit quite clearly. The curtain is down and the lights are dimmed. Under the light of an aisle seat’s adjacent lamp, Patricia Peacock is reading through the script with a strained brow.
“Quickly, quickly, good Iras, quickly. I think I see him revive himself....” Mrs. Peacock stops mid sentence, smacking the script angrily against the mezzanine rail, “Dammit! That’s not right!”
Mrs. Peacock clears her throat and tries again, “Quickly, quickly, good Iras, quickly. I think I hear Antony call me. I see him revive himself to... the... noble... Oh! I give up!”
Mrs. Peacock tosses the script off the balcony into the empty Theater below. She glances over at the door to the second floor mezzanine as Dr. Kell fills its space.
“Don’t tell me you’ve given up already,” Dr. Kell sighs, leaning against the wall near Mrs. Peacock’s seat.
“Quickly, quickly, good Iras, quickly. I think I see him revive himself....” Mrs. Peacock stops mid sentence, smacking the script angrily against the mezzanine rail, “Dammit! That’s not right!”
Mrs. Peacock clears her throat and tries again, “Quickly, quickly, good Iras, quickly. I think I hear Antony call me. I see him revive himself to... the... noble... Oh! I give up!”
Mrs. Peacock tosses the script off the balcony into the empty Theater below. She glances over at the door to the second floor mezzanine as Dr. Kell fills its space.
“Don’t tell me you’ve given up already,” Dr. Kell sighs, leaning against the wall near Mrs. Peacock’s seat.
“I can’t possibly memorize everything by opening night,” Mrs. Peacock puts her hand to her forehead, “I couldn’t even memorize the excerpt you had me read yesterday.”
“Maybe you just don’t have the right motivation,” Dr. Kell says, “I always tell my actors that they need to think of this role as their last role. That way they play every performance like it is their swan song.”
“I’m not interested in being a performer,” Mrs. Peacock says, “You talked me into this. I don’t want this.”
“Patricia Peacock does local entertainment,” Dr. Kell announces, “Doesn’t that sound like a lovely headline? I think we’re all getting rather tied of: Patricia Peacock questioned for husband’s untimely demise.”
“I can’t do it,” Mrs. Peacock says.
“This could be your shot at getting your name out of the tabloids!” Dr. Kell says.
“Save your speech for someone who cares,” Mrs. Peacock stands up and walks past Dr. Kell towards the door. Dr. Kell is hot on her heels.
“Do it, Patricia!” Dr. Kell pulls Mrs. Peacock around so that they are face to face, “If you refuse this role, I’ll give it to your stepdaughter.”
“Then give it to Vivienne,” Mrs. Peacock pushes away from Dr. Kell, “I don’t care about the money, the smiling faces in the audience, or the goddamn reporters criticing my soliloquies. Get another actress. I have a life in shambles and this isn’t the way to fix it.”
“No?” Dr. Kell asks, “I’m a licensed psychologist. Don’t you think working with me might prove to be useful in the future?”
Mrs. Peacock closes her eyes, tightening her fists, “How many times do I have to tell you? The answer is still no! Stop trying to guilt me. Stop trying to bribe me. Just stop!”
“Jesus,” Dr. Kell laughs, “How can you been stubborn, independent, and foolish at the same time. I am your last chance to dismiss any inconsistencies in the court records. I can persuade the judges that I’ve fully evaluated you and can almost legally speak for you. The entire case against you for the murder of Senator Peacock is running off of heresy, speculation, and the fact that your other four husbands also died. Take the part, play it to the best of your capabilities. There will be a prompter with your lines if you forget anything. Just get familiar with the character. I promise I will make everything right for you.”
“What do you gain from all of this,” Mrs. Peacock narrows her eyes.
“The same thing that you will gain,” Dr. Kell says, “A friend.”
“I don’t have friends for a reason,” Mrs. Peacock smirks.
“We’ll you’d better start making some or you’ll lose more than just Arlington Grange.”
“Is that already in the papers?” Mrs. Peacock’s eyes are wide with terror, “I managed to keep that from Vivienne...”
“Everyone knows that you are about to lose Arlington Grange. Please, let me help you,” Dr. Kell comes closer, “You need me.”
Mrs. Peacock looks up at her, “I don’t take well to working with others. And I will not be your friend!”
“One step at a time,” Dr. Kell smirks, “And you’ve had no trouble working with others in the past. I feel like I should disclose the fact that I’m acquainted with Martin Urfe... though you probably know him as Alphonse Brunette.”
“Maybe you just don’t have the right motivation,” Dr. Kell says, “I always tell my actors that they need to think of this role as their last role. That way they play every performance like it is their swan song.”
“I’m not interested in being a performer,” Mrs. Peacock says, “You talked me into this. I don’t want this.”
“Patricia Peacock does local entertainment,” Dr. Kell announces, “Doesn’t that sound like a lovely headline? I think we’re all getting rather tied of: Patricia Peacock questioned for husband’s untimely demise.”
“I can’t do it,” Mrs. Peacock says.
“This could be your shot at getting your name out of the tabloids!” Dr. Kell says.
“Save your speech for someone who cares,” Mrs. Peacock stands up and walks past Dr. Kell towards the door. Dr. Kell is hot on her heels.
“Do it, Patricia!” Dr. Kell pulls Mrs. Peacock around so that they are face to face, “If you refuse this role, I’ll give it to your stepdaughter.”
“Then give it to Vivienne,” Mrs. Peacock pushes away from Dr. Kell, “I don’t care about the money, the smiling faces in the audience, or the goddamn reporters criticing my soliloquies. Get another actress. I have a life in shambles and this isn’t the way to fix it.”
“No?” Dr. Kell asks, “I’m a licensed psychologist. Don’t you think working with me might prove to be useful in the future?”
Mrs. Peacock closes her eyes, tightening her fists, “How many times do I have to tell you? The answer is still no! Stop trying to guilt me. Stop trying to bribe me. Just stop!”
“Jesus,” Dr. Kell laughs, “How can you been stubborn, independent, and foolish at the same time. I am your last chance to dismiss any inconsistencies in the court records. I can persuade the judges that I’ve fully evaluated you and can almost legally speak for you. The entire case against you for the murder of Senator Peacock is running off of heresy, speculation, and the fact that your other four husbands also died. Take the part, play it to the best of your capabilities. There will be a prompter with your lines if you forget anything. Just get familiar with the character. I promise I will make everything right for you.”
“What do you gain from all of this,” Mrs. Peacock narrows her eyes.
“The same thing that you will gain,” Dr. Kell says, “A friend.”
“I don’t have friends for a reason,” Mrs. Peacock smirks.
“We’ll you’d better start making some or you’ll lose more than just Arlington Grange.”
“Is that already in the papers?” Mrs. Peacock’s eyes are wide with terror, “I managed to keep that from Vivienne...”
“Everyone knows that you are about to lose Arlington Grange. Please, let me help you,” Dr. Kell comes closer, “You need me.”
Mrs. Peacock looks up at her, “I don’t take well to working with others. And I will not be your friend!”
“One step at a time,” Dr. Kell smirks, “And you’ve had no trouble working with others in the past. I feel like I should disclose the fact that I’m acquainted with Martin Urfe... though you probably know him as Alphonse Brunette.”
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In the Hotel Lobby, Monsieur Brunette angrily shouts at Mr. Umber from the group of angry hotel guests. Dame Azul and Sir Ube stand at the front desk both talking to Mr. Umber at the same time.
“I demand a proper drink, this is unthinkable!” Dame Azul points her finger at Mr. Umber’s face.
“Do you honestly think I’ll be coming to this hotel again?” Mr. Ube throws his hands up in outrage, “You revile me!”
