Page 53 of Murder Most Actual

Lady Tabitha remained indulgent, if slightly superior. “In a snowbound hotel with no telephone? I can be a persuasive woman, Mrs Blaine, but if you believe I could persuade a stranger with no criminal history to commit murder on my behalf at less than twenty-four hours’ notice, then you have an almost flattering faith in my powers.”

“Do you think she was threatening other people?” tried Liza. It seemed a more productive tack than suggesting ever more spurious ways that Lady Tabitha could have been responsible for any of the murders directly.

“I”—and here, Lady Tabitha’s tone went from indulgent to supercilious—”would not speculate about such things because I am a great believer in staying out of other people’s business.”

There wasn’t much either of them could say to that, and so, slightly shamefaced, Liza and Hanna slunk back to their room. Or at least, they slunk back in the direction of their room. But when they got there the door was hanging slightly ajar. And while Liza couldn’t swear one hundred percent that she’d closed it when they’d left—she’d gone to the shops and left the front door open at least three times since she and Hanna had been living together—it did not seem like a good sign.

Chapter Nineteen

Somebody, in the Bedroom, with a Gift

Sunday evening

Liza and Hanna retreated a little way up the corridor and pressed themselves, more from instinct than strategy, against the wall.

“What now?” asked Liza

“I don’t know.” Hanna had a this-is-your-thing-not-mine look in her eyes. “How about we go get help?”

That was sensible. But also not what Liza wanted to do. “What if they get away?”

“Then they won’t be waiting in our room to murder us to death.”

And that was also sensible. “But they’ll have got away.”

“And we’ll be—oh, what’s that word? Ah yes, alive.”

“But—but …” There was not going to be a good answer here. “Okay, how about you get help and I stay and watch the door?”

Hanna turned, still staying close to the wall, but pulling Liza very close. “You know when I said that this whole situation was making me realise how terrified I am to lose you and how I don’t think I could cope if you were hurt?”

“Yes?” In spite of herself, Liza smiled.

“Do you think that maybe that might mean I’m not wild about leaving you outside a room that might have a murderer in it while I go and try to find the manager?”

“I’ll be fine. And we can’t stick next to each other every minute of every day until the snow melts and we get out of here.”

“I think you’ll find we can.”

Leaning forward, Liza kissed her wife gently on the lips. “Go. It’ll be okay. I want to know what’s in there, and I’ll kick myself if we leave and come back to find the room empty.”

“Fine.” With a hefty sigh, Hanna relented. Then she drew Liza in and kissed her again, harder than before, verging on passionate, which was something that—until right then—Liza hadn’t realised she’d been missing. It didn’t linger; it was sharp, intense, and almost hungry, but as Hanna pulled away Liza found herself wishing she wouldn’t, that she’d stay and … well, honestly, and not very much, because they were still outside a room that might have a murderer in it. But stay nonetheless. “I’ll be back soon,” Hanna said, and she ran off to find Mr Burgh.

After she was gone, Liza realised something upsetting. If they were wrong and the killer wasn’t waiting in the bedroom, Hanna was now wandering alone around the hotel while Liza was in the one place that was actually safe. And despite their relationship having settled into a pattern where Liza was the one doing reckless shit and Hanna was the one worrying, she had a sudden rush of panicked nausea at the thought she might have just sent her wife off into the arms of a multiple murderer.

And the fact that she’d said she’d be back soon didn’t help. That was the sort of thing people said before they got brutally slaughtered in every slasher movie ever.

“Are you okay?” The voice came from just inside their own damned bedroom door. It belonged—and Liza really felt she should have seen this one coming—to Ruby.

“Depends. Do you have a gun?”

A laugh, still pretty and musical. The taste of Hanna’s lips still on hers made Liza feel weirdly guilty. “No, but I’m working on it.”

“Why are you working on it?”

“Because this isn’t over. You’re the one who said so, remember? Vivien Ackroyd was murdered, and whoever killed her is coming for me next.”

Liza had no idea if that was true, and no idea if Ruby believed it was true. And no idea if those two things were at all related. “How do you know?”