The Case of the Diabolical Dinner
As the tall, gaunt man played on his violin, his eyes closed as he listened to the music he was playing, while rain pounded on the windows along with sudden gusts of wind. It was during this time when a sudden gust of wind came up, making the noise of Inspector Lastrade knocking on the door seem quite small indeed. After the gust, a very irritated knock on the door sounded through our dimly-lit living room, making me jump up a little from my easy-chair and start to the door. Inspector Lastrade quickly jumped inside to avoid being in the rain any longer, his coat dripping water onto the rug while he calmly folded his umbrella. I took it, set it aside and put his coat up on the rack.
"YesŠ thank you, Dr. Watson."
"No problem at all," I replied, leading him into the living room where the sounds of the violin had vanished moments before. "Blasted weather. It's a wonder at all how you could brave your way over here. Holmes and I were just enjoying a minute of rest in here - "
"Good evening, Inspector Lastrade," Holmes said. "Is there any trouble?"
"Ah, Sherlock Homes. Yes, there has been a bit of trouble. A lady has been murdered right inside of her own home. Can't say exactly what killed her yet. I've let no one leave her house. She had invited some of her relatives over about two days ago to visit her. You can meet them personally when you come over to her house."
"What is the poor lady's name?" asked Sherlock.
"Mrs. Elmira Bentley," replied Lastrade quickly.
"Is she not the owner of that jewelry store just a couple blocks away?" I said. "What is it now, ahŠ"
"Bentley's Fine Jewelry," Lastrade finished. "Yes, and a rather profitable business as well. It has been in the family for nearly 25 years."
"Can I safely assume that Mrs. Bentley has made a will naming one of her relatives to be the heir to the store?" questioned Holmes.
"Yes, indeed so," replied Lastrade. "She has named her dear neice, Emily Farnsworth, to carry on the store. But, as a compassionate and wealthy woman that sheŠ was," stumbled the inspector, "she also would give a good deal of land to her son down south a ways, quite a nice bit of money to her nephew, and one of the most prized jewels in the country to her daughter."
"So, do you think that one of her relatives killed her?" I asked smartly over a cup of hot tea.
"Quite possibly," replied Holmes. "But I think we best be on our way over to Mrs. Bentley's house."
We arrived at her house and, shielding our faces from the constant rain, proceeded to knock on Mrs. Bentley's door. A maid appeared there and ushered us in after Lastrade showed his badge. She led Homes and I to where poor Mrs. Bentley was lying on the floor in her bedroom. In her room was a quite lovely bed and an adjoining bathroom.
"When did she die?" I queried.
"About 7:15 this morning," replied Lastrade. "The maid brought up her food and vitamins for the day. Mrs. Bentley ate from around 6:30 to 6:45 and came downstairs to get something. She returned to her bedroom and was found lying on the floor by the maid. No one else except for Mrs. Bentley's son was awake."
"Interesting," remarked Homes slowly. "Well, I shall like to meet this son of her's. What is the young man's name?"
"Tom Brookfield," said Lastrade while the maid led us to him.
Tom was found in a room with all the other relatives, all of them looking disheveled. Their heads hung low except for Tom, who looked Homes straight in the eye.
"What were you doing this morning when no one else was up?" said Holmes.
"Nothing, really," began Tom slowly, "I was helping the maid cook some food for my mother."
"Was there anything unusual about the food this morning?"
"No sir," the maid spoke up. "It was the usual for Mrs. Bentley: eggs, bacon, some hash browns, some slices of watermelon, grape juice, and some tea."
"Did she eat all of her food?" asked Holmes.
"No, sir," replied the maid. "She didn't eat the watermelon and didn't have her tea. Everything else was eaten up by her."
"And what did Mrs. Bentley come downstairs for?"
This time it was Tom who answered. "The maid had forgotten to bring up her vitamins. My mother came down to get them."
"Did she seem upset when she came down?" further questioned Holmes.
"No, sir. She was as right as a daisy."
Holmes's brow furrowed. "Very well. Thank you for your time."
As we walked out of the room, Holmes was deep in thought. "Inspector," he began, "what exactly did the report say she died of?"
"We just got it &endash; ah, let me see, ahŠ food poisoning."
"Food poisoning!" I cried. "But that would mean that either the maid or the son did it."
"More likely the son," spoke Lastrade. "The maid didn't have anything to gain from killing her."
"We'll find out soon enough. But first," said Holmes, "let's go to the gardening shed."
"Why's that," I cried.
"Because we'll find arsenic in there," Holmes replied.
We went to the shed to find that the arsenic bottle was opened and its cap was lying on one of the shelves. We returned to the house where Sherlock put into action his plan which neither I nor Lastrade knew about.
"After searching the shed containing an open arsenic bottle," began Holmes to all of the relatives and the maid, "we found a long piece of red hair underneath the bottle."
All eyes turned to the maid at this statement, who hung her head down, letting her red hair shower over her head.
"I'm sorry," she started. "But it wasn't me. Shirley Hamill, my master's daughter, made me do it."
"Why is that?" I asked.
"I have been taking some of Mrs. Bentley's money for some time in order to help my brother stay off the streets. Shirley told me that if I did not kill her, she would tell my master what I have been doing. I do not have much education and would be stranded on the streets if I did not have this job. I had no choice," she was sobbing uncontrollably.
"Take her away and Ms. Hamill," Lastrade ordered his men.
Sherlock was playing his violin again when we got back. I sat down to read the newspaper with the death report of Mrs. Bentley on page 2. I leaned back in my easy-chair just waiting for the next knock to come.