“Can you at least give us a nudge in the right direction?” Monsieur Brunette asks, “Someone has to have a cousin with a vineyard.”
Dame Azul shrugs, “Come now, doesn’t anyone here have a chateau or summer home with a wine cellar? I’ll pay handsomely for boarding.”
Mr. Cerise comes from the door behind the front desk, hurrying past the yelling crowd towards the Elevators. Monsieur Brunette discreetly follows him.
“I demand a proper drink, this is unthinkable!” Dame Azul points her finger at Mr. Umber’s face.
“Do you honestly think I’ll be coming to this hotel again?” Mr. Ube throws his hands up in outrage, “You revile me!”
“Can you at least give us a nudge in the right direction?” Monsieur Brunette asks, “Someone has to have a cousin with a vineyard.”
Dame Azul shrugs, “Come now, doesn’t anyone here have a chateau or summer home with a wine cellar? I’ll pay handsomely for boarding.”
Mr. Cerise comes from the door behind the front desk, hurrying past the yelling crowd towards the Elevators. Monsieur Brunette discreetly follows him.
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“Mr. Cerise,” Monsieur Brunette offers his hand to him as they both step on the Elevator.
Mr. Cerise shakes it politely, “I hope you are enjoying your stay at the Seaview Terrace.”
“Oh, I definitely am. I won a couple hundred dollars in your Smoking Room last night.”
“Wonderful!” Mr. Cerise smiles politely.
“But, actually I was hoping to talk to you,” Monsieur Brunette lowers his voice.
“Well, if it is about the current alcohol situation,” Mr. Cerise winces, “I’m afraid it is out of my control. Inspector Brown has step down a stern...”
“No, no,” Monsieur Brunette cuts him off, “It isn’t that. It’s about Samuel Boddy.”
Mr. Cerise stares at Monsieur Brunette in complete terror. The man doesn’t blink, he doesn’t react. He just stares with an unresponsive, slightly confused expression, “I’m afraid I won’t be much help on that matter. Samuel Boddy hasn’t stayed at the Seaview Terrace in many years.”
“Yes, some say he’s dead,” Monsieur Brunette eyes Mr. Cerise carefully.
“Yes, that is what some say,” Mr. Cerise adjusts his tie.
“And what do you say?” Monsieur Brunette asks.
“I give my condolences to the Boddy family and offer them free boarding whenever we have empty suites,” Mr. Cerise tucks his hands neatly into his pockets.
“Well, isn’t that courteous!” Monsieur Brunette exclaims in sarcastic joy.
Monsieur Brunette presses the rooftop button on the Elevator panel. Mr. Cerise looks up at Monsieur Brunette with genuine fear in his eyes.
Mr. Cerise puts out his hands defensively, “I’m just paid to do what I’m told like everyone else here.”
“I will keep that in mind while passing judgment. But that statement does leave me with a tiny question. Who pays you?” Monsieur Brunette reaches out and touches Mr. Cerise’s tie, examining the fabric.
“I... I... I can’t say,” Mr. Cerise feels his back press against the Elevator wall as it rattles all the way up to the top of the Hotel. Monsieur Brunette’s grip on his tie tightens.
“Who?” Monsieur Brunette holds the tie down with one hand and slides the other up to the knot, threatening to throttle the terrified hotel manager as it gradually tightens.
“You wouldn’t know them anyway, they come from Africa with guards and escorts. I’ve never even met them or been introduced to them,” Mr. Cerise is sweating profusely.
“Who is ‘them?’” Monsieur Brunette stops tightening the necktie, “I want descriptions and details.”
“He’s a tall, muscular, black man with a shaved head,” Mr. Cerise is nervous, eyeing Brunette’s every facial movement, “He dresses with in royal sash but doesn’t wear a crown. I think he’s a prince or someone highly esteemed.”
“You said ‘them’ meaning more than one person,” Monsieur Brunette watches as the elevator nears the top of the Hotel.
Mr. Cerise closes his eyes, “A guard with a red uniform. He has terrifying, dark eyes. The type that watch you from around every corner. He doesn’t speak often. He just watches...”
“You know more than you are telling me,” Monsieur Brunette clucks in disgust.
“No, I swear!” Mr. Cerise says, “That’s all I know.”
Monsieur Brunette grabs the tie firmly and pulls Mr. Cerise across the Elevator, tripping him and sending him falling to the floor. Mr. Cerise cowers in fear as the Elevator begins to slow down as it reaches the rooftop.
“Let’s see how much you really have to say,” Monsieur Brunette grabs the tie like a lease and leads Mr. Cerise to his feet, “I hope you aren’t afraid of heights.”
Mr. Cerise shakes it politely, “I hope you are enjoying your stay at the Seaview Terrace.”
“Oh, I definitely am. I won a couple hundred dollars in your Smoking Room last night.”
“Wonderful!” Mr. Cerise smiles politely.
“But, actually I was hoping to talk to you,” Monsieur Brunette lowers his voice.
“Well, if it is about the current alcohol situation,” Mr. Cerise winces, “I’m afraid it is out of my control. Inspector Brown has step down a stern...”
“No, no,” Monsieur Brunette cuts him off, “It isn’t that. It’s about Samuel Boddy.”
Mr. Cerise stares at Monsieur Brunette in complete terror. The man doesn’t blink, he doesn’t react. He just stares with an unresponsive, slightly confused expression, “I’m afraid I won’t be much help on that matter. Samuel Boddy hasn’t stayed at the Seaview Terrace in many years.”
“Yes, some say he’s dead,” Monsieur Brunette eyes Mr. Cerise carefully.
“Yes, that is what some say,” Mr. Cerise adjusts his tie.
“And what do you say?” Monsieur Brunette asks.
“I give my condolences to the Boddy family and offer them free boarding whenever we have empty suites,” Mr. Cerise tucks his hands neatly into his pockets.
“Well, isn’t that courteous!” Monsieur Brunette exclaims in sarcastic joy.
Monsieur Brunette presses the rooftop button on the Elevator panel. Mr. Cerise looks up at Monsieur Brunette with genuine fear in his eyes.
Mr. Cerise puts out his hands defensively, “I’m just paid to do what I’m told like everyone else here.”
“I will keep that in mind while passing judgment. But that statement does leave me with a tiny question. Who pays you?” Monsieur Brunette reaches out and touches Mr. Cerise’s tie, examining the fabric.
“I... I... I can’t say,” Mr. Cerise feels his back press against the Elevator wall as it rattles all the way up to the top of the Hotel. Monsieur Brunette’s grip on his tie tightens.
“Who?” Monsieur Brunette holds the tie down with one hand and slides the other up to the knot, threatening to throttle the terrified hotel manager as it gradually tightens.
“You wouldn’t know them anyway, they come from Africa with guards and escorts. I’ve never even met them or been introduced to them,” Mr. Cerise is sweating profusely.
“Who is ‘them?’” Monsieur Brunette stops tightening the necktie, “I want descriptions and details.”
“He’s a tall, muscular, black man with a shaved head,” Mr. Cerise is nervous, eyeing Brunette’s every facial movement, “He dresses with in royal sash but doesn’t wear a crown. I think he’s a prince or someone highly esteemed.”
“You said ‘them’ meaning more than one person,” Monsieur Brunette watches as the elevator nears the top of the Hotel.
Mr. Cerise closes his eyes, “A guard with a red uniform. He has terrifying, dark eyes. The type that watch you from around every corner. He doesn’t speak often. He just watches...”
“You know more than you are telling me,” Monsieur Brunette clucks in disgust.
“No, I swear!” Mr. Cerise says, “That’s all I know.”
Monsieur Brunette grabs the tie firmly and pulls Mr. Cerise across the Elevator, tripping him and sending him falling to the floor. Mr. Cerise cowers in fear as the Elevator begins to slow down as it reaches the rooftop.
