Jonathan looked at his wife, knowing exactly what she was thinking. He waited for her to speak. "So this is Gloria Cromwell," she said, taking the photograph over to the light of the desk lamp to examine it more closely. "And someone in this hotel wants us to know it." Jennifer looked squarely at Jonathan. "Darling, I know you only wanted to stay in New Hampshire for a few more days, but I need to stay longer. I think there's a story here about Gloria's murder, and I want to find out more. Would you be terribly disappointed if I stayed longer to investigate?" "I had a feeling you would want to do that," he said smiling at her. "Tell you what. I'll stay until the end of the week. I want to see how Carol is doing, and then I'll need to get back to L.A." Jonathan leaned over his wife and kissed the top of her head, as he peered down at the woman in the photograph. "She's a striking lady, isn't she?" he offered. "Yes. It's hard to imagine that she was murdered not long after this picture was taken," Jennifer said, shaking her head. "Let's see," she thought aloud, "what do we know about Gloria Cromwell so far?" "Well," Jonathan chimed in, "we know that she was murdered fifty-four years ago and that's all. We don't even know if the items we found belonged to her." Jennifer's eyes left Jonathan's and scanned the photo again, a little upset that he was not sold on the possibility that the letter-opener and ring belonged to Gloria…and the sonnet too, for that matter. She bit her lip. "Jonathan, I'm sure that those items belonged to her. Who else's could they be?"
Jennifer said, letting her anger surface. Jonathan sat on the edge of the bed next to her, eye to eye, knowing full well that Jennifer's intuition was usually dead on. Still, he could not allow himself to be led down the slippery slope of emotion. Of this he was sure: his logic often balanced Jennifer's heartfelt inquisitiveness. He would keep her focused on the facts, no matter how inflamed she might get. "Darling," he cautioned, "for all we know, those items belonged to just about anyone. We never even got the chance to have them appraised. They may not have been antiques." "But even Katherine thought they were! She was going to place them in her display with the other period pieces!" Jennifer exclaimed, feeling the heat in her cheeks. "Katherine would put anything in her display case, if it looked antique. She's trying to create an image at the hotel. It doesn't really matter to her if they actually are antiques or not!" Jonathan countered. Jennifer fumed. "Well, we do know that those items were stolen, probably from someone who works at this hotel…and we also know that someone in this hotel knew Gloria Cromwell - enough to have her picture! I'm going to prove that those items belonged to her!" Jonathan leaned in to kiss her reluctant lips. "I knew you would," he said, grinning. Jennifer looked at him, speechless, the color in her cheeks still vibrant. Jonathan took her face in his hands and kissed her again, her lips beginning to relent. She straightened herself in her chair, trying to regain her stance. "Truce?" he said, offering his most dashing smile. She glanced at him fleetingly, knowing that she would succumb to his charm if she allowed herself to look into his earnest, blue eyes. He waited. Jennifer sighed. "Truce." Jonathan began to nuzzle her ear, whispering softly, "I've never doubted for a minute that you wouldn't get to the bottom of this. I predict," he said, sucking her earlobe playfully, "that you will end up writing the…," he continued nibbling, "… most …intriguing news story…this town has ever read." The mixture of Jonathan's encouraging words and moist breath against her neck made Jennifer's body yearn for him. "You know," he continued, "I've been thinking all day about how good you look in these jeans…and about how good you look out of them too." Jennifer moaned softly. "Well, I was just about to take a nice, hot bath. Would you care to join me?" "Would I," he answered, excited at the possibility.
Jonathan had a bottle of wine delivered to the room, as Jennifer ran the bath. She casually swept her hair off her shoulders into a clip, and then slipped into the warm, sudsy water. Her entire body relaxed. It was the most relaxed she had felt since arriving at the Wallingford. Jonathan entered the room, gracefully balancing the wine bottle and two glasses in his arms, and closing the door behind him with his foot. He poured out the wine and slipped off his robe.
"For you, my dear," he said, offering her a glass and submerging himself at the opposite end of the tub. "I'm glad they made these old-fashioned tubs extra big."
Jennifer's face was already flushed from the hot water, and the sip of wine helped her muscles relax even further. "Ah, isn't this wonderful?" she sighed.
Jonathan set his glass down and reached for her feet, which were resting at his sides. He began massaging each toe in circular motions and then moved toward the arches.
