Murder at the Mena House

by Erica Ruth Neubauer

  I headed directly to the dining room, but as I had expected, I was too late to catch breakfast. Cursing my luck and the entire day, I changed course to the terrace, hoping they would be able to scrounge up some leftover pastries or stale bread. I was not too proud to resort to begging. My head was beginning to throb from the lack of caffeine and the overdose of adrenaline.

  It turned out that begging was unnecessary. The hotel was already abuzz with word of the death, and once the waiters realized I had been detained by the police—and had found the body—I had no lack of attention or food. They kept my coffee topped off and my pastry basket full, as though by serving me they were part of the drama unfolding. This was a scenario I was very familiar with, and while ordinarily I would have been annoyed, I was grateful for a full stomach and the buckets of coffee they were lavishing on me.

  Aunt Millie and Redvers converged on my table at nearly the same time, just as I finished the last pastry and wiped my buttery fingers on the white linen napkin. Aunt Millie wasted no time in demanding to know what the police had told me. Redvers quietly lowered himself into a chair. Millie hovered near one but never settled, choosing instead to stand, her hands gripping the rolled wicker back.

  “Well, they haven’t really told me anything,” I said. “I suppose you could say I was the one doing the telling.”

  “How did you even come to find her?” One of Millie’s hands released the chair and fluttered near her neckline. News of my discovery had spread, but apparently not the why. “I thought you couldn’t stand that woman.”

  I grimaced. “Please don’t share that opinion with the police.” I hoped I wouldn’t need to count on Millie as a character witness.

  I explained how Colonel Stainton had come upon me in the hall and asked me to enter Anna’s room in case there was anything . . . unseemly . . . for a staff member to find. Millie’s mouth flattened into a disapproving line, and I wasn’t entirely sure of the cause—my being caught up in the sordid affair or the likelihood that Anna was engaged in something inappropriate.

  “Well, thank heavens.” Millie’s back straightened ever so slightly. “Then they can’t possibly think you had anything to do with this.” She paused and assessed me with narrowed eyes. “You didn’t, did you?”

  “Aunt Millie!” I was shocked that she considered me capable of a cold-blooded killing. Redvers’ eyebrows had gone up, but he looked amused.

  “Well, my dear. You never know.” She eyed Redvers, then turned back to me. “Answer their questions and send them on their way. We don’t want the police loitering about. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m meeting the girls for some golf.”

  “That’s a lot of golf, Aunt Millie. Twice in two days?” I tried to keep any hurt or accusation out of my voice, but she leveled a glare at me, just the same.

  “If you must know, Lillian is practicing to go semiprofessional.”

  “I didn’t know women were allowed to do that.” Sports had never held my interest.

  “The U.S. holds a Women’s Amateur Championship every year, Jane. It’s quite prestigious. I would think you would be more interested in the achievements of your gender.” With that, Millie puffed off in the direction of the links.

  I looked after her thoughtfully. I was hurt that my aunt had abandoned me to play golf without any concern over whether I was all right, but I was equally curious about her reaction. Redvers gave me a moment before gently interrupting.

  “What are you thinking?”

  “Does it seem odd that Millie wasn’t interested in how Anna died? Or what I told the police?” I asked him. “She only seemed concerned that the police might be spending any time near me.” It made me wonder if she had some reason to avoid the police, but I dismissed it as overly fanciful and suspicious. Millie was secretive, but I couldn’t think of any reason she would need to fear the police.

  “It does seem strange, but perhaps she simply didn’t want to hear any upsetting details.”

  “I suppose.” Although I doubted even the most gruesome story would have an effect on my aunt. I took another sip of my now-lukewarm coffee. The cup rattled back into its saucer as I noticed where Redvers’ attention had landed.