“Let’s see how much you really have to say,” Monsieur Brunette grabs the tie like a lease and leads Mr. Cerise to his feet, “I hope you aren’t afraid of heights.”
Professor Peter Plum looks around the wide, flat rooftop of the Seaview Terrace. He unzips a black duffle bag and takes out the Hunting Rifle’s parts. He attaches the stock and scope, all while keeping one eye on the roof access door, which is adjacent to the stairwell and Elevators.
Professor Plum holds the Rifle between shaking hands as he makes his way to the corner of the skylight. From the skylight, he can see down seventeen floors to the large, open Lobby below.. He peers through the scope and watches as Mr. Umber tends to several angry hotel guests at the front desk. Professor Plum’s eyes first catch the sparkle of Dame Azul’s sapphire earrings, then they fall upon Sir Ube, who stands beside her in the crowd.
Professor Plum pulls the Rifle back and turns away from the skylight, “If I’m killing Brown... to get money to pay off Ube... what’s stopping me from killing Ube right now?”
The door to the rooftop access opens up with a loud, metallic slam. Professor Plum quickly takes the Rifle and ducks behind the three-foot high ledge around the skylight’s frame. He watches quietly as Monsieur Brunette drags Mr. Cerise over to the edge of the Hotel. Monsieur Brunette holds Mr. Cerise’s face over the edge towards the faraway ground below.
Professor Plum holds the Rifle between shaking hands as he makes his way to the corner of the skylight. From the skylight, he can see down seventeen floors to the large, open Lobby below.. He peers through the scope and watches as Mr. Umber tends to several angry hotel guests at the front desk. Professor Plum’s eyes first catch the sparkle of Dame Azul’s sapphire earrings, then they fall upon Sir Ube, who stands beside her in the crowd.
Professor Plum pulls the Rifle back and turns away from the skylight, “If I’m killing Brown... to get money to pay off Ube... what’s stopping me from killing Ube right now?”
The door to the rooftop access opens up with a loud, metallic slam. Professor Plum quickly takes the Rifle and ducks behind the three-foot high ledge around the skylight’s frame. He watches quietly as Monsieur Brunette drags Mr. Cerise over to the edge of the Hotel. Monsieur Brunette holds Mr. Cerise’s face over the edge towards the faraway ground below.
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Seventeen Floors down, in the Lobby, Dame Azul and Sir Ube have given up in pestering Mr. Umber as most of the other guests have milled off for pre-dinner appetizers.
“That was a futile fight,” Sir Ube frowns, “Perhaps a bit of lucky gambling will save the afternoon.”
“I might join in later,” Dame Azul looks around the crowd, “But first, I’ve got to mingle, you know.”
Dame Azul spots Mrs. Peacock and Miss Scarlet bickering near the Solarium doors. She instantly recognizes Mrs. Peacock from the thrilling newspaper articles and decides to see what all the fuss is about. As she makes her way towards them, John Boddy crosses the Lobby. Their paths intersect halfway between the stairs and the Solarium
“That was a futile fight,” Sir Ube frowns, “Perhaps a bit of lucky gambling will save the afternoon.”
“I might join in later,” Dame Azul looks around the crowd, “But first, I’ve got to mingle, you know.”
Dame Azul spots Mrs. Peacock and Miss Scarlet bickering near the Solarium doors. She instantly recognizes Mrs. Peacock from the thrilling newspaper articles and decides to see what all the fuss is about. As she makes her way towards them, John Boddy crosses the Lobby. Their paths intersect halfway between the stairs and the Solarium
“Master Boddy,” Dame Azul greets the boy with feigned delight, “What an enchanting treat it is to run into you. How is the family holding up? Have the Detectives figured out whodunnit?”
“They haven’t solved anything,” John scoffs, “They aren’t even close. They just look for the obvious and seek out ways of exploiting the most people under the pretense that justice must be served.”
“Justice,” Dame Azul repeats with a laugh, “How can something mean to keep things fair and balanced end up corrupting the greedy minds of petulant men?”
“When one’s world is small, one chases after the only thing they can control,” John says, “Uncle Hugh taught me that.”
“I would’ve simply loved to have your uncle over for dinner,” Dame Azul says, “I’m terribly, terribly sorry for your loss.”
“I’m sure he would have loved picking your brain,” John says.
“Unfortunately, Hugh Black and I never saw eye to eye,” Dame Azul says.
“My mother was your friend, but not Uncle Hugh?” John asks.
“Your mother was my friend out of convenience,” Dame Azul says, “She liked the parties,brunches, teatime gossip, croquet... she never liked me. She tolerated me at best. It was your father that I was close friends with.”
“Which is why you so easily chose to leave my mother in Africa?” John narrows his eyes.
“My, you’ll just latch onto whoever you hold accountable and badger them relentlessly, won’t you?” Dame Azul looks the boy up and down, “I know you warned me about Colonel Mustard, but I neglected to inform you that I’ve known him since before you were born. My opinion on him is already firm and strong. But I’d like you to know that I’ve enjoyed watching the way you talk so confidently about other people. Goodness, just hearing the way you talk negatively while recruiting everyone into agreeing with you reminds me of a servant girl I used to have. It must be exhausting for all of the people at Blackwell Grange that pretend to go along with your nonsense day in and day out.”
“I’ve been cordial,” John blinks slowly, “But now you are coming dangerously close to offending me. Good evening, Dame Azul.”
“If your mother wasn’t fucking the prince, she would have been killed while you were in her stomach,” Dame Azul pulls a a cigarette from her purse and lights it, “Don’t worry, you’re Samuel’s kid. Anyone with eyes can see that. But your mother was no angel. Infact, she had such a strong lust for the Azure Citadel that she seduced both the king and the prince. Your mother is whore. No one mourns her. No one went looking for her because she’s better off dead. Do you think you are her only child?”
John Boddy is struck with overwhelming anxiety.
Dame Azul cackles, “Your sister would sooner slit your throat than explain to you about the secret that is her existence. I hope the state of the liquor hasn’t put a damper on your evening, Master Boddy. I have a small reserve in my suite if your family should care to be in my debt. Though I don’t suspect a Blackwell Grange resident to travel without at least four well-aged brandies in their luggage.”
Colonel Mustard passes the two of them, nodding only to Dame Azul. John looks down at his feet.
“Allow me to save you some time,” Dame Azul darkens her tone, “Colonel Mustard may be nothing more than a lazy, miserable drunk. But I need you to understand and fully accept that he did not fail to save your mother. Your mother found him, held him at gunpoint, and told him to leave and to never come back. And so he did. If he ever darkens my doorway asking for money, like he frequently did with your uncle, he’ll be sent to the gates without any mercy. If you want to stay mad at Colonel Mustard, consider the possibility that he committed murder.”
John silently listens.
“I’ve heard talk that your Uncle Hugh was fed up with him the day he was killed,” Dame Azul points out, “I wouldn’t be surprised if Colonel Mustard killed him.”
“They haven’t solved anything,” John scoffs, “They aren’t even close. They just look for the obvious and seek out ways of exploiting the most people under the pretense that justice must be served.”
“Justice,” Dame Azul repeats with a laugh, “How can something mean to keep things fair and balanced end up corrupting the greedy minds of petulant men?”
“When one’s world is small, one chases after the only thing they can control,” John says, “Uncle Hugh taught me that.”
“I would’ve simply loved to have your uncle over for dinner,” Dame Azul says, “I’m terribly, terribly sorry for your loss.”
“I’m sure he would have loved picking your brain,” John says.
“Unfortunately, Hugh Black and I never saw eye to eye,” Dame Azul says.
