A Horrible
Day for Murder
By
Northwind of Otters
“Welcome to the Righton Hotel—may I be of
service?”
Annette Vonn, a rich young lady,
barely heard the woman managing the front desk as she gazed around the hotel’s
luxurious lounge. She came back to reality. “Oh, I’m sorry…yes, you can. I’ve
registered here before, in room 23. My
name is Annette Vonn.”
“Ah yes, Ms. Vonn, I’ve found you
right here.” The desk girl held out a little guest book in which was written
the name of the occupant of every room. She reached for her glasses as she
tried to read the dates. “April 1st through the 13th of
1930.” She looked up in shock and slight horror. “Why, you were here the
day of that dreadful murder!”
Annette sighed and tugged one
glove free, picking up the pen that lay beside the registration book. “Thank
you, Mrs. Alderson,” she said, reading the name of the girl as she wrote.
“You’re welcome, Ms. Vonn. I guess
you already know, but my name is Anna Alderson. I was just recently married to
Mr. Ben Alderson. He’s the kindest person…” Her steady flow of words was broken
as she sighed.
“Yes, well…let me just sign in
here.”
Mrs. Alderson noticed the abrupt
tone. “Oh, I’m sorry,
my mouth is just running away from me again. Mrs. Heltlock says I’m quite the
talker and that she can’t stand it.” Annette remembered the keeper of the
hotel, Mrs. Beatrice Heltlock, a woman of outstanding stature in social
circles. Of course, as Annette had been told by Mrs. Heltlock, she’d given it
all up to marry her husband and settle down into the life of running a hotel.
True to her reputation, Anna Alderson chattered on in a mournful tone, “I’m not
certain what I shall do, but I am worried.”
Annette just leaned over, picked
up the pen, dipped it in the ink and began to gracefully sign in. Ms.
Annette Vonn, April 7th – 15th. Her eyes wandered up the registration list
and suddenly lighted upon a single name: Travis
O’Hare, April 6th – 18th. Travis O’Hare. His name did not bring back
pleasant memories.
“Your room is number 23,” Mrs.
Alderson stated, handing her a key.
“Did you say room 23?” Annette
asked in disbelief. That was the very room she’d stayed in twelve months ago
when… No, it was better not to think of that.
“Yes, ma’am—is there something
wrong?” Mrs. Alderson asked.
“Oh no,
just a surprise.” Annette armed herself with a smile. “You know, it’s
the oddest thing…” Anna Alderson leaned forward; not only was she good at
talking, she was the town gossip. “I’m sure I’ve met this man here before.” She
laid a finger beside the name in the registration book.
Mrs. Alderson peered over the desk
and read the name twice. “Travis O’Hare—is he that horrid man from
“I don’t really remember,” Annette
replied, but she remembered perfectly. That horrid man from Vegas—yes, he could
be classified as horrid. He was arrogant, he was rude, and above all, he had
fallen terribly in love with Annette Vonn. She assumed he was only being
flirtatious, and doing so for her money, but she had begun to wonder. “Anyway,”
she continued, “I’ll just take my key and go up to my room now.” Another smile
and she was off, her heels click-clicking lightly across the red tile.
She made her way to her room, room
23. “Hasn’t changed much, I suppose,” she mumbled to herself as she looked
around. The bed was a beautiful four poster with a deep dark velvet cover and
dangling tassels. The walls were painted a midnight blue and the lush carpets
were Persian prints in many different colors. In the corner sat a small desk
and mirror; next to it was a large window with a walk-out balcony. On the other
side a large armoire in which to hang her dresses stood like a silent guardian.
Suddenly, she was surprised by a young man who entered, carrying her two
suitcases. She tipped him and then, as he was about to walk out the door, asked
him, “Do you know what room Mr. O’Hare is staying in, by chance?”
“Yes, ma’am, he’s in room 15.” A
shiver ran down Annette’s back and she closed the door. It was as if she were
reliving her stay here of a year ago. A sigh escaped her parted lips, ‘You
goose,’ she thought. ‘They said she died in a robbery; it was only a robber and
it was only Anita Vassilio.’ Anita—gorgeous, rich Anita.