  A small, grim-faced man with caterpillar-thick brows and dark skin was making his way toward us. He was small and wiry, his dark uniform hanging slightly from his frame. I could see the bulge of a cigarette case in his pocket, just below the white belt with a polished gold buckle. Reams of ribbons, the kind you would expect to see on a military uniform, clung to his chest beside the brass buttons that marched down the crisp jacket. His tarboosh was dark as well, set precisely on his head.

  Inspector Hamadi, in the flesh.

  CHAPTER NINE

  “Mrs. Wunderly?” Hamadi’s voice was low, with the heavy rasp of a serial smoker. I noticed that he barely spared a glance for Redvers.

  “Yes.” I glanced between the two men. “And this is Mr. Redvers.”

  The inspector flicked a glance at Redvers, briefly inclining his head. “Redvers.”

  “Inspector,” Redvers replied.

  The whole exchange left me with the distinct impression that my introduction had been most unnecessary. The inspector pulled out a vacant wicker armchair without invitation and settled himself in it.

  “Can you go over the events of this morning for me, Mrs. Wunderly?” he asked.

  “I told several of your officers more than once,” I started, but as the inspector’s caterpillar brows crawled south, I quickly assured him I was more than happy to tell the story for him. I took a drink of water then went over the events of the morning for the inspector. Again.

  “Feathers?” was Redvers’ only contribution.

  The inspector looked at Redvers, mildly annoyed, and as I opened my mouth, he cut me off to answer. “Yes, we found a pillow that had been shot through several times. It appears the killer used it to dampen the noise of the gunshots.”

  I had been about to tell Redvers that the room was covered in feathers, but I took in the reason for those feathers with great interest. Redvers nodded at the explanation, and the inspector continued with my interrogation.

  “When was the last time you saw Miss Stainton?” Even seated, the inspector was a surprisingly imposing force for such a slight man, his words simple but heavy with meaning.

  “Last night. Here on the terrace. Mr. Redvers and I were sitting on the far side, over there.” I pointed in the direction of where our table had been the night before. “We both saw her leave the party with a young man. It looked like they were headed out onto the grounds—maybe out to the stables? Like I told your officers, I didn’t recognize the young man she was with.”

  “Yes, there were a number of guests from other hotels at the party last night,” Hamadi said. “It is possible the young man is staying elsewhere.” He paused, reached into his pocket and pulled out a handkerchief wrapped around a small object.

  “The problem is this, Mrs. Wunderly.” He pulled the item free from its wrapping and I could see that it was my brooch—the one I had misplaced. A small scarab beetle, bedecked with green and blue jewels set in gold.

  “But that’s my brooch. Where did you find that?” I was shocked and somewhat disturbed that the police might have been going through my things. And absolutely baffled as to why he would have taken it. “Have you been in my rooms?”

  “This was found in Anna’s room, in her handbag. It was identified as yours. Do you know how it would have gotten there?” Hamadi’s black eyes glittered, and I glanced at Redvers, who now wore a slight scowl.

  “I haven’t the faintest idea.” But the wheels in my mind were turning and I immediately contradicted myself. “Wait! Miss Stainton dropped her bag the other night, and I helped her pick up her things. It must have fallen off then and was accidentally put into her bag.”

  “But you didn’t notice it was missing?”

  “I did, but—”

  The inspector cut me off. “You had plenty of time to ask for it to be retu
rned, Mrs. Wunderly. Well over a day, in fact.”

  I didn’t have an explanation for that, and instead sputtered uselessly.

  “What she says is true, Inspector. I witnessed the whole thing.” Redvers had struck a casual pose, one arm draped over the back of his chair, but his gaze on the inspector was sharp and focused.

  The inspector shot him a dark look, but let Redvers’ remark pass.

  “May I have it back?” Despite the uneasiness in my stomach, I wanted my brooch back in my own possession.

  “No.” Hamadi rewrapped the brooch and secured it back inside his jacket pocket. “It is part of a murder investigation, Mrs. Wunderly. Where were you this morning at five a.m.?”

  My eyes widened at the insinuation. I tried to take a few breaths to get my heart rate under control as I had been taught.

