AARP Hearing Center
Illustration by Dongkyu Lim
Chapter 17
IF I WORRIED that Milo might have questioned my sudden show of affection, I needn’t have. He responded very readily indeed. In the space of a moment, he had embraced me and pressed me against the railing. By the time I became aware of Mr. Hamilton’s heavy approaching tread, I was quite sure that it was Milo who was kissing me, and not the other way around. He was doing a rather thorough job of it, and when he finally pulled away at Mr. Hamilton’s loud clearing of the throat, I could no longer be certain my shortness of breath was entirely due to my mad dash up the steps.
“Sorry to interrupt,” Mr. Hamilton said, a wide smile on his face.
Milo turned his head unhurriedly but didn’t bother to step back or remove his arms from around my waist. “We were out taking a moonlight stroll,” he said with a smile. “I’m afraid we got carried away.”
So he had correctly interpreted my motives. It was gratifying to know that he could, on occasion, prove useful.
“Perfectly understandable,” Mr. Hamilton said with a wink. “I was just out getting a little air myself. All the better with a little company, eh?”
His manner was as usual, and I detected no sign of skepticism in his tone or expression. I could only hope that Milo and I had made a good show of it. I assumed we had, as my pulse was still racing. I did my best to summon an embarrassed smile as he wished us good evening and continued up the steps.
Milo turned back to me. He still had his hands on my waist, and I was still pressed very neatly between him and the railing. “I find that this investigating business gets more amusing by the hour,” he said in a low voice.
“You can let go of me now, Milo,” I whispered, my traitorous heart picking up pace as he leaned closer.
“He may be watching. Perhaps we should resume where we left off .”
I was prepared to protest, but he kissed me again before I could rally resistance. It had been some time since we had shared any such amorous moments, and I found that I was not entirely opposed to his attentions now. For just an instant, I allowed myself to remember the heady first days of our whirlwind romance, when I had been so very sure of his love. His kisses had been irresistible then, in the blissful blindness of young love.
Those times were long behind us, however, and, though I could not deny my strong attraction to him, I knew perfectly well that now was not the moment to succumb to passion when there were more important matters to tend to.
I mustered up my resolve and pushed him back ever so slightly, my pulse pounding alarmingly.
“That will do, Milo,” I said breathlessly. “I think, my dear, that it won’t do at all.”
The roguish look in his eyes sent a thrill clean through me, and I realized at once we were on dangerous ground.
“Milo ...”
“Perhaps we should go back to our room,” he suggested. So it was our room now, was it? For the briefest of moments, I must admit, I was sorely tempted. He was my husband, after all. Then I strengthened my resolve. He had moved his things into my room without permission; he would not move himself into my bed so easily.
I pushed him back farther and slid from his embrace. “I think that is not a particularly good idea.”
“It seems an excellent idea to me,” he said with a smile as his eyes lingered on mine. Then he glanced up the stairway. “It shall certainly appear strange to Mr. Hamilton if I return to my room this evening, after such an elaborate display of our devotion to one another.”
I hesitated. He had a point, though I hated to admit it.
“Very well,” I said at last. “You may stay in my room. I’m sure you will find the sofa to be quite comfortable.”
Amusement tilted the corner of his mouth. “That’s not exactly what I had in mind.”
“No, I’m sure it’s not,” I said. I stepped closer, braving the risk that he would embrace me again, and lowered my voice. “Mr. Hamilton was searching for something at the base of the cliff . He appears to have located it and shoved it into his pocket.”
“Wasn’t it a bit foolish to go running after him in the dark? If he’s the one who killed Rupert, he’d have no qualms about doing away with you.”
“How did you know where I was?” I asked, ignoring his perfectly valid point.
“I came out of the sitting room just as you slipped out onto the balcony. I thought it best to follow you.”
“I can take care of myself, thank you very much.”
“Yes, I’m sure you could have defended yourself nicely. Perhaps you might have cudgeled him with one of these,” he said, scooping up my shoes and holding them out to me.
I took them from him but didn’t bother to put them back on. We still had most of the long stairway to climb. “I do appreciate your assistance,” I told him grudgingly.
“I assure you, it was my pleasure,” he replied.
“What do you suppose it was he was looking for?”
“I haven’t the faintest idea.”
“You’re not being helpful, Milo.”
“No?” He leaned against the railing. “Well, I’m afraid I have other things on my mind, darling.”
