— 12 —Zwölf
Upstairs, the corridor outside Room 17 smelled like perfume. No, like bubble bath. Fuck.
Sterling pounded the brass ship-wheel-shaped knocker for the Admiral’s Suite, shouting, “I’m coming in!”
As she fumbled with her keys, the door swung open. Sudsy water poured into the hall, soaking her stockings as it curved around her ankles. Soap bubbles decorated the toes of Andreas’s shiny black shoes.
The Captain stood in the entry wearing a navy-blue jacket, a pair of waterlogged boat shoes, a seaman’s cap, and nothing else. A wooden pipe dangled from his mouth, and his limp appendage dangled below the hem of the blazer.
“Seek ye an audience with theDonaudampfschiffahrtsgesellschaftskapitän, milady? Have ye come seeking adventure on the high seas?” he mumbled, clenching the pipe between his teeth.
“The what?” asked Andreas.
“The Captain of the Danube Steam Ship Company, obviously,” said Sterling. She pushed the Captain aside with the roughest shovepropriety allowed and splashed through the ankle-deep water like a crazed Gene Kelly. Despite the logistical horror of the situation, the temperate water wafted delicious perfume into the air. As she neared the bathroom, the mountain of foam rose past waist height.
Fluffy gobs of incandescent bubbles masked the black tiles. Marina, the Captain’s wife, sat at the tub’s edge, brushing the lather-soaked ends of her hair and singing. Sterling heard her mermaid tail sloshing its iridescent fins obscured by suds. Water continued running.
Sterling hurtled into the tub, slid her belly across Marina’s lap, and searched for the faucet knobs in the massive basin, blinded by foam. She found them, and managed to turn off the water. After which, she dove into the tub like a duck in search of food, torso submerged, bum in the air.
Holding her breath, she pulled the drain plug. Bathwater suctioned over her skin, her corset’s steel bones now bent and stabbing beneath her ribs. As water gurgled away, she silently thanked the Hotel for having efficient drains. Sterling lay draped across Marina’s lap, exhausted, soaked, and wearing a powdered wig of suds. Marina giggled and brushed Sterling’s hair, swiping foam away.
Sterling caught her breath, then wiggled backward out of the bath, slipping a bit in the puddle on the floor. The couple had discovered that the leather room-service menu functioned as an improvised cover for the floor drain. She pulled it aside and the remaining water swirled away.
Ever the courteous professional, she straightened her soaked skirt, brushed aside her bangs, which had been plastered to her forehead, and thanked Marina for the touch-up on her hair. Her suit-dress clung to her skin. Not her best look, but certainly a memorable one.
Andreas and Beate entered, mouths agape, pants soaked below the knee. Beate scrutinized the drenched Concierge wearing thebemused smile of a woman who’d just discovered something about herself but hadn’t yet given it a name.
Andreas put a hand over his eyes, saying, “Ma’am, I’m going to need you to cover yourself up.”
Both Sterling and Marina sneered at his use ofma’am.Sterling’s makeup was doing that obnoxious thing waterproof mascara loved to do, which was to only become truly waterproofafterit had smeared under your eyes like swerves of burned rubber on concrete in the wake of a car accident. It added a sinister quality to her stare.
She snatched a dry towel from the upper rack and tossed it at Marina with a speed that defied her lack of upper-body strength and betrayed her unprofessional annoyance. She grabbed a towel for herself and checked her reflection, then hopelessly rubbed away the stubborn streaks of eye makeup. Somehow, her lipstick was perfectly in place.
Beate handed Sterling a bathrobe, then addressed Marina.
“You need to dress and go to another room for interrogation. One of our officers will supervise.”
She summoned a uniformed officer from downstairs. His expression was unmoved by the chaos, but one look at Marina in her mermaid tail made him grin like he might give her husband a run for his money. He lifted her from the tub and carried her out like a groom taking his bride across the threshold.
The Captain followed, muttering, “Careful, son. ’Tis a brave man who attempts to tame a wild sea beast.”
Fernando and Mr. K arrived in the doorway and, seeing the impromptu indoor pool the guests had attempted to install, left to collect mops without risking eye contact with Sterling.
Andreas opened his mouth to speak, but Sterling raised a finger to shush him. “Not. A. Word.”
He hid a chuckle under a cough.
Fernando returned with an armful of mops. Sterling tossed one at Andreas, hard. That stopped him laughing. She’d aimed for his head. Luckily, she missed, and thus avoided arrest for the second time that day.
“Um, do I look like your janitor?” he asked.
Sterling glared. Andreas mopped.
With their combined efforts, the room was soon clean. At last, they sat down for the interview, this time in the Amethyst Suite. Like Sterling, the Captain and his wife wore bathrobes. They refused to speak to the detectives, answering only Sterling. As she’d anticipated.
“Marina, my sweet, why did you fill the bath so high?” asked Sterling.
The mermaid brushed her hair with her fingers and mumbled dazedly, “We were following orders.”
