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The dynamic felt awkward with only one of them standing, but Liza didn’t feel like sitting down. Instead, she shut the door behind her and leaned beside it. “But you don’t, though. Do you? You’re constantly on at me about how ghoulish and weird it is that I find crime interesting.”

“I never said it was ghoulish and weird.”

“Maybe not, but you hint it pretty loudly.”

Hanna folded her arms. “Rubbish. And if you’ll remember, I defended you yesterday. Twice.”

She had, and on some level Liza knew she always would; that if there was one thing she could count on it was Hanna being in her corner against the whole damned world. But in the moment, it didn’t feel like it counted. “That was just you needing to be right.”

Liza could always tell when Hanna was hurt, because she made an extra effort to sound like she didn’t give a shit. “That’s unfair.”

Un-leaning, Liza walked over to the bed and sat a carefully chosen distance away from her wife. “Probably. I’m sorry, I just—do you think it’s possible we’re both a bit on edge on account of the, y’know, the murder?”

“Honestly?” Hanna squirmed. “I think that’s a bit of an excuse. I mean, also yes, obviously, but it’s not like everything was rosy until last night.”

That was true. Although given the choice between thinking about what might have happened to Malcom Ackroyd and thinking about what might have happened to her relationship, Liza found the murder far easier. “You know I really am sorry.”

“Me too.” Hanna began to unfreeze. Two apologies usually did it. She’d always climb down eventually, as long as she didn’t have to be the one to climb down first.

Kicking off her shoes, Liza slipped into bed and Hanna retrieved her eReader and went back to her book. Eventually, Hanna leaned over and put her head in Liza’s lap, and Liza began absent-mindedly stroking her fingers through her hair. Then, half in a daze, she asked: “When does the kitchen close?”

Until she’d said it, Liza had been barely aware of thinking it. But somehow, just as she’d been letting herself relax, an idea that must have been nagging at the back of her brain without her noticing had come straight through her neurons and out of her mouth without her permission.

Opening her eyes, Hanna looked around. “Beats me, but I can’t imagine it closes before dinner.”

“No, it’s not that.” Liza wriggled Hanna out of her lap. She knew she was killing the peaceful atmosphere, but killing was the issue. And much as she wanted to step back and forget about it, she couldn’t. “I just mean, dinner was late last night, but not that late.”

Sitting up, Hanna did her best to be indulgent. “Why does it matter? If you’re hungry we can order something in the lounge.”

Bounding out of bed, Liza rummaged through the pile of welcome materials that had come with the room. Eventually she found a delicately embossed menu that, on the reverse, included the details of the hotel’s dining policy. “No, here it is. The kitchen definitely closes at half past ten. You can get food later, but only by special arrangement.”

“I’m confused.” Hanna’s air of indulgence was drifting slowly out the window. “Why the sudden obsession with whether you can get artisanal biscuits and homemade chutney?”

There was no explaining it. This was just … whatever the murder investigation equivalent of an earworm was. And ideally, Liza would have been able to let go and focus on just being in the moment and enjoying her wife’s company, but the suspicion was only getting stronger, and if she didn’t do something about it she’d be running what-ifs all night. “This isn’t about artisanal biscuits.”

“Oh, good. Because that would have been weird.”

“If the kitchen closes at half ten,” Liza said, “why was Emmeline only leaving at one?”

Realisation dawned belatedly but inevitably in Hanna’s eyes. “Fuck. No. Do not go down this road.” She flopped back onto her back despairingly. “I’m not—this isn’t a ghoulish thing, but it does make me feel like you’d rather run down somebody’s alibi than spend time with me.”

Even Liza had to admit it sounded pretty bad. “I’m sorry. I just—aren’t you even a tiny bit interested?”

“Honestly?” Hanna seemed to be seriously thinking about it. “No.”

There were many, many times when Liza had wished her mind worked differently. She’d always been easily distracted, prone to whims and fleeting obsessions. It hadn’t normally put her relationships in peril. “Okay. But I—it’s not—you’re still my number one—but we—we saw a dead man yesterday.”

“Oh, don’t pretend this is about respect for the departed.” Hanna’s expression was cold. “This is about solving a puzzle. There’s a reason Dill and Evan will never do another escape room with us.”

“I was not that bad,” Liza protested.

“You were exactly that bad. And this is worse.”

“This is different.”

“It’s not though, is it?”

“There were no dead bodies in that escape room.”