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There was nothing Logan could do but follow and, before he could blink, he found himself with his jacket in his hand, standing outside the hotel, while she locked the door behind him. For a few minutes, he just stood there, staring at the doors and wondering what the hell just happened.
And then, he went home to his kids.
Agnes leaned her head against the closed front door and listened to Logan walk away. “It’s for the best,” she whispered.
Getting together with Logan when she knew she’d be leaving was one thing, but she couldn’t start something with no future when there were kids involved. It was best she stopped things now before someone got hurt.
Taking a deep, shaky breath, she went back upstairs to finish putting up the cameras and found Mrs. Edwards waiting for her.
“I thought you two would be heading to the bedroom, but I saw you go downstairs instead,” the woman said, proving she’d been making good use of her spyhole again. She peered behind Agnes. “Where’s your young man?”
“He’s gone home, and he isn’t my young man.”
“That’s not what it sounded like when you were in the closet.”
They were silent for a moment before Agnes said, “Probably best if we don’t tell Dougal about this.”
“My lips are sealed.” Mrs. Edwards made a zipping gesture over her mouth. “You know, I thought Logan would stay. You seemed to be having fun.” She waggled her eyebrows suggestively.
“Yeah, well, the fun ended. Let’s just say things didn’t work out.”
“Oh, that’s a shame. Was it an ego problem? Did you challenge his masculinity?” Mrs. Edwards patted her hand. “Men are such delicate creatures.”
Agnes cocked an eyebrow. “I don’t think we know the same men.”
“It’s true.” Mrs. Edwards nodded. “They have fragile egos that are easily bruised. That’s why they strut so much. It’s an attempt to warn people away, so they can’t get close enough to damage them. You have to be very careful of their egos—it’s the key to a lasting relationship.” She stared into the distance. “My dear, departed husband, Harold, used to say, ‘Emily, you’re a queen amongst women because you know how to stroke a man.’”
Agnes almost choked on nothing and started coughing loudly.
“Oh dear, I’ll get you a glass of water.” Mrs. Edwards scurried away, passing another guest. Mr. Thompson, who was in his nineties, was in town visiting family. Although his kids had wanted him to stay with them, he’d told them he needed his own space. Agnes suspected his kids wouldn’t have looked favorably on the amount of whisky he put away before bed.
“What’s going on?” he demanded. “I could hear the racket you’re making even without my hearing aids. You do realize it’s the middle of the night? The hallway isn’t the place to party.” Agnes kept coughing while he frowned down at her. “Are you sick? Do you need a hot toddy?”
Mrs. Edwards appeared again, a glass of water in her hand. Agnes took it gratefully.
“It’s the flu season,” Mr. Thompson told Mrs. Edwards. “She needs a hot toddy. That will sort her out. Do you want one an’ all?”
“Oh, yes, please,” Mrs. Edwards simpered.
“Back in a minute.” Tugging his dressing gown belt tight, Mr. Thompson stomped toward the stairs and the kitchen below them.
As she gulped down the water, Agnes held up a hand to stop him. “The kitchen’s locked for the night.”
“Don’t worry,” he said over his shoulder. “I know the code.”
“He has the code?” Agnes looked at Mrs. Edwards, who nodded.
“You know, to the metal number box that controls the lock.”
“Yes,” Agnes forced through gritted teeth. “I know what the box does. What I don’t know is how he has the code
.” Was there any security at all in this damn hotel?
“Oh, everybody has it,” Mrs. Edwards said dismissively. “It’s four zeroes. If you stay in the hotel for more than a week, you pick these things up. When I can’t sleep, I often go downstairs during the night and make myself a sandwich.”
Well, that explained the food missing from the kitchen. No need to put a camera there. But she was damn well changing the lock code.
“By any chance, do you also help yourself to soap and stuff from the store cupboard?” It was worth asking.