Jennifer closed her eyes, enjoying the release of tension that she had carried around with her all day. His strong hands worked their way up to her calves, kneading and pulling her tired muscles. As his hands approached the tenderness behind her knees, she felt a familiar tingle travel up her thighs and between her legs. She groaned appreciatively. Jonathan, knowing every inch of his beautiful wife, delicately stroked the back of her knees, gaining on her thighs with each sweeping motion. Reflexively, Jennifer spread her legs further.
Jennifer's breath began to quicken, as Jonathan wrapped his arms around her thighs and pulled her towards him. The foamy water lapped at Jennifer's back as her breasts met his chest. Jonathan's hands grasped her buttocks and began massaging.
Jennifer closed her eyes, nestling her pelvis onto his lap. She could feel Jonathan's hardness against her buttocks. While he caressed her behind and lower back, Jennifer stroked his shoulders and began kissing his neck, rubbing her cheek against the musky perspiration.
Jonathan scooped up handfuls of soapsuds and delicately placed them on her breasts. She leaned back and watched, as Jonathan tenderly massaged the suds over her slippery chest, playfully tugging on her nipples until they swelled with desire. Jennifer felt a throbbing between her legs and began moving her hips rhythmically against his torso.
"Jennifer," he groaned, wanting to turn her on her back and make love to her, but because of the water and confines of the tub, was restricted to his current position. Finally, Jennifer lifted herself just enough so that she could slide down onto his erection, giving him some of the pleasure he was craving. Hungrily, Jonathan cupped the back of her neck with his hand and pulled her mouth onto his. Her lips were warm and relaxed, and he eagerly probed his tongue into her mouth. Jennifer pulled back to catch her breath.
Jonathan slid his hands back onto her buttocks, tracing his fingers between her cheeks and finding the place where their bodies merged. The warmth of the bath water, the alcohol in her bloodstream, and the feeling of Jonathan inside of her, brought Jennifer to a level of euphoria she did not often achieve. She quickened her pace, rocking back and forth in the same fashion as she rode her horses. Closing her eyes, she felt the sensation of the wind in her hair, the feeling of being propelled forward, of flying over the landscape.
Jonathan watched her expression as he held her hips, aiding her quest to reach higher and higher. He felt a part of her, as if the two of them were a singular form. She threw her head back, enjoying it immensely, but vaguely aware of Jonathan's mounting frustration.
While this old-fashioned tub was a wonderful vehicle for her, it was a harness for him.
As Jennifer continued riding, she had a growing awareness of nearing her destination and the excitement surged through her. Sensing her approach, Jonathan intuitively brought his hands down between her legs and stroked her in just the right place.
His touch midwifed her into an orgasm, her body shuddering at the conclusion of her breath-taking ride. Jonathan continued caressing her back and kissing her shoulders, maintaining his erection while Jennifer's pulse rate returned to normal.
Gradually, she came to focus on Jonathan's face.
"You're back," he said, smiling, his blue eyes twinkling.
Jennifer laughed and kissed him gently. "Yes…that was some ride."
"Do you think we can get out of the tub now? My toes are shriveled," he said.
"Yes…your toes may be, but something else isn't," Jennifer whispered into his ear.
They both got out of the tub and grabbed for their robes hanging on the back of the door. Jonathan took Jennifer's hand and led her toward the bed, eager to resume where they had left off. He dropped his robe and slid hers off her shoulders. Lowering her onto the bed, he looked down at her lovely nakedness. The chill in the room made her nipples hard, so he covered himself over her like a blanket. Knowing exactly what he wanted, Jonathan spread Jennifer's legs apart and navigated himself deeply inside. He began moaning, as he enjoyed the swollen tightness of her vagina. He thrust himself over and over again, gaining momentum. Jennifer held onto his shoulders that were damp from perspiration. She felt his body buck forward as he cried out, finally releasing the energy that he had held onto for the past hour.
"I hope Joe Fernald is still working tonight," Jennifer said, changing into a lilac lambswool sweater and navy blue slacks. "I think he may be able to provide us with some details about Gloria."
Jonathan finished combing his hair. "Yes. It'll be a good starting point anyhow...Let's drive over to the hospital after dinner and see how George is doing. Marjorie Wallace says that Carol is still in critical condition, but it's still too early to tell."
Jennifer frowned. "Do you think she's going to be all right? Maybe we shouldn't go hiking tomorrow. Carol's condition may change. George might need us."
Jonathan thought for a moment. "Well, it could be days before we know anything, so there's no reason to sit around the hotel. We can bring the cell phone with us, in case George needs to reach us. Besides, we'll probably only be gone for a few hours. Katherine said the trail is close by."