“My mother was your friend, but not Uncle Hugh?” John asks.
“Your mother was my friend out of convenience,” Dame Azul says, “She liked the parties,brunches, teatime gossip, croquet... she never liked me. She tolerated me at best. It was your father that I was close friends with.”
“Which is why you so easily chose to leave my mother in Africa?” John narrows his eyes.
“My, you’ll just latch onto whoever you hold accountable and badger them relentlessly, won’t you?” Dame Azul looks the boy up and down, “I know you warned me about Colonel Mustard, but I neglected to inform you that I’ve known him since before you were born. My opinion on him is already firm and strong. But I’d like you to know that I’ve enjoyed watching the way you talk so confidently about other people. Goodness, just hearing the way you talk negatively while recruiting everyone into agreeing with you reminds me of a servant girl I used to have. It must be exhausting for all of the people at Blackwell Grange that pretend to go along with your nonsense day in and day out.”
“I’ve been cordial,” John blinks slowly, “But now you are coming dangerously close to offending me. Good evening, Dame Azul.”
“If your mother wasn’t fucking the prince, she would have been killed while you were in her stomach,” Dame Azul pulls a a cigarette from her purse and lights it, “Don’t worry, you’re Samuel’s kid. Anyone with eyes can see that. But your mother was no angel. Infact, she had such a strong lust for the Azure Citadel that she seduced both the king and the prince. Your mother is whore. No one mourns her. No one went looking for her because she’s better off dead. Do you think you are her only child?”
John Boddy is struck with overwhelming anxiety.
Dame Azul cackles, “Your sister would sooner slit your throat than explain to you about the secret that is her existence. I hope the state of the liquor hasn’t put a damper on your evening, Master Boddy. I have a small reserve in my suite if your family should care to be in my debt. Though I don’t suspect a Blackwell Grange resident to travel without at least four well-aged brandies in their luggage.”
Colonel Mustard passes the two of them, nodding only to Dame Azul. John looks down at his feet.
“Allow me to save you some time,” Dame Azul darkens her tone, “Colonel Mustard may be nothing more than a lazy, miserable drunk. But I need you to understand and fully accept that he did not fail to save your mother. Your mother found him, held him at gunpoint, and told him to leave and to never come back. And so he did. If he ever darkens my doorway asking for money, like he frequently did with your uncle, he’ll be sent to the gates without any mercy. If you want to stay mad at Colonel Mustard, consider the possibility that he committed murder.”
John silently listens.
“I’ve heard talk that your Uncle Hugh was fed up with him the day he was killed,” Dame Azul points out, “I wouldn’t be surprised if Colonel Mustard killed him.”
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Across the Lobby, near the Solarium doors, Miss Scarlet and Mrs. Peacock are in a heated argument. Mrs. Peacock is on the verge of walking away, while Miss Scarlet is on the verge of tears.
“No!” Miss Scarlet shouts, “You always do this! You take everything I love and try to do it better than me. You stole Edward from me!”
“Vivienne!” Mrs. Peacock grips the script tightly between her hands, “I didn’t steal him from you. Edward and I were having sex before the two of you even took a tennis lesson together. You fell in love with the scraps I was done with... only we weren’t done yet. I thought we were, but he was so good to me.”
“You make me sick!” Miss Scarlet cover her mouth as tears begin to fall from her eyes, “I actually loved him. I love that man... and because of the convoluted, obsessive nature you have...” Miss Scarlet gasps for breath between heavy sobs, “Hugh Black murdered Edward because of your sinful, shameful lust.”
“Hugh didn’t murder him!” Mrs. Peacock slaps Miss Scarlet forcefully across the face with her right hand. Mrs. Peacock gasps, shocked by what she just did.
Miss Scarlet stumbles backwards, attracting the attention of several wealthy hotel guests, “The black widow loses another bed-mate... my fiance... my Edward.”
Miss Scarlet walks away, leaving Mrs. Peacock snarling in anger at the Solarium door.
“What are you staring at?” Mrs. Peacock lashes out at the nosy guests.
“My dear, are you alright?” Sir Ube approaches Mrs. Peacock.
“No!” Miss Scarlet shouts, “You always do this! You take everything I love and try to do it better than me. You stole Edward from me!”
“Vivienne!” Mrs. Peacock grips the script tightly between her hands, “I didn’t steal him from you. Edward and I were having sex before the two of you even took a tennis lesson together. You fell in love with the scraps I was done with... only we weren’t done yet. I thought we were, but he was so good to me.”
“You make me sick!” Miss Scarlet cover her mouth as tears begin to fall from her eyes, “I actually loved him. I love that man... and because of the convoluted, obsessive nature you have...” Miss Scarlet gasps for breath between heavy sobs, “Hugh Black murdered Edward because of your sinful, shameful lust.”
“Hugh didn’t murder him!” Mrs. Peacock slaps Miss Scarlet forcefully across the face with her right hand. Mrs. Peacock gasps, shocked by what she just did.
Miss Scarlet stumbles backwards, attracting the attention of several wealthy hotel guests, “The black widow loses another bed-mate... my fiance... my Edward.”
Miss Scarlet walks away, leaving Mrs. Peacock snarling in anger at the Solarium door.
“What are you staring at?” Mrs. Peacock lashes out at the nosy guests.
“My dear, are you alright?” Sir Ube approaches Mrs. Peacock.
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“I’m fine,” Mrs. Peacock composes herself, “It is difficult raising children. Especially when she is twenty-two years old and still completely dependent on me.”
“The burden of parenthood,” Sir Ube smiles with a polite laugh, “I never did experience it. But I did watch my parents struggle with me, my two brothers, and my four sisters.”
“Goodness,” Mrs. Peacock cheers up a bit, “They should have kept some books in the bedroom.”
Sir Ube laughs, “They raised all of us without raising their voices once. Then again, they never talked to each other either. But we turned out fine. I’ve found money as a curator, my sister married a noble architect, my brother works security for a royal family.”
“I wish my parents had been successful or at least mature enough. My father was a drunk, my mother died while I was young. My father got worse, started showing up at the mill completely drunk, then he hurt his leg. Never earned a legal dime after that,” Mrs. Peacock sighs, “No, my parents taught me that silence is wise. One can learn so many things if they just open their ears and listen.”
“That is the best way to live one’s life,” Sir Ube offers his arm to Mrs. Peacock, “Your father may have been a failure, but in a different world, a world were your mother lived, he would have been so proud to see you pick yourself up time and time again. You’re a strong woman, Patricia.”
Mrs. Peacock takes Sir Ube’s arm with a polite smile.
“Tell me,” Sir Ube clears his throat, “How recently was it when you decided you would not remarry again?”
Mrs. Peacock laughs, “I don’t believe I ever gave my stance on that decision. Why? Are the newspapers making up more so-called facts about me?”
“No,” Sir Ube replies, “But I figured you’d give up after five husbands. Do you think your sixth husband could beat all odds and outlive you?”
Mrs. Peacock does not like the joke. Instead she turns to the odd, short man whose arm she holds, “That’s frankly no one’s concern but my own.”
“What if I were to offer myself,” Sir Ube stares into her deep blue eyes, “I’m eligible, wealthy beyond all means, and rather good looking for my age.”
Mrs. Peacock can’t help but laugh as she releases his arm, “I’m sorry, but I have nothing else to say to you. Thank you for the laugh. It’ll be a great story over dinner.”
“Yes,” Sir Ube says, “Just like the five beautiful stories I could tell. Which should I tell first? It’s always best to tell them in chronological order. Let’s see, we’ve got a botched bottle of pills, a fall down a staircase, the decapitation and mutilation of a man’s genitals, a slip off a sailboat, and a vile of very undetectable poison made to look like a heart attack.”
