She’d seen dead bodies before. Though not since her teen years, and never at the Hotel.
He stepped out of her way. Beyond the bedroom lay the true jewel of the suite: the white marble bathroom, known for its turquoise domed ceiling, decorated with stars. It was dark now. As she drew the curtain aside, scarlet light from the bedroom stained the pale marble, glinting off the zipper on Mrs. Lime’s ivory silk dress.
She’d collapsed on the floor in front of the sink, her head by the mouth of the sunken marble bath. The red bulbs made a neon flame of her platinum-blond hair, which curled over her head to the side and cascaded into the tub. Sterling fumbled for the switch. It lit the golden stars on the teal sky, and for a moment, things were beautiful.
But the light unmasked the cherry-red blood woven from her temple into her hair. It pooled around her head in a halo and flowed down the marble steps into the bath, spiraling into the drain.
Before Sterling could stop herself, the name escaped her mouth.
“Hedy!No!”
The walls seemed to warp at the forbidden sound. Sterling lunged forward, but Fernando caught her by the waist from behind, and as her legs gave out, he lowered her to the floor. She knelt, hand over her mouth, muffling her own cries as tears wove over her fingers and dripped onto her knees.
Mirrors surrounded the bath on three sides, reflecting each other in an endless tunnel. Hedy stared back through the glass, lips parted, eyes wide with terror, the gaunt horror of her face multiplied into infinity, pared down with each rendition but magnified in Sterling’s mind.
Sterling followed the curve of her silhouette to her hips. One ankle twisted at an unnerving angle, her stiletto’s red sole catching the light. Her white dress was unzipped to her waist, her bra still fastened, and her hiked-up skirt revealed a hint of her garter belt.
The scent of rust and amaretto obscured Hedy’s lavender perfume. Sterling didn’t realize her hand had misbehaved until she feltthe cool skin of Hedy’s upper arm. She shook her, trying to wake her. Staccato sobs escaped Sterling’s throat, carrying whispers of the forbidden name.
“Hedy, Hedy, please wake up. Hedy.Please, stay with me.”
She longed to lie beside her, to curl her knees behind Hedy’s and hold her by the waist. It’d been years since they’d touched that way, and the selfish realization crept in that Sterling would never have the chance again.
Her vision blurred. Her ears rang. She hyperventilated, ribs straining against the cage of her corset. She fumbled to loosen the laces at her back, but her fingers couldn’t grasp the ties. Fernando helped.
“There, better?” he asked.
It was.
A cozy numbness washed over her, suppressing the panic. Fernando laid his hand on her shoulder and pulled her away from Hedy.
“We shouldn’t touch anything,” he said.
He helped her stand. The air was heavy, her body weightless. She wiped her eyes, then shook out her arms as she took in the scene. The images were fractured, jumpy. Toothpaste and a pair of toothbrushes, one used. The open hip flask beside Hedy’s purse. Mr. Lime’s open eyes. Blood spattered around Hedy’s head. A small cosmetics bag had spilled over, scattering a firework of broken pressed powder on the floor. A lipstick tube had rolled across the room, trailing speckles of makeup with it. At the edge of the bed, the glint of Hedy’s Swiss Army knife. Pale lavender, etched with white cursive initialsHD.
Not a blade, a nail file. Sterling knew because it had been a gift. Years ago. From her. The pain of seeing it again was so sharp, it might as well have been a knife.
“We have to get out of here,” said Fernando.
They tiptoed around Mr. Lime’s body, careful not to touch him.The lethargic slump of his fat bottom lip cast a shadow over his freckled chin. He had a dark patch on his cheek by his ear, maybe a bruise. His suit was perfect, save for the cuff. But something was off. Something was missing.
She thought it over as she paused before the mural, pressing her tongue to the roof of her mouth to stop her tears. She swiped her thumb across the golden genie lamp, but the time for wishing had passed.
Sterling studied Mr. Lime’s body, searching for what was off. It clicked. His Cartier bracelet was missing. She figured the police would find it. She shivered at the thought of being interrogated. She couldn’t risk anyone looking too closely at her life, or her past. She could not, under any circumstances, be arrested. But she had a few questions of her own for the police, starting with: Who the hell was Mr. Lime?
Sterling entered the lobby, where the staff had gathered, and said two words. “Rotten Strawberry.”
The concise code triggered a flurry of action. The chef hustled to the kitchen to pull shots of espresso and pour shots of whiskey. Everyone drank one of each. The maids awaited instruction.
“Leave Room 5 untouched, but scour the other suites. Use everything you’ve got. Baptize them if you must,” ordered Sterling.
She headed into the office with Fernando. He flipped the switch for the No Vacancy sign outside, anticipating the morning crowd’s arrival. The staff, meanwhile, had become the mourning crowd.
Sterling dropped behind the desk on all fours, and removed the bottom drawer completely. She dislodged the false back panel and withdrew a black flip phone from behind it. She took it outside, where it would work, trying to remember how to use the ancient thing. She navigated to the address book and dialed the only number programmed in it.
It rang twice before he answered with a throat-clearing grunt.
“What happened?” said Mr. K.
