Page 41 of The Lady Has a Past

“You may want to look the other way,” he said. “Because this is illegal as hell.”

“Where can I buy one of those things?”

“Any hardware store or locksmith will sell you one. The trick is learning how to use it without getting arrested.”

“How did you learn?”

“Practice, practice, practice.”

The lock gave way. He pushed the door inward. The lamps were off inside the room but the drapes were open. A wide shaft of moonlight angled across the floor. The bed was empty, still made up.

Simon moved into the room, crossed to the window, and pulled the drapes tightly shut. He switched on a floor lamp. Lyra followed him and closed the door.

Together they surveyed the empty room.

“Housekeeping turns down the beds every night,” Lyra said. “But no one has been in here to prepare the room this evening.”

Simon walked slowly through the space, opening drawers and the closet door. All empty. He got down on one knee and looked under the bed.

“Nothing,” he said. “No clothes. No suitcase. No makeup on the dressing table. But something happened in here.”

“The bed,” Lyra said. “It’s wrong.”

He came to stand beside her. “Why do you say that?”

“It was not made up by a professional.”

“Professional?”

“A trained, experienced housekeeper did not make up this bed,” Lyra declared. “The bedspread is wrinkled and not draped evenly. The pillow shams are very sloppy.” She pulled back the bedspread. “And just look at the way the sheets have been folded at the corners. Not the work of a professional. This bed was made in a hurry by someone who doesn’t know how to do a proper job of it.”

“You can tell all that just by looking at it?” Simon asked, impressed.

“I’ve stayed in a lot of expensive hotels, and I grew up in a family that has always employed a professional housekeeper. A well-made bed is a work of art. Take a look at your bed when we get back to our room. You’ll see what I mean.”

“I believe you.” Simon leaned down and touched the bed. Onceagain the scars burned. He raised his hand and took a step back. “The last person in this bed was badly frightened.”

“By an intruder?”

“Under the circumstances I think that’s a reasonable assumption. Let’s check the bathroom.”

“We have to remember that there’s no way to know if this is Raina’s room,” Lyra said. “It could belong to the woman whose name is in the hotel register, Miss Granville. Maybe she checked out early.”

“The key is gone from the board behind the front desk, remember?”

“Oh.” Lyra cleared her throat. “Right.”

Simon glanced at her, not certain how to respond. The rising tide of her fear was a disturbing force in the atmosphere. She was scared and trying not to show it. He wanted to reassure her but he had nothing to offer except false hope. He knew her well enough now to know she would not want that.

He continued into the bathroom and paused to flip the light switch. The space gleamed with green and pink tiles. The porcelain fixtures matched the pink tile work.

“What happened to the towels?” Lyra said.

Simon glanced at her. “What do you mean?”

“There aren’t any. The bed was made by someone who doesn’t know how to make up an elegant bed. The towels are missing from the bathroom. You’re right—things are very wrong in this room.”

Simon looked at the drinking glass holder on the wall above the pedestal sink. It was empty. “Whoever tried to clean up in here was in a hurry.”

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