Mrs. Peacock turns to him with hatred in her eyes. She is at a loss for words, but the impact of Sir Ube’s bold statement is written all over her terrified face.
“Five husbands, Patricia,” Sir Ube says, “If you make me the sixth, you know I’ll never be killed. You’ll be free... from the police, that is.”
“I don’t need someone else throwing unfounded accusations at me.” Mrs. Peacock stabilizes her breath.
“Oh, my accusations come with more than speculation,” Sir Ube straightens his cravat, “I don’t jump on a bandwagon simply to make small talk and agree with the masses. No, I seek cold hard truth.”
Mrs. Peacock eyes the man suspiciously.
“I don’t just open my mouth and rudely suggest that you killed the Senator with poison at that Restaurant,” Sir Ube says, “I think about it, do a little digging, and see if there is any merit.”
“And?” Mrs. Peacock is unsettled.
“The poison you gave to Senator Peacock was sold to you in a very small, but lethal dose by Thallo Green on October 8th of last year,” Sir Ube says, “It might be a bit blatant to point out that you purchased the poison months and months before the Senator’s death, but I’d like to point it out anyway. Premeditated murder always fascinates me. Were there several occasions you planned to poison him, but decided against it? Perhaps in his morning coffee or one of his favorite desserts. What made that night at the restaurant so special? I simply must know, why you chose that night. The only witness I could get an answer out of was a middle-aged busybody. She was a huge admirer of the Senator. According to her, you waited until he got up to shake hands with someone and then you poured the lethal dose into his the remnants of his baked potatoes.”
Mrs. Peacock’s eyes well up with tears, “He always finished the potato skins.”
“So you don’t deny it, Mrs. Peacock?” Sir Ube comes closer to her, “No one is listening to us, no one can hear the cold, hard evidence being presented. I won’t go to the police, I won’t tell a single soul about anything.”
Sir Ube offers his arm once more, with a charismatic grin. Mrs. Peacock cringes as she takes it, unsure why she is letting her body make the decision to touch him. She screams internally.
“Marrying me might be the only way to insure that I’ll never testify against you,” Sir Ube squeezes her arm tightly.
“The burden of parenthood,” Sir Ube smiles with a polite laugh, “I never did experience it. But I did watch my parents struggle with me, my two brothers, and my four sisters.”
“Goodness,” Mrs. Peacock cheers up a bit, “They should have kept some books in the bedroom.”
Sir Ube laughs, “They raised all of us without raising their voices once. Then again, they never talked to each other either. But we turned out fine. I’ve found money as a curator, my sister married a noble architect, my brother works security for a royal family.”
“I wish my parents had been successful or at least mature enough. My father was a drunk, my mother died while I was young. My father got worse, started showing up at the mill completely drunk, then he hurt his leg. Never earned a legal dime after that,” Mrs. Peacock sighs, “No, my parents taught me that silence is wise. One can learn so many things if they just open their ears and listen.”
“That is the best way to live one’s life,” Sir Ube offers his arm to Mrs. Peacock, “Your father may have been a failure, but in a different world, a world were your mother lived, he would have been so proud to see you pick yourself up time and time again. You’re a strong woman, Patricia.”
Mrs. Peacock takes Sir Ube’s arm with a polite smile.
“Tell me,” Sir Ube clears his throat, “How recently was it when you decided you would not remarry again?”
Mrs. Peacock laughs, “I don’t believe I ever gave my stance on that decision. Why? Are the newspapers making up more so-called facts about me?”
“No,” Sir Ube replies, “But I figured you’d give up after five husbands. Do you think your sixth husband could beat all odds and outlive you?”
Mrs. Peacock does not like the joke. Instead she turns to the odd, short man whose arm she holds, “That’s frankly no one’s concern but my own.”
“What if I were to offer myself,” Sir Ube stares into her deep blue eyes, “I’m eligible, wealthy beyond all means, and rather good looking for my age.”
Mrs. Peacock can’t help but laugh as she releases his arm, “I’m sorry, but I have nothing else to say to you. Thank you for the laugh. It’ll be a great story over dinner.”
“Yes,” Sir Ube says, “Just like the five beautiful stories I could tell. Which should I tell first? It’s always best to tell them in chronological order. Let’s see, we’ve got a botched bottle of pills, a fall down a staircase, the decapitation and mutilation of a man’s genitals, a slip off a sailboat, and a vile of very undetectable poison made to look like a heart attack.”
Mrs. Peacock turns to him with hatred in her eyes. She is at a loss for words, but the impact of Sir Ube’s bold statement is written all over her terrified face.
“Five husbands, Patricia,” Sir Ube says, “If you make me the sixth, you know I’ll never be killed. You’ll be free... from the police, that is.”
“I don’t need someone else throwing unfounded accusations at me.” Mrs. Peacock stabilizes her breath.
“Oh, my accusations come with more than speculation,” Sir Ube straightens his cravat, “I don’t jump on a bandwagon simply to make small talk and agree with the masses. No, I seek cold hard truth.”
Mrs. Peacock eyes the man suspiciously.
“I don’t just open my mouth and rudely suggest that you killed the Senator with poison at that Restaurant,” Sir Ube says, “I think about it, do a little digging, and see if there is any merit.”
“And?” Mrs. Peacock is unsettled.
“The poison you gave to Senator Peacock was sold to you in a very small, but lethal dose by Thallo Green on October 8th of last year,” Sir Ube says, “It might be a bit blatant to point out that you purchased the poison months and months before the Senator’s death, but I’d like to point it out anyway. Premeditated murder always fascinates me. Were there several occasions you planned to poison him, but decided against it? Perhaps in his morning coffee or one of his favorite desserts. What made that night at the restaurant so special? I simply must know, why you chose that night. The only witness I could get an answer out of was a middle-aged busybody. She was a huge admirer of the Senator. According to her, you waited until he got up to shake hands with someone and then you poured the lethal dose into his the remnants of his baked potatoes.”
Mrs. Peacock’s eyes well up with tears, “He always finished the potato skins.”
“So you don’t deny it, Mrs. Peacock?” Sir Ube comes closer to her, “No one is listening to us, no one can hear the cold, hard evidence being presented. I won’t go to the police, I won’t tell a single soul about anything.”
Sir Ube offers his arm once more, with a charismatic grin. Mrs. Peacock cringes as she takes it, unsure why she is letting her body make the decision to touch him. She screams internally.
“Marrying me might be the only way to insure that I’ll never testify against you,” Sir Ube squeezes her arm tightly.
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Miss Brenda Dove steps out of the elevator in a long black mourning gown with a veil over her eyes. Her makeup is dark, creating a pale, hallow expression over her face. Fivel and Nurse Silver exit the elevator in unusually black, mourning apparel.
Inspector Brown and Commissioner Forest great them as they come off of the elevator.
“Is this the lad?” Inspector Brown offers his hand to Fivel.
Fivel shakes it tightly.
“Strong grip!” Inspector Brown rustles his hair, “You must be, Amy Silver?”
Nurse Silver curtsies without speaking.
“Inspector, Commissioner,” Miss Dove stands tall, “I’d like to invite both of you to sit at out table tonight. It’s the least I can do to thank you for your wonderful effort in trying to help with this investigation.”
“Thank you, Miss Dove,” Inspector Brown finds her comment off-putting, but plays off of her faux pleasantness, “We would be more than honored to accept your generous invitation.”
“I hope you aren’t terribly upset over the lack of alcohol,” Commissioner Forest clears his throat, “I’m afraid we had to come down a bit hard on this place.”
“I’m not sorry at all,” Inspector Brown smiles proudly, “Abide by the rules where those rules are upheld.”
“So I take it that you do agree with the banning and boycotting of alcohol?” Miss Dove speaks as if talking to a child.
