Page 53 of Not That Complicated

I waited for the punchline when he left a pause. The lift arrived and I lunged in.

“I’m available.” Adam hung up.

I shoved my phone back in my pocket. That was unexpectedly nice of him. I looked up and caught sight of my reflection. I flinched. Yow.

My face was starkly pale, with streaks of hectic red on the crests of my cheeks. My eyes were wide and haunted. I made a worried sound and tried to smooth the furrows out of my brow before they settled in for the long haul.

I…did not look great.

The lift dinged and the door opened. I couldn’t get away from all the mirrors quickly enough. I let myself into the room and nodded with appreciation. I’d been hasty dismissing the place. It was no Barbadian love nest on the beach, but it was a few steps up from the single I’d booked last time.

And that I’d booked this time, in fact.

Would Adam get in trouble for upgrading me? Was it ethical?

Did I care?

To my consternation, I did care.

I didn’t like the idea of some nameless superior yelling at Adam for essentially giving me an upgraded room at mates rates. I mean, it was a thing. Late rooms and all that. It was a business model.

Then again, I couldn’t really imagine Adam being all that bothered by someone attempting to tell him off. I couldn’t really imagine Adam considering anyone his superior, regardless of who was signing his pay cheque at the end of the month. He’d probably stand there and smile at them until they gave up.

Net gain: lovely big bed for me. I wasn’t mad about it.

I was still surrounded by the hotel’s lurid purple livery, but you can’t win them all.

I flopped down onto the bed face first and groaned as I sank and sank into the fluffy duvet.

What the hell was going on with my life right now?

I rolled over to blink up at the ceiling. There was a smudge in the corner. A tiny cobweb. I should call Adam and complain. Get him to come up here with a feather duster.

My amusement at the idea faded as I thought about my house. When Liam—make that Detective Nash—had me escorted me out, it had taken a moment to realise what was happening.

The forensics van had pulled up in my drive. Curtains were twitching in houses the length of the street. Mrs Hughes and Dougal were standing in her front garden. Neither of them were even pretending not to look.

And okay, Liam—Detective Nash!—hadn’t thrown me down over the bonnet of his patrol car and read me my rights, but he’d had averyfirm grip on my arm.

And he’d put me in the back seat.

He’d done the head thing. Hand on the top of my head. It wasn’t a chivalrous move, either. It was a prevent-a-lawsuit move.

Were they all still at my house?

Were there cordons?

Were therejournalists? Blech.

I hopped up and strode through to the bathroom. I swished some water around the tub, stuck the plug in, and ran myself an indulgently deep bath.

After the first dead body, I’d had trouble sleeping, and not just that night Adam had left me high and dry, either. This time, I was smart about it.

One of the larger local farms had expanded a few years ago into producing a range of products from their lavender fields. They’d hired me to design the packaging, and I was proud of it. That pride hadn’t extended to opening or using any of it, but I’d had their lavender bath oils along with lavender moisturiser, soap, room spray and candle on display in my bathroom for long enough. Lavender was good for de-stressing. It was soothing. It would chill me out.

Right?

I’d grabbed the bath oils and moisturiser from my bathroom shelf on the way out of the house. The real reason I hadn’t used the bath oils before was because cleaning the tub was my least favourite chore. But since I wasn’t going to be cleaning this tub, and I was stressed out to the max, it was the perfect opportunity.

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