Page 177 of The Discount Damsel

“Of course. We’re open every day, even the feast days.” He opened the door for them and selected another bottle from the basket. “And please give this tonic to your female companion with my warmest regards.”

I most definitely won’t, Bradley thought as he plucked the amber bottle from Renaldo’s hand. Eyes narrowing, he spun a small circle on the sandy path. “Where is she?”

Renaldo pointed westward to a figure sitting on the beach nearest the eastern pier. “She spent most of the morning in our little cove before transporting your possessions to the beach. There, she has alternated between kayaking and vomiting, canoeing and vomiting, paddleboarding and vomiting, and napping when her body shut down from the strain, all afternoon.”

“Oh, poor Millie,” Dirk murmured.

“Seems you were more interested in watching her than looking for that book,” Bradley accused.

“She is far more interesting than any book,” Renaldo agreed. “A pleasant evening, Master Dirk.”

He flipped the sign on the door and shut it behind him, shuttling the lock into place.

CHAPTER 73

SPIDERS IN THE STAIRWELL, A PRINCESS GOES MISSING, AND ONE LAST HOPE

Bradley removed his boots and walked silently across the sand to where the princess sat with her feet half-swallowed by the shallows. Her sun-kissed auburn hair fluttered unbound in the evening breeze; she was finally allowing it to dry. Elbows propped up on her drawn-in knees, she hung her head between them and drew in long, steadying breaths. She was missing the sunset.

“Tula.”

She stirred, lifted a tired face. “Oh, you’re back. How did it go? Master Dirk?”

The Mini Red shook his head. “But I’m hopeful. The books there are just packed with all this fascinating stuff. We go back tomorrow.”

“Renaldo wanted me to give you this.” Bradley handed her the bottle, and new life flickered in her eyes.

“So thoughtful.” She stabbed at the wax with her hairpin, ripped out the cork, and guzzled half of it without once pausing for breath. “I suppose we can check in to The Dreary Pelican now. I’m sorry, I lost track of time.”

She rose and reached for the bags, but Bradley slung each strap over his shoulder and took hold of her suitcase. “Don’t forget your hat,” he growled as he trekked past her for the boardwalk.

Millie retrieved it and hurried to keep up, but the exhaustion of the day had her lagging behind. Dirk flew nearby and discreetly propelled her forward with a tailwind.

Mr. Jameson, hunched on boney elbows over a damp newspaper, greeted them with, “It’s a copper for late check-in.”

“Of course it is,” Millie muttered as she fished about in her reticule.

The innkeeper pocketed the coin and plucked the lantern off the desk. “Come on, before you make me any later for my supper. Doesn’t take long for toast points to go soggy in a sea town.”

The light of the hazy-glass lantern bobbed as he led the way up the rickety set of switchback steps to the third floor. Millie followed closely on his heels, as his lantern was the only source of light and there was something unsettling about the walls. Predatory mildew was the phrase that came to mind, and she really didn’t want to find out if her insecurities were realities in actuality.

Something bumped into her foot.

Could’ve been a hermit crab. Could’ve been a roach. Could’ve been a spider the size of a rat.

“Eeek!” She trampled up the remaining stairs and shored up against the innkeeper and his precious light, one foot poised to stomp down on whatever scuttled out of that stairway next.

Bradley emerged from the gloom with his hands raised. “I surrender.”

Mr. Jameson jostled Millie away from him, inserted a brass key into the lock, muscled the door open, and stepped off to the side. “Communal bathroom’s down that hall. I’d wear sandals to the shower if I were you. Enjoy.”

The bedroom was fashioned from the same salt-weathered planks as the clapboard—a gray-green that was surely hiding mold in its fissures and furrows. It had a high ceiling, so at least Bradley only had to stoop when passing over the threshold. There was a tiny three-drawer dresser and a single bed with a flat mattress, but at least the comforter looked thick and fluffy, where it wasn’t scorched with cigarette burns. A nightstand with a half-burned taper candle and a wee box of matches completed the decoration.

Millie forced a swallow. “How cozy.”

“Yeah, for the bedbugs,” Bradley muttered.

“I vote we never eat in this room,” Dirk suggested. “Or touch anything we haven’t sterilized first with copious amounts of alcohol. Or fire.”