“Personally,” Inspector Brown lowers his voice, “I think there are bigger, more important things that need reprimanding. I think it’ll only cause more insubordinate behavior. But it’s the law.”
“And you think that there won’t be any insubordinate behavior tonight directly caused by the sudden change?” Miss Dove looks around the Lobby, motioning to the guests that still reaming at the front desk, “That unsatisfied rumble we all hear is because the hotel is filled with wealthy patrons that are here for appetizers and what would have been pre-dinner cocktails. How well do you think the seven course dinner is going to go down without expensive champagne between the courses?”
“I’m sorry you feel that way,” Inspector Brown dismisses her.
“You’ve never been sorry for anything,” Miss Dove glares at him, “You’re drunk off your own power. Come, Amy, Fivel. ”
Miss Dove marches off towards the Solarium with Fivel and Nurse Silver following behind her.
Inspector Brown and Commissioner Forest great them as they come off of the elevator.
“Is this the lad?” Inspector Brown offers his hand to Fivel.
Fivel shakes it tightly.
“Strong grip!” Inspector Brown rustles his hair, “You must be, Amy Silver?”
Nurse Silver curtsies without speaking.
“Inspector, Commissioner,” Miss Dove stands tall, “I’d like to invite both of you to sit at out table tonight. It’s the least I can do to thank you for your wonderful effort in trying to help with this investigation.”
“Thank you, Miss Dove,” Inspector Brown finds her comment off-putting, but plays off of her faux pleasantness, “We would be more than honored to accept your generous invitation.”
“I hope you aren’t terribly upset over the lack of alcohol,” Commissioner Forest clears his throat, “I’m afraid we had to come down a bit hard on this place.”
“I’m not sorry at all,” Inspector Brown smiles proudly, “Abide by the rules where those rules are upheld.”
“So I take it that you do agree with the banning and boycotting of alcohol?” Miss Dove speaks as if talking to a child.
“Personally,” Inspector Brown lowers his voice, “I think there are bigger, more important things that need reprimanding. I think it’ll only cause more insubordinate behavior. But it’s the law.”
“And you think that there won’t be any insubordinate behavior tonight directly caused by the sudden change?” Miss Dove looks around the Lobby, motioning to the guests that still reaming at the front desk, “That unsatisfied rumble we all hear is because the hotel is filled with wealthy patrons that are here for appetizers and what would have been pre-dinner cocktails. How well do you think the seven course dinner is going to go down without expensive champagne between the courses?”
“I’m sorry you feel that way,” Inspector Brown dismisses her.
“You’ve never been sorry for anything,” Miss Dove glares at him, “You’re drunk off your own power. Come, Amy, Fivel. ”
Miss Dove marches off towards the Solarium with Fivel and Nurse Silver following behind her.
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“It’s good to see you again,” Mr. Meadow-Brook dismisses an elderly couple as the head towards the Restaurant.
Jane Meadow-Brook watches her husband from the round ottoman in the center of the lobby. She sits with one leg crossed over the other and both hands tightly clutching a turquoise purse.
“That was the mayor and his wife,” Mr. Meadow-Brook comes over to his wife, “They come here once a month. Isn’t it a coincidence that we are here as well.”
“No, not really,” Mrs. Meadow-Brook shakes her head, “I’ll bet someone like Sir Benedict or John Boddy invited him here. Nothing’s a coincidence. The old geezer hasn’t attended a proper meeting or benefit in five years. He’d hop on any invitation sent his way. I still read the newspaper, Miles. I know the state of our town and its people.”
“Jesus, don’t get defensive,” Miles scratches the back of his head, “Look, about earlier...”
“Yes?” Jane unfolds her leg, standing up before him.
“You are going to have to forget about the whole thing,” Miles pulls a cigar from his top pocket, “It has been nothing but nightmares and stress since we found that body in the road. I crossed the line and so did you. Let’s just call it stress.”
“You nearly strangled the life out of me, Miles!” Jane throws her arms down at her side, knocking her purse against her hip.
“I’m sorry,” Miles says, “It was the heat of the moment. It won’t happen again.”
“Ha!” Jane spits, “It better not happen again. You’d said that next time you wouldn’t stop.”
Miles clips the cigar with a small cigar guillotine, unresponsive to his wife and her anger.
“We can’t just act like that didn’t just happen,” Jane shakes her head, “You crossed the line. I was revealing the truth.”
“I rue the day I have to read the will to everyone,” Miles shakes his head, “Revealing it now would cause so much trouble. I wouldn’t be surprised if more people are killed when that will is read.”
“I want a divorce,” Jane sits back down on the ottoman.
Miles sits down next to her and lights his cigar, “No, you don’t. You want to get even with me for making you feel so weak.”
Jane looks at him with growing alienation, “No, I don’t care about you enough to get even. I just don’t love you anymore. I don’t think I have for a long time. I’ve just been pretending. But now, after this... I don’t think I can even pretend to love you.”
“I don’t accept that,” Miles shakes his head.
“Miles,” Jane grows impatient, “I don’t want to be with you anymore. I want to start over and try to find real love.”
“Well, I don’t care. You can’t have that,” Miles stabs his lit cigar onto her turquoise purse.
Jane screeches as the burning tobacco singes the fabric. Miles pushes the cigar down firmly, extinguishing the burning end into the side of the purse.
“Miles!” Jane looks at her damaged purse with bewilderment.
“I am friends with every lawyer in Connecticut and am on good terms with every firm from here to Washington D.C.” Miles flicks the crumpled cigar into the empty space between two groups of talking guests, “I have a dinner with New York’s District Attorney next month.”
“You’re not going to divorce me? You are honestly going to force me to stay married to you?” Jane closes her eyes, “Am I your prisoner now?”
“I don’t know. Maybe that’s what works for you,” Miles stares at her with cold eyes, “Maybe you’ll fall in love with me like you did Hugh Black.”
“I won’t stay,” Jane turns away from him.
Miles grabs her by the back of her head and forces her face towards his, “Oh, you’ll stay. And you’ll be very, very loyal to me. You’ll be the perfect wife. Now, kiss me.”
Miles pushes their lips together roughly.
Jane Meadow-Brook watches her husband from the round ottoman in the center of the lobby. She sits with one leg crossed over the other and both hands tightly clutching a turquoise purse.
“That was the mayor and his wife,” Mr. Meadow-Brook comes over to his wife, “They come here once a month. Isn’t it a coincidence that we are here as well.”
“No, not really,” Mrs. Meadow-Brook shakes her head, “I’ll bet someone like Sir Benedict or John Boddy invited him here. Nothing’s a coincidence. The old geezer hasn’t attended a proper meeting or benefit in five years. He’d hop on any invitation sent his way. I still read the newspaper, Miles. I know the state of our town and its people.”
“Jesus, don’t get defensive,” Miles scratches the back of his head, “Look, about earlier...”
“Yes?” Jane unfolds her leg, standing up before him.
“You are going to have to forget about the whole thing,” Miles pulls a cigar from his top pocket, “It has been nothing but nightmares and stress since we found that body in the road. I crossed the line and so did you. Let’s just call it stress.”
“You nearly strangled the life out of me, Miles!” Jane throws her arms down at her side, knocking her purse against her hip.
“I’m sorry,” Miles says, “It was the heat of the moment. It won’t happen again.”
“Ha!” Jane spits, “It better not happen again. You’d said that next time you wouldn’t stop.”
Miles clips the cigar with a small cigar guillotine, unresponsive to his wife and her anger.
“We can’t just act like that didn’t just happen,” Jane shakes her head, “You crossed the line. I was revealing the truth.”
“I rue the day I have to read the will to everyone,” Miles shakes his head, “Revealing it now would cause so much trouble. I wouldn’t be surprised if more people are killed when that will is read.”