‘George.’ Another thought ran through her mind, but she quickly squashed it.
George had loved Anita Vassilio, was going to marry her, not Annette.
An uneasy feeling followed her
thoughts, so she hurried to get dressed for dinner. She drew the curtains, took
a dress out of her suitcase, and slipped it on. Turning to the mirror and stand
in the right corner of the room, she rearranged her hair and applied some fresh
makeup. Dinner, as she remembered, was at
Annette hurried down the grand
staircase and was thrown into the world of dinner conversation. The room was
filled to its capacity; every table was occupied. She sighed and was about to
leave when she heard her name being called. “Ms. Vonn! Why, it is you!”
She turned as Travis O’Hare
hurried over, making a quick bow and kissing her hand. “What a pleasant
surprise,” Annette began.
“Tush, my dear, you knew I was
here; I saw you looking at the registrations.” He smiled, a disarming smile
that had quite the opposite affect on Ms. Vonn. “You must join me for dinner, come,
come!” She was about to protest, but he caught her by the arm and steered her
towards a table to their right.
“So, Mr. O’Hare, what are you
doing out here?” she asked as he seated her and then returned to his own spot.
“Call me Travis, doll, but to
answer your question—I just resolved to return and see if I couldn’t enjoy
myself for once.” He pulled out a cigarette and lit it.
Annette coughed several times,
apologized and then replied, “Really, I have business in Moscow, so I decided
to stay here again.” She rolled her eyes and wished he would douse his light.
“Is that so?” He stuck the
cigarette into the corner of his mouth and leaned forward. “What do you think
about the dates?”
“Dates?” asked Annette, feeling
quite unwell.
“You know, and don’t pretend.” He
was shrewd—too shrewd. “It’s April 7th, six days till April 13th.”
“April 13th?” She shuddered.
“Yes, you know exactly what I’m
talking about,” he replied.
“I guess so, but please,” she
turned two large, scared eyes on him. “Please…let’s not talk about it.”
“All right, darling.” He turned
his gaze to the menu. “I’ve got my dinner coming already, but you’ll have to
decide what you would like.”
She nodded and looked over the
list of options. “I think I’ll just have some clam chowder.”
“Oh, you must be hungry, get
something better,” he protested.
“No, thank you, I’m quite fine
with just a little bit of soup.” Annette was not in the least hungry, and her
hopes of having a nice quiet evening were dashed. Mr. O’Hare… Travis…
what-ever-his-name-was, he’d ruined it.
She waved over the waiter. He was
a tall, thin, nervous fellow who deftly moved in and out and around the tables,
managing not to knock against a single person. “A bowl of clam chowder,” she
said.
“Would you like bread or a salad
with that, madam?” he asked.
‘Why can’t they just give you the
soup? Why make all these confusing options? Ooh, my head hurts,’ she thought. Out loud, “I’d like a salad please.”
“Good choice, madam, it will be
with you in a moment.” He scurried away and was lost from sight.
Annette rubbed her temples as her
dinner partner continued to discuss the coincidence of their meeting. Suddenly
she started. “George McNeal?” she asked, realizing what Travis had just said.
“Yeah, he’s here—didn’t you see
his name on the registration list?” Travis asked.
“No, I must have missed it,” she
mumbled, but she was already lost in thought as Travis continued jabbering
away. ‘George, here. How could I have missed that?’ Suddenly she realized how
unsuitable her dress was for the evening and how her hair was a sight. “Excuse
me a moment, would you?” she asked Travis. “I’m going to run and grab
something.”
He frowned—probably knew what she
was up to… “Fine, dear, you just go ahead.”
She thanked him as he pulled back
her chair, and made her way to the powder room. Much to her dismay, however,
she was stopped halfway there. “Well, if it isn’t Ms. Annette Vonn.” George
McNeal stood to greet her. He was handsome and tall, his face tan and kind, his
voice slow and melodious.
