She glanced back at him. “I know, sugarbutt.”
As her fingertip slipped between the hollows of Christoph’s ribs, her breath caught.
Sterling stepped back, removing her hat, scanning her uncle’s gaunt frame. His bald head, the skeletal hollows of his face. Her shoulders sank with the weight of the realization.
“Why now?” she asked, voice vibrating. She already knew the answer.
“Because I won’t be here forever. A year, maybe two.”
Her fedora hit the floor.
His colon cancer had returned. He was dying. And she’d been too self-involved to notice.
Sterling, dazed, dragged herself to the staircase and sat, face in her hands, thoughts racing through the halls of her mind hotel. Christoph hadn’t killed Hedy. The gun wasn’t real. True, he’d stolen money and scared people. But the same could be said of Fernando, and she’d forgiven him.
Christoph was Serafina’s Fernando. They’d be reunited soon.
Fuck. She’d have to forgive him. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but soon, and while he was still alive to hear it.
A soothing hand caressed her back. She looked up.
It was Andreas.
“I have to take him to the station now. The others too.”
She viewed the group through the banister posts, like bars on their future jail cells.
Beate joined them and addressed Andreas. “Hold on, I knowyou’re salivating at the thought of all the paperwork this’ll require. But this revelation throws Madame’s conviction into question.”
Andreas reread his notes, excitement slipping from his face. “The Goldfinch family could sue for false conviction, even for Madame’s death.” He grasped the back of his neck. “Oida.”
Andreas flipped the notebook closed, pouting like a child who’d dropped his ice cream, reciting numbers under his breath. Countless laws the Nightingale Gang had violated.
Sterling perked up, a mischievous spark in her eyes. “You know the people in this lobby have unburied enough Viennese skeletons to empty the catacombs. Two detectives could do a lot of good with that intel.”
Andreas scratched his beard, calculating.
“Let’s talk,” said Beate. She and Andreas disappeared into the kitchen. Hints of their hushed negotiation escaped into the lobby: Viennese scoffing. Tyrolean warbling. Then something strange—giggling?
The detectives emerged, wearing smug smiles, and said in unison, “So.”
“We’ll release you all on condition you become criminal informants,” said Beate. She faced Christoph. “And you’ll graciously volunteer for community service. There’s a prison in lower Austria trying out a new inmate rehabilitation program. They need a director for their theatrical arts program.”
Christoph cleared his throat. “Does this mean you can uncuff me?”
“First, you must suffer punishment for your crimes,” said Andreas, rubbing his palms together.
Beate chuckled. “You’re heading to a covert office where you’ll assist Detective Wolke in filing the paperwork to register everyone as an informant.”
Andreas stretched his interwoven fingers, then jogged in place. “It’s going to be a busy week.”
“Is prison still an option?” said Christoph weakly.
“Hush, you,” said Sterling, flicking her wrist at him. She hugged Beate. “Thank you. Really.”
“Hey. Paws off my girlfriend,” said Harry.
Sterling released Beate, who asked Harry, “Is that what I am?”