  “Where were you, Mrs. Wunderly?” Hamadi was impatient.

  I explained that Redvers had escorted me to my room at the end of the night, and I had been asleep in bed at the time of the murder.

  Hamadi gave the two of us a long look, and I found myself flustered at the unspoken insinuation. “I see.” He cleared his throat. “I heard you had an altercation with Miss Stainton the night before last.”

  I explained that it had all been an accident—the spilled drink and then her dropped bag. But even to my own ears, the protests sounded weak.

  “All reports point to a feud between the two of you, perhaps over this gentleman.” The inspector nodded his head at Redvers. I couldn’t even answer the charge. My mouth was slightly agape and my cheeks burned. I was too appalled to look at Redvers, but from the corner of my eye, I could see him shaking his head in disgust.

  “My men are searching your room, even as we speak. So we will soon know if you have anything else to hide.” Hamadi’s face was difficult to read.

  I started to splutter about warrants, but Redvers put a hand on my arm and I quieted. The food I had just eaten sat like a boulder in my stomach, and then started to churn. For the second time that morning, I worried that I might be sick.

  I had no idea how to fire a gun, or where I would even get one, but these facts seemed to fall on deaf ears. My panicked voice was reaching ever-higher octaves as I tried to explain my innocence to the police inspector.

  “Please don’t make any plans to leave the hotel, Mrs. Wunderly.” Hamadi’s mouth twisted into a nasty smile as he rose from his chair. “I’ll be in touch.”

  I knew that I had nothing to hide and that they would find nothing incriminating in my rooms, but that knowledge did nothing to still the roiling nausea in my stomach. The very thought of being considered a suspect terrified me. It occurred to me that they probably believed in capital punishment, and a feeling of panic started to claw its way up my throat. I had no idea how effective their justice system was or if it was rampant with corruption. I took several long breaths to force my panicked thoughts to slow.

  But the inspector’s insinuations about Redvers and me—and that I might have killed Anna over him—also hung in the air like a foul cloud. I didn’t have the slightest idea how to go about addressing that issue, so I signaled the waiter hovering at the edge of the terrace and ordered more coffee, hoping to buy myself some time.

  Luckily, I remembered that I had some questions about how Redvers knew Inspector Hamadi.

  “You two seemed to know each other from somewhere.” My voice was shaky, a match for the rattle in my hands.

  “We’ve met before, on another matter.”

  “That hardly answers my question.”

  “It wasn’t really a question, was it?” He quickly changed course. I knew exactly what he was doing, but I didn’t have the presence of mind to object. “Did you recognize the young man with Anna last night?”

  I shook my head. I had not seen him around the hotel; but then, most of the young people from the night before were new faces.

  “I didn’t, either. The police will look for him, though. And the other partygoers as well. Perhaps someone saw something that will clear you of suspicion.”

  I sat up straight in my chair. “I just remembered something. Mr. Samara is the one who bumped Anna from behind and made her drop her bag. It looked as though it was on purpose. He could have had something to do with all this.” It was probably a stretch, but I was feeling desperate enough to grasp at any straw within my reach.

  Redvers’ eyes narrowed. “Did you see him do it?”

  “I’m pretty certain I did.” I went over that night again in my mind, the flash of white linen before the bag hit the floor, but now doubt crept in and made me question my earlier convictions.

  “Are you absolutely sure it was him? How did it seem intentional?” His voice had taken on an edge, and now I slumped back in my seat a bit. Perhaps it was too silly a notion to mention to the police, after all. But it also meant I was still on the hook for a murder I hadn’t committed.

  As if he could read my thoughts, his dark eyes grew warm and concerned. “Even if you only think you saw him, it’s probably worth mentioning to the inspector. And don’t worry too much. The inspector is just trying to get a rise out of you. I’m sure he has other suspects.”

  I wasn’t so sure myself, but I appreciated the sentiment.