“Mr. McNeal, how wonderful to see
you,” she replied genuinely. “Travis—I mean, Mr. O’Hare—just told me that you
were here.”
“Did he now?” George raised an
eyebrow. “Are you eating dinner with him?”
Annette realized how much she
hated Travis O’Hare. “Yes, I am,” she replied, dismayed.
“Oh, that is too bad,” George
smiled understandingly. “Tomorrow you must promise to join me.”
“Thank you, I shall.” She beamed a
smile of gratitude and happiness at him.
“Let me excuse myself, I must
return to my table.” He paused, then turned back. “It
was good to see you again, Annette—I’m just not sure that it was a good time.”
Annette smiled wanly. “I’m certain
we’ll figure out a way, George McNeal.”
“I’m sure,” George replied.
She left him and returned to her
table. Her headache had not gone and she squinted wearily. Dinner was yet to be
served and Travis’s was going to get cold. “Go ahead and eat without me,
Travis. I’m not feeling well.”
Travis stood, genuine concern
shining in his eyes. “You look positively dreadful; do you need help getting up
to your room?”
“No, no.” She waved away his hand and got up herself.
“I’ll be fine; thanks for the wonderful evening.”
“Really, doll, I don’t think you
should be going up the stairs alone—you might fall.” He seemed bound and
determined to remain with her.
“I can do it on my own, Mr. O’Hare.”
She got up and made her way out of the dining room. It seemed to spin and wave
about unsteadily. She groaned and looked for George. Maybe he could help her; he was a doctor, wasn’t
he? She saw him and swayed in his direction. By this time, people had begun to
notice her. She kept hearing, ‘Are you all right?’ and ‘Is she drunk?’ The
noise was beginning to be too much and George looked too far away. She drifted
to her knees, then suddenly fell over, unconscious.
~~
“Ms. Vonn?” A voice was
persistently calling her out of deep and dark sleep. “Ms. Vonn, can you hear
me?” She opened her eyes and looked up into the wrinkled yet kindly face of
Doctor Lennel, the hotel’s hired physician.
“Mmhmm,” Annette nodded, rubbing
her forehead and wondering what in the world was going on.
“You took quite a spill last
night, Ms. Vonn. Can you remember anything?” he asked, holding her hand
reassuringly.
“I don’t remember anything, Dr.
Lennel. I just remember having dinner with Tra-- Mr. O’Hare,” she replied,
thinking back over her evening slowly. She’d gone down to dinner and had met
Travis, then he’d been trying to tell her something, but she couldn’t remember
what.
“Do you remember feeling sick and
getting up?” Memories flooded back and Annette remembered falling and then
getting back up and then falling again, hitting a table edge.
“I think so, I was trying to get
to… George. I was thinking he was a doctor,” she mused, puzzled. He wasn’t a
doctor and she knew it, why had she imagined him to be so?
“Well, you’re not far off, dear.”
Another man entered the room.
“George!” she cried, rising out of
bed.
“Oh no, you lay right back down—no
games with you, young lady,” George insisted. “We can’t have you getting sick
again.”
Dr. Lennel added, “Of course we
can’t. Annette, don’t even think about it!”
“George, what did you mean about
you being a doctor? I always thought you were just a salesman.”
“Oh no, sweet, I was a surgeon in
the war a few years back,” he replied, amused.
“Well, that’s wonderful—two
doctors rather than just one.”
Dr. Lennel smiled. “I think we’ll
leave you now, dear. You need rest.”
Annette pretended to pout. “And
what do you say, Dr. McNeal?”
“I prescribe, sleep, sleep and more
sleep!” He chucked her under the chin and walked out. “Love you, Annette.”
She gazed up in shock. “I…I…I love
you too, George.”
~~
That night George sat alone at his
table, brooding. Every once in awhile he would take a sip of his wine, then
return to his immovable thinking position. Was he truly in love with Annette
Vonn or was he just trying to replace Anita all over again? It was downright
odd that all of them were there this week… Everyone except
Anita.
