Page 41 of Murder Most Actual

Liza could think of a hundred reasons why they shouldn’t. Like that somebody might need their help, or that if they hid in their room the other guests might think they were the killer, or that it was safer to know what was going on. But if she was honest, her only real reason for wanting to run towards the gunshot was the same one it had always been. She was curious. “I—we—I suppose …” She sat back down on the bed. “Fuck, am I a shit wife?”

“No.” The denial came flatteringly quickly, although so did the follow-up. “Well, no shitter than I am. Everyone’s selfish sometimes. You really want to go check this out, don’t you?”

Liza nodded. “But you really don’t.”

“I really don’t.”

Taking a deep breath and very pointedly sliding back under the covers, Liza said, “Then we won’t.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yeah. I’m sure. I just … I just want to know what’s going on,”—there was an uncertainty in Liza’s voice she didn’t like—”and I’m pretty sure that makes me a terrible person.”

“It doesn’t.” Crossing the bed, Hanna began to stroke her hand up and down Liza’s spine. “It just makes you a person.”

For a moment Liza sat there, enjoying being touched by a woman she still loved. “Maybe. But we’re here to work on us—”

“We’re here because I got freaked out that our marriage might be falling apart and threw money at the problem. You didn’t even sign up for this.”

“You still made an effort. And here I am flinging it in your face because I’ve got this objectively creepy obsession with murder.”

Hanna’s hand came to rest on Liza’s shoulder, and her thumb began tracing the line of her neck. “It’s your job. And it’s a job you’re passionate about, which is great. Honestly, I’m jealous.”

“Because it’s taking up so much of my time?” It was. There was no denying that it was. Between researching and recording and increasing amounts of travel and editing and bonus content for backers, it was—well, it was a full-time job.

“Because you love it,” said Hanna, a plaintive note in her voice.

“I love you too. I love you more.” Liza’s response came quickly, almost panicked. “I really do.”

Hanna laughed. “No, I mean because you have a job you love, and I don’t.”

That … that was news to Liza. And it felt weird that it was news to Liza because they’d been together a decade and they were supposed to know each other backwards. “You don’t?”

“I make rich people richer. How is that something you can love?”

In some ways, this was more jarring than stumbling across two dead bodies. “But you’ve always been all about your career.”

“Yeah, I—I like being successful. And … fuck, this sounds heteronormative … I like being able to take care of you, of us, but I think once the podcast started taking off and I saw how happy it made you—”

“You make me happy.”

Hanna dropped a kiss on the back of Liza’s head. “And you make me happy. But we can have more than one thing in our life that we’re happy about, and—I don’t know, I guess I didn’t realise what I was missing until you found it.”

“Oh.” Liza wasn’t sure what else to say.

“I’m not …” Hanna continued. “I’m not saying that’s our only problem. Just that it was one. I—I thought it might be good to say it out loud.”

Before Liza could do more than offer Hanna a reassuring pat on the arm, there was a knock at the door.

“I say,”—it was Sir Richard’s voice—”are you in there?”

“Are we?” whispered Hanna, and Liza shrugged.

“This is Mr Burgh,” said another voice which did, in fact, belong to Mr Burgh. “I’m here with Sir Richard, Lady Tabitha, and Reverend Lincoln. None of us are armed; we’re going room to room to see what’s happened.”

Relaxing, Liza called out, “Yes, we’re in here.”

“Both of us,” confirmed Hanna.

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