  I was certain the police would want the matter wrapped up quickly. The murder of a foreigner is never good for tourism—especially the murder of an attractive young socialite. But if the police thought they were going to close this case with my taking the fall for a crime I didn’t commit, they were sadly mistaken. After the disaster known as my marriage, I would never fail to stand up for myself again.

  It had only taken a few weeks after the vows were spoken for me to realize that my girlish dreams of a marriage built on trust, love, and a true partnership between equals were nothing but that—dreams. My husband had been able to slip on a façade of charm as easily as his bespoke suits. I was still ashamed that I hadn’t been able to see beneath that façade to the depravity simmering just below. But then, our courtship had been a whirlwind—as soon as my aunt introduced me to her husband’s nephew, I became a trophy for Grant to win. And break.

  I took a deep breath and pushed the past behind me. This crime would be solved with the actual murderer behind bars, even if I had to do it myself.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Redvers stayed with me for a time, and I appreciated the concerned glances he kept sending my way. At least one person seemed to be concerned for my well-being, and for that, I was grateful. But soon enough, I decided I could use some time alone with my thoughts, so I shooed him off. He admitted to having some business in town and excused himself with a final worried glance. For once, I was far too distracted to wonder what that business might entail. Instead, I found myself pondering who at the hotel had both a gun and a motive to kill Anna Stainton. She wasn’t the most likable of characters, but I was having a difficult time conjuring up a motive for murdering the young woman.

  Suddenly I remembered the inspector’s instructions to stay on the hotel grounds and I groaned. I had been so looking forward to my trip to the pyramids, and now it looked like that excursion would be postponed indefinitely. Lovely as the Mena House was, the notion that I might be restricted to the grounds made me feel stir-crazy, and it did nothing to ease my anxiety.

  I was lost in my own thoughts when I heard a not-so-subtle clearing of the throat at my elbow. I looked up to see Amon Samara before me.

  “I am so sorry to interrupt your thoughts, madame.” His cultured, lightly accented voice washed over me. “But I couldn’t help but notice you.”

  I forced a smile that I hoped looked genuine—I couldn’t imagine choosing a worse time for him to introduce himself formally. Brushing him off crossed my mind, but I hated to be rude. And I was deeply curious about whether he had any connection to Anna.

  I held out my hand for a handshake. “Mrs. Jane Wunderly.” He took my hand and instead turned it over in his own soft palm to give my fingers a gentle kiss. The entire proc
ess made me recoil, despite its gentlemanly nature.

  “Amon Khanum Samara.” He returned my hand to me. “But you must call me Amon.” I grimaced a smile and ducked my head, but failed to offer the same familiarity in return.

  “Well, Amon, can I offer you something to drink?” Perhaps my lot in life was to offer men refreshments, after all. And here I thought I had escaped that indignity once I became widowed. Recalling my husband’s demands to wait on him hand and foot while he lounged indolently, my hands shook with anger and I twisted them together in my lap. Failure to obey Grant’s demands came with a price—a price I’d paid only once before deciding the cost wasn’t worth the pain that followed. His cruelty had quickly shattered my innocence.

  “Madame, it is I who should do the offering.” He caught the attention of my hovering waiter and spent enough time speaking to the young man in Arabic that I began to suspect he was ordering far more than a simple cup of tea. My suspicions were correct. Soon the table had been cleared of my coffee things, and a host of pastries and drinks appeared. I found myself annoyed at his presumption.

  “Where are you from, Amon?” I asked, more to cover my irritation than out of genuine interest. After the events of the morning, I couldn’t believe I was having such a mundane conversation. I wondered if he could be that oblivious to the events unfolding around him—the entire hotel was in something of an uproar.

  Or maybe he was here to learn something from me.

  “I am originally from Egypt, although I have been traveling these last few years. My sister was once married to the current king, a puppet of the British government.”

  This seemed like a lot of personal information to share with a stranger upon first meeting, and I felt my eyes narrow.