“Potassium bromide. If you’ve done photography, you should know it.”
“Devil take potassium bromide; that’s crystalline in large granules. This is—” He sniffed again.
“I don’t think it has any smell,” Kimberly said.
“Oh, this does have a smell. Have a sniff. Don’t put your nose too close, or you’ll regret it.”
Kimberly cautiously sniffed the bottle, then looked at the detective with confusion. “Oh,” he said, “it smells like—like—”
“Exactly,” Nelson agreed. “It smells like potassium cyanide. It is—potassium cyanide.” He suddenly set the bottle down, corked it, and said, “I don’t want anyone touching that bottle. I need to process it for fingerprints. I’ve only left my fingerprints around the neck, nowhere else. Now, Mr. Don Kimberly, I’m sorry, but I’m arresting you for the murder of Stella Lynn.”
In the taxi on the way to Uncle Benedict’s, Page carefully examined the stolen photos, trying to understand the details. Don Kimberly’s arrest was like a bolt from the blue, too sudden. Mrs. Bushnell’s statement was like a devastating bomb. Page almost blindly trusted Don Kimberly, but she was powerless against his arrest, with no other option but to dig up new, convincing evidence. Unless something new was discovered, the morning newspaper would ring the death knell for her new job. She hoped her uncle could get some fingerprints from the broken whiskey bottle.
Page began to deduce. The scene on the beach was a picnic, clearly just for two—Stella Lynn and the young man in swimming trunks in the photos. He took several pictures of Stella. Since the attire Stella wore was forbidden on public beaches, these photos must have been taken on a private section of the beach. Were they taken in front of others, or after everyone else had left? There was probably a series of small cabins along the beach, uniform in appearance, like a motel.
The taxi stopped in front of Uncle Benedict’s house. “Wait for me,” she told the driver, then ran up the steps.
Aunt Martha opened the door. “Good heavens, Page, give me a moment to open the door, you’re in such a rush. I hadn’t even put down my knitting before you rang the bell three times. What’s happened?”
“Nothing. Where’s Uncle?”
“He’s right here. Come in quickly.”
