Murder Stalks A Mansion

“It looks like a left turn to get to the Inn at Kenwood Court.” Emily Hargreave frowned, studying the directions. “Nelson says that we should pass a small green road sign for the turn-off to The Breakers. It’s on the left, too. I didn’t see that, did you, Lionel?”

            “I see one of those green signs up ahead,” her husband said. “Maybe that’s what he means.”

            “Then we should be turning soon after that. Oh, isn’t that house lovely?  Lionel, look.”  She was staring to her right at a large cream-colored house with tall columns and a sweeping brace of entrance steps. “I would love to live in a house like that.”

            “Do you know what the bills for a place that size would run?”

            “I don’t care. I wish it were mine.” 

            “We couldn’t afford it.”

            “I bet Maurice could.” Her tone had a bitter edge to it.

            “Don’t be foolish, Emily. Even my brother doesn’t have that kind of money. Why, those old houses have morning rooms and billiard rooms. Now what would you do with a billiard room?”

            “I said I don’t care. I wish I could live in a house like that.”

            “Look at this place where we’re staying. Kenwood Court.  The owners have to rent out rooms, turn their house into a hotel to keep from selling it.”

            “I wish you wouldn’t act as if I’m silly for suggesting we have a nice house.”      

            “We already have a nice house.”

            “That’s not the point.”

            “Where do I turn?” Lionel asked impatiently.

            “We could have a mansion to live in if Maurice paid you your fair share from the company.”

            “You don’t know what you’re talking about. Maurice has always treated me fairly. I wish you would believe that.”

            Emily was silent, hurt.  Lionel sighed and turned his attention to estates on Bellevue Avenue which they were now passing one after another.

            “I know we’ve gone too far. We should have turned off further back there.  Let me see those directions.”  He took the paper from her hand which was resting limply in her lap. “Let me see.” 

            Lionel drove the Lincoln into an open driveway. He realized that he had entered the parking lot of one of the mansions open to the public. The house was called Rosecliff.

            “Look, Emily, this is a pretty house.”

            On the seat next to him, his wife continued to look down at her lap. Lionel studied the directions. After a minute or two, he put the car in gear and backed out again. He wished his wife would speak. She hadn’t once looked up to see the house.

            Why did she always have to bring Maurice into everything? Wasn’t it enough that Lionel had to work for him, take orders from him? Couldn’t Emily see that throwing his subservient position up to her husband only made him feel the pain all the more?