His thoughts continued to ramble
on in such a manner, but in another part of the hotel Jason O’Hare was pacing
up and down in his room. “Someone must have slipped something into Annette’s
champagne. I’m sure it isn’t just a coincidence; someone is trying to murder
her.”
Annette was sleeping, dreaming,
trying to escape someone who was chasing her. Sweat clung to her brow and Dr.
Lennel leaned over her, concern written across his face.
Someone was chasing her, running
quickly as she fled for the door. It was a man, tall and dark, cloaked and masked.
She couldn’t recognize him, couldn’t stop him. Falling… darkness… She opened
her eyes again and looked up. She’d fallen off the catwalk that ran around the
stage. Her producer was falling towards her. Suddenly he landed on her and she
screamed as blood poured all over her dress and legs. A knife was stuck into
his chest, deep, deep. Then all of the sudden the man changed into a woman who
was wearing a beautiful dark red dress. She looked closer and couldn’t stop
screaming in fear; it was Anita.
The man was there, climbing down
the ladder towards her. He was at the bottom and he pulled her up, holding out
a goblet with a dark ominous liquid in it. She resisted, but he forced her to
tip her glass up and drink it; she choked and gasped. He removed the mask and
she tried to see who it was before she fell, but her vision was getting too
hazy…
She awoke.
For the last four nights she had
been having this same nightmare, each time awaking just before she could
discover who the murderer was.
~2~
George carried her down the
stairs, but she protested. “But madam, this is a celebration of your birthday—it’s
the 12th!” he said in a mock gentlemanly voice.
“George, you evil man, I’m a
sight. I don’t even have my clothes on!” she wailed, hitting him playfully.
“You look gorgeous, doll; the bathrobe
look is just you.” Travis appeared at the bottom of the stairs, holding aloft a
goblet of champagne.
“Oh, so it’s the both of you in on
this ridiculous plan?” Annette inwardly shrank away from the idea of the
champagne, but smiled graciously and accepted the goblet.
“I too,
Ms. Vonn.” Dr. Lennel appeared; he, too, sported a glass of the bubbly
drink.
“I think I ought to have the hotel
fire you for taking advantage of a poor girl’s birthday sickness.” She laughed,
leaning out of George’s arms to give him a fond kiss. “Hello, Dr. Lennel.”
“Hello, m’dear. You look much better today,” he replied.
“Oh, let’s not speak of sickness
just for today,” Travis interjected passionately. “We must make Annette enjoy
herself.”
“Yes, let’s,” George agreed,
carrying Annette into a private lounge to the side and setting her in a chair
at the head of a table set for four.
“This looks wonderful, boys—you
are all such dears.” She smiled; for
the first time she was able to forget her dream and be happy.
Dr. Lennel, who sat to her right,
gazed at her in an odd fashion. This was the first time he had seen her smile
since the day after her dreams began. She was such a scared girl, terrified
that she would be murdered like that Hispanic girl the year before. She seemed
to think that she would discover who the murderer was through her dream, but he
couldn’t be sure. Perhaps tonight she would learn the truth.
George lovingly held Annette’s
left hand and stroked the ring that was set on her finger. He had proposed
yesterday, taking his now-fiancé quite by surprise, he was sure. At least now
Travis was quiet and left her well enough alone. George lifted his glass. “To Annette. May she live long and with great happiness.”
Annette blushed, but then her eyes
went suddenly blank. She was reliving her dream again. It was so kind of George
to propose to her, but she wished he hadn’t. Now it would just break his heart
if she died tomorrow. She’d gotten used to the idea; she was so sure. Hadn’t
Anita died soon after announcing her marriage to George? It was as if a curse
hung over George McNeal.
Jason couldn’t believe it. George
had the gall to marry Annette before murdering her. She hadn’t a chance now—she
was head over heels in love with the buzzard. He shrugged; it was no longer his
problem—he’d told the police, but they’d ignored him.
