Mystery at Milhouse Mansion

Milhouse Mansion had all the makings of a horror story brought to life. Built of all brick without a welcoming porch to keep its visitors dry, it was surrounded by an old, rusty wrought iron fence whose gate creaked like a banshee’s shriek. Winter bare trees with branches like an old lady’s fingers reaching out from some child’s nightmare swayed in the icy wind. Sleet pelted down on my hat and trench coat as lightning flashed and thunder rumbled. Normally I would not venture out on such a night, but I received a phone call from Mrs. Elanore Milhouse stating that my services were required at once.

Upon arriving, the lady of the manor was eagerly awaiting my arrival and hurried me out of the horrendous weather. She personally took my hat and coat, the butler being excused from his services due to the secrecy of our meeting, and she guided me to her husband’s library. Her husband, Senator Ronald Milhouse, was busy entertaining his guests for the dinner he was hosting to raise money for his re-election campaign. A conversation had been overheard that there was to be an attempt on the senator’s life, an assassination. Mrs. Milhouse remembered my name, Inspector Delmore Calloway, from recent news headlines concerning a jewel heist I solved, greeting me with the statement that my reputation preceded me.

My first concern was whether or not the senator was made aware of his life being in peril. According to his lovely wife, he found it preposterous that men of such outstanding reputation would dare tarnish their good names and family legacies with foul play. Yet, Mrs. Milhouse’s concern warranted investigation concerning her husband’s position in the political arena, where enemies are made daily, and friendships are circumstantial.

I questioned Mrs. Milhouse about her husband’s guest list. The name that stood out the most to me was William Grant, a man who had made his millions in steel. Senator Milhouse is a staunch supporter of unionization and ending child labor. That would have a major impact on Grant’s production. Next were Allen Greenburgh, who made his money from oil, Tobben Wainwright, railroads, and Harvy Bitterman, cattle. To expand business, those men needed land. Senator Milhouse was trying to push a bill to add more federally protected lands to the register. It was a long shot, but one or more of those men might have been hard pressed for some of the acreage the senator was pushing to protect. Junior Senator Jefferson Westmore would have seen his influence increase two-fold if the senior senator were to come to an untimely end, but not so much as to warrant murder in my opinion. Then there was James Morgan, a banker. I saw no connection whatsoever, other than the senator’s support for women’s right to vote. Something that might have upset all of them.

My expertise was in solving crimes after they occurred. I used deductive reasoning, analyzing evidence and motives. I was not confident those men had motive and without evidence there would have been only denial to any accusation. I lit my pipe and pondered the situation, leaning on the mantle where Mrs. Milhouse had built a fire for me to warm myself. We may not have a concrete motive or any evidence, but we do have a witness in Mrs. Milhouse herself. I asked her if she would be able to recall the voice upon hearing it again. She said it was not her who heard it, but her children.

I dare say that I was not amused in the least that accusations were being made against the most powerful men in the state based on hearsay of children. My reputation could be irreparably tarnished. Mrs. Milhouse insisted that the children were terribly upset, and that the situation needed to be treated with the utmost seriousness given her husband’s status on capitol hill. I requested to speak with the children immediately.

While Mrs. Milhouse fetched the children, I turned my attention to the window. The storm had moved on, and the sleet had turned to snow, blanketing the landscape outside. If someone were to murder the senator, it would have had to have been by poison, otherwise they would have required a speedy departure, which would have been nearly impossible on a night like that. And the senator was right, soiling their reputations was not in those men’s best interest. There was nothing to gain for men who had everything. We probably should have been looking at the staff as possible suspects.

Mrs. Milhouse returned with two young children at her heals. I knelt down and asked them in a soothing voice their names and ages: Martha, 8, and Charles 6. We moved to sit, since my knees were no longer what they were. The young ones took the sofa, their little feet dangling in the air. Mrs. Milhouse and I took the oversized leather lounge chairs by the fire. I was offered a cognac, which I delightfully accepted. I smoked and drank, enjoying the warmth of the fire as the children relayed the events of earlier that evening. They had been playing hide-&-seek as the guests arrived. Young Charles was hiding in the closet with a coat over his head when a man was hanging up his coat. The man said to someone else, “It does not matter how much money he raises. He is not suitable for the position of senator. We are going to kill him, so just play your part.”

That was definitely concerning. I asked Charles if he would recognize the voice if he heard it again. The boy shrugged. I sat silently for a moment deep in thought. I asked him if it sounded like any of the house servants. He responded with an, "I don't think so." An idea came to mind. I asked Mrs. Milhouse if she would be willing to take the children to the parlor to say goodnight to everyone before dinner commences. I told Charles to listen closely to everyone’s voices. If he recognized a voice, he was to tell his mother who was to tell me.

 Mrs. Milhouse and her children were gone for quite some time. I relaxed with ease between the soft chair, warm fire, and soothing drink. I had just closed my eyes when Mrs. Milhouse returned with her children. She told me that Charles identified Howard Marcus as the voice he heard. I had to question who Howard Marcus was, not being on the guest list or a name I was familiar with. It turned out he was the senator’s campaign manager. An odd role for a murder suspect. If he felt the senator was not capable of the position, why not vacate his own position. None the less, I asked Mrs. Milhouse to excuse the children and we went to find Mr. Marcus.

Mr. Marcus, who insisted I call him Howard, was cordial and cooperative when I introduced myself and informed him that I required his presence in private to discuss urgent matters. When I brought to his attention that there was a conspiracy to assassinate the senator tonight, he looked legitimately surprised and concerned. When I told him that we have a witness hearing him doing the conspiring, he was shocked and demanded to know what the witness heard because he had made no such statements regarding the senator’s life. When I repeated what was said to me, he relaxed and laughed saying, “I did say something like that. I was talking to James Morgan about Tobben Wallace, the senator’s opposition. I meant we are going to kill him at the poles.”

We all relaxed and had a hearty laugh. It was just the misunderstanding of children at play. Howard was very understanding and felt Mrs. Milhouse took the right precautions by requesting my services. Mrs. Milhouse said she would triple my rate for the inconvenience of time, weather, and relevancy. She also invited me to stay for dinner. An invitation I couldn’t refuse.

At dinner, Mrs. Milhouse made my introduction, explaining my reason for being there. Everyone had a good laugh, but said she was wise for being prudent. Most of the dinner guests had heard of me, and welcomed me kindly, enthralled by my stories of mystery and mayhem. It was in the middle of one of my stories that the senator began coughing. Nothing serious at first, but it began to worsen. Then his airway became obstructed. He was struggling to breathe. I checked his mouth, assuming he was choking, but saw nothing. I feared the worst and took a whiff of his wine glass. Poison. Served to him by the butler. I hurried into the kitchen. It was empty. I heard a car and ran to the back door just in time to see the butler drive off with Mr. Marcus.

I made the mistake of taking an adults word over a child's. Mr. Marcus had lied to us. His motive is still unclear, but it appears he was the mastermind behind the assassination. I also overlooked one tiny detail. The butler always answers the door and takes the caller's coat. I went against my instincts when I thought the staff might be involved. Someday I will learn. It is always the butler.