“I want a divorce,” Jane sits back down on the ottoman.
Miles sits down next to her and lights his cigar, “No, you don’t. You want to get even with me for making you feel so weak.”
Jane looks at him with growing alienation, “No, I don’t care about you enough to get even. I just don’t love you anymore. I don’t think I have for a long time. I’ve just been pretending. But now, after this... I don’t think I can even pretend to love you.”
“I don’t accept that,” Miles shakes his head.
“Miles,” Jane grows impatient, “I don’t want to be with you anymore. I want to start over and try to find real love.”
“Well, I don’t care. You can’t have that,” Miles stabs his lit cigar onto her turquoise purse.
Jane screeches as the burning tobacco singes the fabric. Miles pushes the cigar down firmly, extinguishing the burning end into the side of the purse.
“Miles!” Jane looks at her damaged purse with bewilderment.
“I am friends with every lawyer in Connecticut and am on good terms with every firm from here to Washington D.C.” Miles flicks the crumpled cigar into the empty space between two groups of talking guests, “I have a dinner with New York’s District Attorney next month.”
“You’re not going to divorce me? You are honestly going to force me to stay married to you?” Jane closes her eyes, “Am I your prisoner now?”
“I don’t know. Maybe that’s what works for you,” Miles stares at her with cold eyes, “Maybe you’ll fall in love with me like you did Hugh Black.”
“I won’t stay,” Jane turns away from him.
Miles grabs her by the back of her head and forces her face towards his, “Oh, you’ll stay. And you’ll be very, very loyal to me. You’ll be the perfect wife. Now, kiss me.”
Miles pushes their lips together roughly.
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In the back of the Lobby, Inspector Brown and Commissioner Forest stand together, isolated near the Elevators. No one stops to talk to them as they pass by. Every polite wave from Inspector Brown is ignored.
“Why don’t people respect the police anymore?” Commissioner Forest asks.
“What’s your favorite case?” Inspector Brown quickly changes the subject.
“My favorite? Well, it’s actually the only big case other than this one.” Commissioner Forest laughs, “Pratton is a quiet little town.”
“Alright, let’s hear it,” Inspector Brown crosses his arms and leans back.
“This fella,” Commissioner Forest wipes his mouth, “Mr. Naylor was his name. He’s works as the groundskeeper up at Blackwell Grange, as a matter of fact.”
“You don’t say?” Inspector Brown hums to himself, “Always Blackwell Grange.”
“He’s not a suspect in these murders,” Commissioner Forest says, “He’s been in Ireland visiting a relative.”
“I’m well aware of Mr. Naylor and his alibi. Go on with the story,” Inspector Brown chuckles.
“Well, Mr. Naylor was accused of having something to do with the disappearance of three neighbor boys about a decade back,” Commissioner Forest says.
“What led you to him?” Inspector Brown asks.
“The boys were brothers. They were twelve, eleven, and nine,” Commissioner Forest explains, “The parents told us that the nine-year-old told them that Mr. Naylor tried to lure him into his cabin on the other side of the lake. The next day all three boys were gone. Their parents think all three went to confront Mr. Naylor, but were killed instead.”
“Were their bodies ever found?” Inspector Brown asks.
“Their bodies were never found in the lake, the ravines, or the woods. At the time, there were gypsies living in the woods around Blackwell Grange,” Commissioner Forest goes on, “They came and went in masses in traveling caravans. There are a few clearings in the woods that were perfect for their campsites. We suspect the boys were kidnapped by gypsies and possibly sold on the black market.”
“Gypsies?” Inspector Brown scoffs, “That’s absurd! The groundskeeper buried the boys. Perhaps on the grounds of Blackwell Grange.”
“What about you?” Commissioner Forest asks, “What was your favorite case?”
“Since you’ve brought up the topic of unsolved cases,” Inspector Brown lowers his voice, “It’s not my favorite case, but it was odd. I received a telegram about a poisoning in Rangoon. Lord Lavender, an architect and herbalist, was found dead in his great, glass conservatory. Apparently, venom was abstracted from one of the spiders in his collection.”
“You never captured his killer?” Commissioner Forest asks.
“The case went cold when my top suspect fled the country,” Inspector Brown lowers his head, “I searched and searched, I even had my top Interpol inspector on the case, but we never found her”
“Her?” Commissioner Forest’s eyebrows shoot up.
“His wife was my main suspect,” Inspector Brown exhales with sorrow, “Lady Su Sian Lavender.”
The Elevator doors behind the detectives open.
“Why don’t people respect the police anymore?” Commissioner Forest asks.
“What’s your favorite case?” Inspector Brown quickly changes the subject.
“My favorite? Well, it’s actually the only big case other than this one.” Commissioner Forest laughs, “Pratton is a quiet little town.”
“Alright, let’s hear it,” Inspector Brown crosses his arms and leans back.
“This fella,” Commissioner Forest wipes his mouth, “Mr. Naylor was his name. He’s works as the groundskeeper up at Blackwell Grange, as a matter of fact.”
“You don’t say?” Inspector Brown hums to himself, “Always Blackwell Grange.”
“He’s not a suspect in these murders,” Commissioner Forest says, “He’s been in Ireland visiting a relative.”
“I’m well aware of Mr. Naylor and his alibi. Go on with the story,” Inspector Brown chuckles.
“Well, Mr. Naylor was accused of having something to do with the disappearance of three neighbor boys about a decade back,” Commissioner Forest says.
“What led you to him?” Inspector Brown asks.
“The boys were brothers. They were twelve, eleven, and nine,” Commissioner Forest explains, “The parents told us that the nine-year-old told them that Mr. Naylor tried to lure him into his cabin on the other side of the lake. The next day all three boys were gone. Their parents think all three went to confront Mr. Naylor, but were killed instead.”
“Were their bodies ever found?” Inspector Brown asks.
“Their bodies were never found in the lake, the ravines, or the woods. At the time, there were gypsies living in the woods around Blackwell Grange,” Commissioner Forest goes on, “They came and went in masses in traveling caravans. There are a few clearings in the woods that were perfect for their campsites. We suspect the boys were kidnapped by gypsies and possibly sold on the black market.”
“Gypsies?” Inspector Brown scoffs, “That’s absurd! The groundskeeper buried the boys. Perhaps on the grounds of Blackwell Grange.”
“What about you?” Commissioner Forest asks, “What was your favorite case?”
“Since you’ve brought up the topic of unsolved cases,” Inspector Brown lowers his voice, “It’s not my favorite case, but it was odd. I received a telegram about a poisoning in Rangoon. Lord Lavender, an architect and herbalist, was found dead in his great, glass conservatory. Apparently, venom was abstracted from one of the spiders in his collection.”
“You never captured his killer?” Commissioner Forest asks.
“The case went cold when my top suspect fled the country,” Inspector Brown lowers his head, “I searched and searched, I even had my top Interpol inspector on the case, but we never found her”
“Her?” Commissioner Forest’s eyebrows shoot up.
“His wife was my main suspect,” Inspector Brown exhales with sorrow, “Lady Su Sian Lavender.”
The Elevator doors behind the detectives open.
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Sir Benedict emerges from the Elevator, unhappy by the presence of Inspector Brown and Commissioner Forest. Mr. Ash follows Sir Benedict out off the elevator car.
“Good evening, detectives,” Mr. Ash nods.
“Don’t speak to them,” Sir Benedict lowers his voice.
Sir Benedict turns to face the West Wing and is struck with disappointment when he realizes the Bar is dark.
“Where are the drinks?” Sir Benedict looks around at the waiters, who are only carrying appetizers, “What is the meaning of this? Ash, go find me Mr. Cerise.”