The dinner passed quite
uneventfully and Annette was taken back up to her room, George carrying her and
wearing a triumphant smile. “You know, sweet? We should just marry you in that
beautiful robe!”
“Why, George, dear, you wouldn’t!”
She returned his kiss and lay back in bed.
“I would—in fact I think I’ll call the minister now,” he laughed
gaily.
“You goose, I think you’ve had far
too much champagne and bubbles,” Annette replied, laughing hysterically as he
continued to kiss her lightly on the arm.
“Nonsense, I’m just too happy for
one man. I’ve no right to marry the most beautiful woman in the world.” He
sighed and murmured, “I’d guess I’d better get to bed. Goodnight,
dear.” He left and turned off the light.
Annette leaned back in bed and
tried to sleep, but every noise caused her to jump and stir. Tonight was
certainly going to be a long night. Slowly her eyes began to close and she
entered a deep sleep.
Someone was chasing her, running
quickly as she fled for the door. It was a man, tall and dark, cloaked and masked.
She couldn’t recognize him, couldn’t stop him. Falling… darkness… She opened
her eyes again and looked up. She’d fallen off the catwalk that ran around the
stage. Her producer was falling towards her. Suddenly he landed on her and she
screamed as blood poured all over her dress and legs. A knife was stuck into
his chest, deep, deep. Then all of the sudden the man changed into a woman who
was wearing a beautiful dark red dress. She looked closer and couldn’t stop
screaming in fear; it was Anita.
The man was there, climbing down
the ladder towards her. He was at the bottom and he pulled her up, holding out
a goblet with a dark ominous liquid in it. She resisted, but he forced her to
tip her glass up and drink it; she choked and gasped. He removed the mask and
as she fell she caught a glimpse of his face. George!
~~
“Well, she’s dead, all right,”
Chief Inspector Farson spoke with disgust. It was far from a pretty sight; the
girl had been stabbed after being cut all over her face. Her hair was matted
with now-dried blood and her white silk robe that she’d apparently worn to bed
was stained brown. Her eyes were open, staring blankly towards the
ceiling.
“What about that George McNeal
fellow?” asked his partner, Allenson. “That Jason O’Hare chap seemed to suspect
him of the act, but we never paid attention.”
“No, I don’t think so; Mr. McNeal
is not the murder type… I guess it wouldn’t hurt to look into it, though,”
replied Farson. He wandered over to the man who sat bleakly in a chair outside
of Annette’s room. George rocked back
and forth, biting his lips and wringing his hands. “Mr. McNeal? We’d like to
ask you some questions—can you talk for a second?” The other continued to rock
himself back and forth, staring off into nothingness.
“Doesn’t look good for him,
Allenson,” Farson said, taking a sip of his coffee. “Drat it, this has gone
cold.”
“Chief Inspector, look at this.” Another
assistant handed Farson a piece of paper. Unfolding it, Farson read the short
but revealing note aloud.
Dearest
George,
I’m so
sorry it had to end this way, but I’ve no other choice. After killing Anita I
was ever haunted by her image and yours. When you proposed, I knew I’d finally
won and it was the end. Now you may live peacefully, happy forever without me.
Your love,
Annette
Vonn
“The handwriting and signature
checks out with Ms. Vonn’s from the registration desk,” the assistant added.
“Well, she sure was desperate,
wasn’t she,” Farson sighed. “Better tell the McNeal fellow.”
Allenson appeared. “Sir, we’ve got
trouble.”
“What now?” Farson asked, tired
and ready to get this whole deal over with.
“He’s dead. George McNeal just
killed himself,” Allenson replied, shaking.
“Another
loony. Well, so much for
happy.” Farson crumpled up the note and threw it. “Drat it, we should have
known he’d go and do that.”
“Shall I inform their families?”
Allenson asked.
“Yeah, sure, you do that,” Farson
replied. He glanced towards the window. “It’s
raining outside—what a horrible day for murder!”
THE END