Sterling thought it over, realizing she meant Arthur Schnitzler’s bookTraumnovelle.
Rita continued. “Your aunt lived there for about a year. That’s all I know. Anything else, you’d have to get it direct from the source: your aunt.”
“Unless you know a reliable psychic, I don’t see that happening.”
“Patience, baby girl,” said Rita. Her joints cracked as she hobbled to the closet. Her hips were less reliable before she’d done her daily warm-ups. She moved hatboxes aside, revealing her steamer trunk. She looked back. “You gonna help or what?” she said.
Together, they dragged the trunk out, and Rita unlocked it. She pulled out feather boas, wigs, and a series of breakup boxes until she hit bottom. Beneath a rusty tin of photos of her second no-good-ex-husband was a small trunk precisely the size of a breadbox covered in ornate brass decor and cracked emerald-green leather.
“Serafina gave me this a few months before she died. But didn’t give me the key. No clue what’s inside, but it’sheavy.”
They hoisted it out together and set it at the foot of her bed between two elephants. It was beautiful, and Sterling ran her fingers over the intricate lock, peering into the keyhole to assess how complicated it was. If she couldn’t pick it, she had a lover or seven who could. Alas, the lock had a curlyVsignature hidden in the embellishment. Vieta. One of Serafina’s lady-friends, a metal artist with a fondness for booby traps. Which likely meant you couldn’t pick the lock without destroying whatever was held inside.
“Did Auntie Vie make this?” asked Sterling.
“You bet. So watch yourself.”
“I haven’t seen her since I was a teen.”
Vieta had left town a few months after Serafina died. The heartbreak was too much.
“Why’d she give this to you and not Vie or Christoph or any of her other friends?”
“I don’t know. She must have figured it was safe inside the Hotel.”
“You never thought to ask one of them for the key?”
Rita pouted. “I have no interest in talking to Christoph at all. All I know is, Serafina asked me to keep it safe and to tell no one. Even him.” Rita stroked the green leather box like a pet. “I figuredI’d have to give it to you eventually, when you were old enough. Be careful.”
“I will be,” said Sterling, letting out anoofas she lifted it. The damn thing felt like it was packed with lead.
Rita kissed her cheek. As the door started to close, Sterling called back to the elephant statue at the foot of the bed, “Make sure she behaves!”
She carried the box to her room and fumbled to unlock her door. She called the front desk and asked Fernando to come up.
“What’d Rita say?” he asked as he entered.
“Not much. She gave me this. It was Serafina’s.”
“What’s inside?”
“I’ve got no clue, and no key. But it’sheavy.”
They pressed their heads together, staring into the keyhole. “Can you pick the lock?” he asked.
“Nope. Remember Serafina’s trick jewelry box? Same artist made this. I’m hoping Serafina left the key with Christoph. Luckily, I’m seeing him tomorrow.”
“Shall I come along to dazzle him with my monologues?”
“Relax, Ethel Barrymore, you’ve got your audition…” Her voice trailed into a yawn. The only thing holding her upright was her corset’s spiral steel boning. She leaned back and closed her eyes. A dangerous decision.
Sterling’s head lolled to the side, before she immediately jolted herself awake with her own snoring.
“You need to rest,” he said.
Fernando hoisted her into his arms and carried her to bed. She struggled clumsily in her half-dream state, trying to untie her corset. He unlaced it, as he had after many a raucous party, loosening the back ties first, then rolling her over to unfasten the front brackets and slip it off. She sighed in relief.
He laid items from her corset’s attached purse on her nightstand. Her pocket watch, pen, and keys. She whined like a needy puppy when he went away, so he climbed back in and spooned her, caressing the reddened indentations the garment had pressed into her skin, brushing hair from her face until she snored. He kissed her shoulder and rolled out of bed. Eyeing the disarray, he tiptoed to a pile of dirty laundry and grasped a black dress to fold. Sterling moaned in protest. He sighed, dropped the dress, wished her sweet dreams, and locked the door behind him.
