Murder at the Wolds Hotel

I wrote this story because I love a good mystery and especially like to solve one.

• Mystery

								
	Through the window, Jenny watched the busy streets of London. Work hours had just ended, and the sun had begun to drop down and pour into the sky an amalgam of orange and pink. Threatening to ruin the mood, however, were dark clouds that seemed to loom over from behind, ominously. Trucks and cars lined the streets, while men and women dressed in dark suits hurried on the sidewalks towards their houses, hoping to avoid the rain that was sure to fall from the clouds that took over.
	Jenny looked back at her room. She was sitting by the large and peculiar green windows that didn’t seem to fit in with the rest of the room, which she had noticed for a very long time. The rest of the room had blue wallpaper with birds and plants on them, a large canopy bed covered by red curtains, a small bench towards the end of the bed, two mother of pearl lamps on either side of the bed, resting on wooden bedside tables, and a granite table at the end of the room. Just next to her was an antique desk and two chairs on either side of the desk. Although she was poor, her house was well-kept, and she could just barely pay for it each month.
	A faint rapping on the heavy walnut door beneath Jenny’s floor disturbed her reverie. She had been thinking about her parents.
	Jenny heard the rapping again. She threw open the door to her room and revealed a long Victorian hallway.
	She didn’t often receive visitors, nor did she want to. Yet when she reached the bottom of the stairs, she wasn’t surprised as ever to see a young man in his 30s standing in the doorway.  He had deep ice-blue eyes and golden blond hair. He was wearing a well-tailored black suit. She knew this man from somewhere, but just couldn’t put her finger on it.  She decided, however, to be polite and figured it would come to her.
	He knocked on the door again. He wasn’t a mailman, although Jenny hardly had mailmen at her house. He looked like he was dressed for a funeral. 
	She unlatched the heavy door, and the cold air rushed into the building, stinging her arms. 
	“Come in. It’s freezing.” Jenny said.
	The man thanked her with a smile and removed his black hat, then sat down in the antique chair in the room. The fireplace crackled from the hearth in front of him, and the smoke hung heavily in the air, intertwining with the cold. 
Jenny looked at him again and it came to her. She had met him on the train one day after he had just moved to town. She had told him about her history and how she longed to find her real parents who gave her up for adoption as a baby. She gazed out the window and looked back at him. An old grandfather clock ticked. 
“Robert,” she said.
“Yes?” He replied.
“I remember you now. We met on the train. I couldn’t put my finger on who you were.”
	“I’m sorry for coming here after dawn, but I believe I can help you with something, pertaining to your parents.” 
	Jenny’s concentration deepened, and she sat down in the chair beside him. 
“Have you found them?” She asked.
He gazed above the fireplace at the taxidermy of a large deer. “No. I’m sorry.”
Jenny’s eyes widened when she discovered what he meant. Her voice quivered when she asked, “Are they dead?”
“No. I met an historian named Mr. Easton Fuller.  He told me that they are alive and have amassed an extremely large fortune. However, he didn’t have enough time for me at that moment.”
Jenny smiled, “Then why are you sorry? And when can we meet them?”
“Mr. Easton Fuller comes to the annual ball at the Wolds Hotel. He knows where your parents live. He is a very busy man and always moving around. This is the one chance for you to see him. But… it’s just a chance. I haven’t found him, and this is the only opportunity. I took the liberty of booking a room for you but it could still be canceled.”
“Will you be there at the hotel as well?”
	“Of course. And your sister is coming too.”
Jenny’s brow furrowed. She looked back at him. “I never told you I had a sister.”
He chuckled and looked down at his feet. “I met her one day. Why didn’t you mention her on the train?”
Jenny bit her lip, “I hate Emma.” 
“I’m sorry.” Robert said again. His hand was resting on the armrest of her chair. He peered at the pocket of her trench coat. 
“It’s fine. I guess she’ll want to know.”
He nodded and continued to stare at the trench coat pocket. “I guess it’s time for me to go. I’ll see you there?”
She nodded and as he stood up from his chair, his hand brushed the pocket of her trench coat and lifted out ten pounds which he slid under the sleeve of his suit jacket.
He left soon after. 
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Jenny sat quietly in the room and studied the dying fire carefully. The dwindling flames seemed to portray distorted images that were reminiscent of her father’s faces. Her only memory of her parents was of her father sitting in a study, reading a book. Her father’s image was blurry in the memory, but she could make out part of him: he had grayish eyes the color of a nail, and a thin face. His blond hair was sparse and combed backwards, and he was very tall. That was it; she had no recollection of her mother or what their house looked like. 
Jenny remembered being sent to an orphanage by a rather strange looking man, his face plump like a pumpkin, with large cheeks, a stubby nose, and short brown hair. He wore a silver monocle, and had a pocket watch in his right pocket. 
A few years later when Emma was adopted by another family and did not fight for Jenny to come with her, Jenny pictured herself screaming. She imagined what it would be like to see her sister again, and pictured a warm welcome but reality set in as she knew her sister would be bitterly disappointed. 
The cold night grew on and the wind howled from outside. Jenny rushed upstairs and began packing. 
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The following day, Jenny awoke and clenched her hands into fists, rolling them over her eyes, which had dark creases under them. She was exhausted. She shook her head, trying to wake herself up slightly more. Then she slipped out of her bed and grabbed her suitcase, changed into a blue dress, then rushed out the door. She entered her car.
Occasionally, Jenny stared out the window to the side of her for brief moments of time. She could see the imposing buildings towering over her. She could see the London Eye, its quixotic feeling and grand size. Across the River Thames she could see Buckingham Palace in its elegance and prestigious looks. As the car drove further and further away, the dazzling city she had known and loved had begun to turn into rolling hills in the countryside. 
The buildings appeared less and less, until the scenery stopped changing. Everything looked the same. Jenny groaned; the car ride seemed interminable. Ironically, she arrived soon after. 
	Standing before her she could see a grandeur building with alluring Dutch architecture. The center was a large bay of faded gray bricks, that outspread into two large wings on either side, and a gothic bell tower, topped off with a domed roof and a spire jutting out, that rested atop the center of the building. The inside, (which she saw through one open door), was picturesque- lavishly decorated with sweeping staircases covered in a gold-lined red carpet, elegant, draping chandeliers, and well maintained botany. 

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