I ignored this comment and the tone in which he said it, despite the unwarranted feeling of anticipation that it evoked in me. “Do you really think he might have killed Rupert? He’s a thorough boor and his wife’s afraid of him, but that doesn’t mean he’d kill someone.”
“It’s not beyond the realm of possibility, I suppose, though I can’t conceive of a good reason.”
“No,” I sighed, transferring both my shoes to one hand, preparing to grasp the railing with the other. “Neither can I. Well, come, Milo. We may as well go back.”
He caught my free hand in his warm one. “Must we?”
“Do you suggest standing out here all night? It seems to be getting rather cold.”
“I’ll keep you warm,” he said, pulling me toward him. He lowered his mouth to mine again, and this kiss was slow and lingering. The cool wind blew around us, and the soft lulling of the waves made for idyllic background music. I could feel my resolve slipping by the second in the comfortable warmth of his embrace, my head beginning to swim. Once again, irrational longing warred with my better judgment. Once again, prudence won the day.
“I think we’d better go back,” I whispered at last against his lips.
He pulled back a little and looked down at me in the moonlight, and it was impossible to gauge what he was thinking. Then he released me with a soft sigh. “If you insist.”
We trudged up the stairway in a sort of companionable silence. It was strange how in moments such as this things could be so easy between us, and in other moments it was as if a wall had sprung up to separate us.
We reached the balcony and stepped into the pool of light cast by the windows.
“I suppose I should put my shoes on,” I said, “though it feels as if I’ve somehow managed to get a stone in my stocking.” Milo offered his arm for support as I bent to slip my shoes on my feet. I straightened, and we looked at one another for a moment before I turned toward the door.
Milo reached past me to open it. Then he stopped. “Wait.”
He stepped closer, pulling his handkerchief from the pocket of his dinner jacket. “You’ve smudged your lipstick.”
“You’ve smudged my lipstick,” I corrected, noting that he had somehow managed to avoid getting any on his mouth. Another of his many talents, no doubt.
He held my face in his hand and wiped at my mouth before tucking his handkerchief back into his pocket. His hand was still on my chin as he looked down at me.
I raised a brow, some small part of me hoping he would kiss me again. Then he dropped his hand from my face and reached for the door. Hand on the knob, he turned to look down at me once again. “One more thing, darling.”
“Yes?”
He leaned closer, a smile flashing across his face. “I think it only fair to warn you. I have never slept on a sofa in my life, and I don’t intend to start now.”
***
I let him sleep in my bed, but I did not so much as kiss him good night. I decided it would be unreasonable to make him spend the night on the sofa, which was a good deal shorter than he was.
Charitable inclinations aside, however, I felt now would not be the time to begin a seaside affair with my husband. It would only complicate things, especially considering the uncertain state of our marriage. I still wasn’t sure of my feelings for Milo, and certainly not of his for me.
He was as attractive to me as he had ever been, but that was not a sound basis for throwing myself into his arms. As long as things were unsettled, it would be better to keep a distance between us physically. Milo had made it perfectly obvious that he had no such qualms, but I felt he had very little say in the matter. As for his husbandly rights, should I choose to use such a vulgar term, I was of the opinion that he would be more entitled to them when he started behaving as a husband.
I will admit, however, that the memory of the kisses we had shared was on my mind long after I heard the slow, steady sounds of his breathing signal that he was asleep. It seemed ages since I had felt that rush of passion between us, and the knowledge that he still found me desirable came as something of a relief.
Of course, I was not foolish enough to convince myself that the renewal of his interests had nothing to do with the perceived threat Gil posed to our marriage. I sometimes thought that Milo was very like a bad little child who hadn’t the least interest in a discarded toy until someone else wanted to play with it. I had the uneasy feeling that it was only a matter of time before his interest would wane.
I turned and studied the sleeping face of my husband in the soft darkness of our room. I had always fancied myself a fairly practical, levelheaded woman, but even after five years of less than blissful marriage, I could not fault myself entirely for having been swept off my feet by him. He was too handsome, too charming, and I had been too young not to be flattered. It would have been to my credit if I had realized before the wedding that good looks and charm were not necessarily the basis for a good husband.
If the folly of youth was my excuse, I sometimes wondered what it was that had made Milo choose to marry me. I was not at all the type of woman to which men of his sort were commonly attracted; a dazzling blonde might have suited him better.