Jennifer nodded. It will be good to get some exercise and fresh air tomorrow after the huge meals they have been eating at the Wallingford, she thought.
"Hello, Mrs. Hart!" the bell boy gushed upon seeing Jennifer approach the front desk. "Is there anything I can get for you?" Jonathan poked her in the back.
"Yes," Jennifer said, smiling at the lovestruck young man. "I was wondering if Joe Fernald might still be here."
"Oh yes, Mrs. Hart," he laughed. "Mr. Fernald actually lives here. Would you like me to get him for you?"
"Thank you. I would appreciate that," she said, as he tripped on the rug coming around the front desk. His clumsiness reminded her of Stanley Friesen.
"I need to talk to you about these May-December romances," Jonathan whispered jokingly into her ear. She gave him a scolding look. "He's very sweet," she said, smirking, "you're just jealous."
Several minutes later, a slight, elderly gentleman came walking down the front hallway. He was wearing a jacket, bow tie, and suspenders, and was patting down his remaining hair as he approached the Harts. Joe Fernald always wore a suitcoat while he was working, despite the fact that he very rarely had any personal contact with the hotel patrons. He was a little nervous about being called upon by the Harts. He had heard about Jonathan Hart and his vast fortune, and he was always wary of wealthy people. He had seen how money can make men greedy.
Jonathan noticed Joe Fernald's uneasiness and quickly offered a friendly handshake. "Mr. Fernald, I'm Jonathan Hart and this is my wife, Jennifer." Jennifer smiled.
She liked him instantly, seeing her father in Joe's demeanor. "We had some questions about the history of the Wallingford Hotel, and we understand that you have been working here for quite some time. We wondered if you would care to join us for dinner."
Joe was surprised by the invitation. "Well, thank you for asking, Mr. Hart, but I'm afraid I'm still on duty and I don't think that would look right."
"I understand," Jonathan said, seeing the disappointment on his wife's face, "but, this is official hotel business, and Ms. Belleveau did approve of our spending some time with you...We would be honored if you would have dinner with us." Jennifer waited anxiously for his response.
"Well," he replied, still unsure, "I suppose if Ms. Belleveau said so."
Katherine was preparing to leave the hotel and head for home, when the phone rang.
"Ms. Belleveau, everything is all set for tomorrow - just as you requested," Cal spoke, as if reporting to a commanding officer.
"Very good. Do you have the maps and the backpacks ready?" she asked, knowing that Cal would not have forgotten any detail. Still, she wanted to make sure that tomorrow's hike with the Harts went just as she had planned.
"Exactly as you requested," he answered firmly.
"Good…very good."
The Harts and Joe Fernald sat down at a quiet, corner table in the grand dining hall. Jonathan ordered a bottle of wine and let Jennifer begin her questioning. Joe felt oddly unsettled sitting with the Harts, as the hotel staff waited on him. He could tell by their looks that they were as perplexed as he was. Joe smiled at Mrs. Hart, who was watching him intently.
"Mr. Fernald," Jennifer spoke, measuring her words carefully. She did not want him to think that she was some kind of lunatic, fascinated with an old murder-mystery.
"We wondered if you could tell us more about the Wallingford, particularly what it was like in its earlier days."
Joe cleared his throat. "Well, I started working here in 1938 as a bell boy. It was a splendid hotel then and still is. Of course, back then, we attracted international attention, hosting the parties of the rich and famous. Now, we compete with the chain hotels and their modern amenities. The Wallingford is a bit of a dying breed," he said, sadly.
"Yes…but it is a grand hotel and offers an atmosphere that most hotels can't," she offered, noting Joe's pessimism. He smiled appreciatively at her.
"I understand that Gloria Cromwell stayed here in the 1940's. We were told about her murder. Do you remember her?" Jennifer asked quietly, unable to wait for the conversation to come around to the topic.
Joe Fernald looked at Jennifer and then Jonathan, unsure of how to answer. He brought his hand to his head in a nervous gesture, making sure his hair was still in place.
"Yes, I do remember her. I believe they ruled her death a suicide though…very sad. She was a lovely lady - not just beautiful on the outside, but on the inside too," he said, his voice trailing off, remembering another time and place. Jennifer raised her questioning eyebrows at Jonathan.
"Suicide? Hmm, that's interesting. We were told that she was stabbed to death and found in the woods nearby," Jennifer said.