“Oh, I’m afraid Mr. Cerise won’t be able to do anything about that,” Inspector Brown smirks, “I instructed the removal of any and all alcoholic beverages from this hotel.”
“You’re out of your mind if you think anyone will back you on that,” Sir Benedict laughs.
“I ordered and watched Mr. Cerise as he emptied every single bottle down the sink,” Inspector Brown crosses his arms, “If you hurry, maybe you can like the drain.”
Sir Benedict points his cane at Inspector Brown, “I’ll have your badge in less than a day! Do you hear me?”
“I hear you, but your threats mean nothing to me,” Inspector Brown pushes the cane away, “Blackwell Grange’s secrets will be revealed.”
“You’re walking on thin ice,” Sir Benedict’s eyes go up to the skylight, “You don’t know what kind of people you’re messing with.”
“That’s the thing,” Inspector Brown says, “I actually do understand the type of unstable, homicidal maniacs that seek refuge under your roof.”
“Enough!” Mr. Ash comes between them, “We’re all just hungry and upset. I’m sure after some appetizers, we’ll all think a bit more clearly.”
“Yes, maybe my butler is right,” Sir Benedict motions to the waiters, “Why don’t you go bring us something nice.”
“I don’t follow orders,” Inspector Brown says.
“Very well,” Sir Bendict places his cane firmly on the ground, centering both hands over it, “Ash, get Mr. Cerise and bring him here.”
“Yes, sir,” Mr. Ash scurries off to the Front Desk.
“Listen to me very closely,” Sir Benedict’s voice is grave and resonant, “Hugh murdered Frau Olga Bloom with the same poison he used to murder Senator Peacock. Olga Bloom handled the transaction of the poison through Mr. Green. Hugh also murdered Edward Clay as a way to hurt the woman who denied him love after all theses years...”
“Patricia Peacock,” Commissioner Forest whispers.
“Who killed Hugh Black?” Inspector Brown asks.
Sir Benedict narrows his eyes, “That doesn’t matter. What matters it that your psychopath is dead. Brenda Dove shot my firstborn son, a dangerous man. Now she’s declared a courageous hero. Why not treat the killer of Hugh the same way? Whoever killed Hugh did it to protect the rest of us.”
“I’m not so sure Hugh Black really killed Edward Clay and Olga Bloom,” Inspector Brown says, “But you seem to know a whole lot about the poison that killed her. I’m willing to believe that Thallo Green sold it to someone at Blackwell Grange through her. How did you know?”
“She told me,” Sir Benedict says, “When she brought food up to me she would give me updates on what she saw.”
“You two were close?” Inspector Brown asks.
“We both understood what it meant to be prisoners. Were we friends? No. She was a terrible cook. I absolutely detested her. She always gave away secrets too easily. I barely had to ask her for details before she told me everything. She was practically bursting with excitement to tell me all the gossip she’d overheard,” Sir Benedict sighs, “She was the kindest to me during my years in that attic.”
“Did she say who the poison was for?” asks Inspector Brown.
“Only that she didn’t know if she was doing the right thing by delivering it,” Sir Benedict says.
“When was this?” Commissioner Forest asks.
“Last October,” Sir Benedict says.
“How can you possibly know that it is the same poison?” asks Inspector Brown.
Before Sir Benedict can respond, the sound a gunshot echoes throughout the room. Broken glass showers down on the guests beneath the skylight. Sir Benedict looks into Inspector Brown’s eyes, horrified that he is still alive. Inspector Brown quickly turns to face Commissioner Forest, but finds the space next to him empty. It is then that everyone’s eyes fall to Commissioner Forest, who is on the floor in front of the elevator. Blood seeps profusely from a bullet wound on the right side of his chest.
“Good evening, detectives,” Mr. Ash nods.
“Don’t speak to them,” Sir Benedict lowers his voice.
Sir Benedict turns to face the West Wing and is struck with disappointment when he realizes the Bar is dark.
“Where are the drinks?” Sir Benedict looks around at the waiters, who are only carrying appetizers, “What is the meaning of this? Ash, go find me Mr. Cerise.”
“Oh, I’m afraid Mr. Cerise won’t be able to do anything about that,” Inspector Brown smirks, “I instructed the removal of any and all alcoholic beverages from this hotel.”
“You’re out of your mind if you think anyone will back you on that,” Sir Benedict laughs.
“I ordered and watched Mr. Cerise as he emptied every single bottle down the sink,” Inspector Brown crosses his arms, “If you hurry, maybe you can like the drain.”
Sir Benedict points his cane at Inspector Brown, “I’ll have your badge in less than a day! Do you hear me?”
“I hear you, but your threats mean nothing to me,” Inspector Brown pushes the cane away, “Blackwell Grange’s secrets will be revealed.”
“You’re walking on thin ice,” Sir Benedict’s eyes go up to the skylight, “You don’t know what kind of people you’re messing with.”
“That’s the thing,” Inspector Brown says, “I actually do understand the type of unstable, homicidal maniacs that seek refuge under your roof.”
“Enough!” Mr. Ash comes between them, “We’re all just hungry and upset. I’m sure after some appetizers, we’ll all think a bit more clearly.”
“Yes, maybe my butler is right,” Sir Benedict motions to the waiters, “Why don’t you go bring us something nice.”
“I don’t follow orders,” Inspector Brown says.
“Very well,” Sir Bendict places his cane firmly on the ground, centering both hands over it, “Ash, get Mr. Cerise and bring him here.”
“Yes, sir,” Mr. Ash scurries off to the Front Desk.
“Listen to me very closely,” Sir Benedict’s voice is grave and resonant, “Hugh murdered Frau Olga Bloom with the same poison he used to murder Senator Peacock. Olga Bloom handled the transaction of the poison through Mr. Green. Hugh also murdered Edward Clay as a way to hurt the woman who denied him love after all theses years...”
“Patricia Peacock,” Commissioner Forest whispers.
“Who killed Hugh Black?” Inspector Brown asks.
Sir Benedict narrows his eyes, “That doesn’t matter. What matters it that your psychopath is dead. Brenda Dove shot my firstborn son, a dangerous man. Now she’s declared a courageous hero. Why not treat the killer of Hugh the same way? Whoever killed Hugh did it to protect the rest of us.”
“I’m not so sure Hugh Black really killed Edward Clay and Olga Bloom,” Inspector Brown says, “But you seem to know a whole lot about the poison that killed her. I’m willing to believe that Thallo Green sold it to someone at Blackwell Grange through her. How did you know?”
“She told me,” Sir Benedict says, “When she brought food up to me she would give me updates on what she saw.”
“You two were close?” Inspector Brown asks.
“We both understood what it meant to be prisoners. Were we friends? No. She was a terrible cook. I absolutely detested her. She always gave away secrets too easily. I barely had to ask her for details before she told me everything. She was practically bursting with excitement to tell me all the gossip she’d overheard,” Sir Benedict sighs, “She was the kindest to me during my years in that attic.”
“Did she say who the poison was for?” asks Inspector Brown.
“Only that she didn’t know if she was doing the right thing by delivering it,” Sir Benedict says.
“When was this?” Commissioner Forest asks.
“Last October,” Sir Benedict says.
“How can you possibly know that it is the same poison?” asks Inspector Brown.
Before Sir Benedict can respond, the sound a gunshot echoes throughout the room. Broken glass showers down on the guests beneath the skylight. Sir Benedict looks into Inspector Brown’s eyes, horrified that he is still alive. Inspector Brown quickly turns to face Commissioner Forest, but finds the space next to him empty. It is then that everyone’s eyes fall to Commissioner Forest, who is on the floor in front of the elevator. Blood seeps profusely from a bullet wound on the right side of his chest.