There was so much more that separated us than the little bit of empty bed that lay between us.
As they had been wont to do of late, my thoughts of Milo somehow drifted into thoughts of Gil. I wondered if he too was lying awake at the moment. I hoped he was not too terribly uncomfortable in his prison cell. I still could not believe that Gil had been arrested. What a mess this whole thing was. Tomorrow, I would go to see him. I only hoped he would not be too angry with me. I hadn’t meant for anything to come of what I had told the inspector.
I thought of Detective Inspector Jones. That man severely tried my patience. Yet I could not help but feel that there was more to him than met the eye. He was up to something. Of that, I was sure. He had arrested Gil, but he had not said anything about discovering the weapon. As of the inquest, it had still been missing. I would ask him tomorrow just how it was that they could be certain of anything without a weapon.
Thoughts swirled in and out of my head as I edged toward sleep. I was drifting somewhere between wakefulness and a hazy dream when the thought struck me. I sat up, instantly awake.
The weapon.
I looked over at Milo. I felt I needed to share my theory with someone, and he was the closest at hand. “Are you asleep?” I whispered. He didn’t stir.
Perhaps it could wait until morning ... but, no. My mind raced over the possibilities, and I knew it would be impossible for me to rest.
I reached over and switched on the lamp. Milo’s eyelids did not so much as quiver.
“Milo?”
The smooth, peaceful lines of his face showed no sign that he was anywhere near wakefulness.
“Milo,” I said at last, rather loudly. “Wake up.”
He blinked against the light and covered his eyes with his hand. “What on earth ... what’s the matter?”
“I need to talk to you.”
“Good heavens, Amory. What time is it?”
I glanced at the clock on my bedside table. “It’s just after two,” I said. “Are you awake?”
“No, blast it. I’m not.”
“Don’t be surly, Milo. Listen. I’ve thought of something. I should have realized it before. I think Mr. Hamilton was looking for the weapon.”
He lowered his hand to look at me. “The murder weapon?”
“Yes, he must have been. Perhaps he killed Rupert and then tossed the weapon, what ever it was, over the cliff , where he could retrieve it later.”
“Surely your inspector was bright enough to search for it there.”
“He’s not my inspector, and perhaps it was something that wouldn’t have drawn notice, unless one knew what one was looking for.”
“Like what, for instance?”
I thought of the pile of debris at the bottom of the cliff — driftwood and stones and bits of shells that the sea had flung upon the shore. “It might have been anything, a loose brick from the wall, perhaps.”
“If it was so carefully concealed, why not leave it there?”
“I don’t know. Perhaps he was afraid it would be discovered later. Or perhaps he was afraid the tide might wash it out into the open.”
I rose from the bed, pulling on my negligee and moving to the little writing desk in the corner. My thoughts were all a jumble, and I knew the best way to organize them would be to write them down. I should have thought of this method before. It always cleared my head to write to Laurel. Once I could organize my thoughts on paper, I could begin to make sense of things. I hoped the same would prove true when trying to solve a murder.
“Darling, can’t this wait until morning?”
“It is morning,” I said, pulling out a sheet of paper and a fountain pen. “And before you make any complaints, let me remind you that it was your idea to stay in my room, not mine.”
Milo sighed. “Yes, well, this wasn’t what I had envisioned.”
I wrote “Mr. Hamilton” on the piece of paper and drew a line beneath it. “What motive does Mr. Hamilton have?” I asked. “Do you think Rupert may have trifled with Larissa Hamilton?”
Milo sat up, running a hand through his tousled hair, then across the shadow of a beard that was beginning to darken his face. I tried not to notice how very attractive he looked, disheveled from sleep. He was so seldom anything less than immaculately attired that his current rumpled state held a certain sort of appeal. My mind wandered to our earlier kisses, and I forced myself to focus on the task at hand.
“It’s possible,” he said, “but I shouldn’t say likely. I gather Rupert Howe would have preferred a very different sort of woman. Granted, she’s pretty enough, but there’s that aura of tragedy that hovers over her. She doesn’t conceal her unhappiness well. I shouldn’t think most men would find it appealing.”
“She certainly warmed up under your attentions,” I observed.
“She enjoys it when someone is pleasant to her,” he said. “From what I’ve seen, Mr. Hamilton certainly isn’t.”
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