Jonathan and Jennifer both noticed his shaking hands, as Joe reached for his wineglass. "Oh, don't mind me," Joe said, noticing that they were watching him. "I'm afraid that I have Parkinson's disease…it's a terrible tremor. I have medication to help control it." The Harts nodded understandingly. "About Miss Cromwell," he continued, "the coroner did rule it a suicide at the time, although very few of us actually believed it. Miss Cromwell would never have taken her own life. She was too consumed with living to think about dying. We were all so shocked when we heard the news."
"Do you think there was a cover up, Mr. Fernald?" Jennifer asked pointedly.
"I don't know about that. It may have just been incompetence, if you ask me. The coroner wasn't a medical expert or anything …," Joe paused. "Back then, the coroner was an elected official, no different than you or me. He didn't have a medical degree like the medical examiners have today."
The waiter came to the table to take their orders. Jonathan had to interrupt his wife who was so engrossed in Joe's account of Gloria Cromwell's death. He took the liberty of ordering for her. Joe ordered his favorite: creamed salmon, quite a departure from his usual soup and sandwich dinner.
"Was there anyone that would have had a motive to kill her?" Jennifer asked.
"Miss Cromwell? Oh no. She was pleasant to everyone - never gave anyone a hard time. Had lots of money too. There were a lot of men who wanted to court her, but she kept to herself mostly."
"What else can you tell me about her?" Jennifer asked, wanting to know more about the mysterious Gloria Cromwell.
Joe sat thoughtfully for a moment, collecting his thoughts. He had not thought about Gloria Cromwell for a very long time, and yet, in some peculiar way, it felt to him as if 1944 were just yesterday. "She spent her time reading and writing poetry, as I recall. In fact, she would spend hours in the hotel library. The owner, Lowell Cabot, would order books especially for her summer visits."
"This Lowell Cabot…someone mentioned to me that he was possibly involved with Miss Cromwell," Jennifer tested.
"Mr. Cabot?" Joe laughed, "Lowell was a very happily married man. He and Lydia were the toast of the town. They went everywhere together…hand in hand. Yes, they were very much in love. Lowell admired Miss Cromwell for her contributions to the area, but he wasn't having a romance with her."
"Her contributions to the area? You mean her money?" Jennifer asked, fascinated by Joe Fernald's recollections.
"Well, that too. I meant her work to preserve the natural resources in the area. She was a real conservationist, which was virtually unheard of in those days. She was very concerned about the environment."
Their dinners arrived, and Jonathan took the opportunity to lighten the conversation. He could see that Joe Fernald could use a respite. "Mr. Fernald, do you live here at the hotel?" he asked gingerly.
"Yes, I have a small efficiency in back of the hotel. It used to be a private room for Mr. Cabot actually, but Ms. Belleveau renovated it and offered it to me when my wife died," Joe said.
"Do you like working for Ms. Belleveau?" Jonathan asked.
"Oh yes. She's been awfully good to me. After my wife Eleanor died, I was lost. You know, I didn't even know how to cook a meal or do my laundry…sounds funny in this day and age, but Eleanor took care of me. When I came home from work, she always had dinner waiting for me," Joe paused, his eyes becoming moist. "Ms. Belleveau set the room up for me and gave me a small stipend for meals. This hotel is all I have now."
Jonathan smiled. He liked the fact that Katherine Belleveau took care of her employees. They finished their meals, and Joe looked at his watch. "I'm terribly sorry, but I have to check in with my staff. We're changing shift now and we have to review the assignments for the evening," he said. "Thank you so much for the dinner and the company," he added.
Jonathan stood to shake his hand. "It was our honor."
"Mr. Fernald, before you leave," Jennifer said, pulling the photo from her purse, "do you recognize this picture?" Joe took out his bifocals to examine it more closely.
Jennifer noticed his face change expression.
"This is Miss Cromwell all right," he said, shaking his head. "She sure was a beautiful lady."
"Do you know who the man is in the picture?" Jennifer asked.
Joe cocked his head to the side. There was something familiar about the man, but he couldn't put his finger on it. "I can't say that I do. He was dressed like most men of that time."
"Is there anyone else at the hotel who might remember Gloria Cromwell?" Jennifer asked.
Joe scratched his head. "Yes, I suppose you could talk to Derby or Charles. They work in the kitchen. Don't know about Derby's memory these days though - getting a little absent-minded, if you know what I mean."
Jennifer smiled and thanked him. "Well, what do you think?" Jonathan asked her, as they watched Joe saunter out of the dining room.
"I think we've only scratched the surface," she said.
