Page 91 of Not That Complicated

“Oh. Right.” I was more tired than I’d thought. Or too focused on getting to Adam. To the hotel, I mean. “No. Is...do you have any availability?”

“No.”

I already had my credit card half out of my wallet. I glanced up at her in surprise. “Really?”

She gave me a tight smile, a grimace of straight white teeth bared in my direction.

I narrowed my eyes at her.

She narrowed hers back.

“Would you be so kind as to check?” I said.

“Of course, sir. No problem at all.” She turned to the keyboard and rattled the keys with her immaculate manicure. She made a considering noise that coasted up at the end and I slumped with relief. I was being paranoid. Everyone didn’t hate me. It was all fine—

“No, sorry,” she said. “We are all booked out.” She returned my suspicious stare with a bland smile.

“Well, then,” I said. “I guess that’s that.”

“You can always try the one in Didcot.”

I was exhausted. No, I wasoffended. When had getting a hotel room turned into a popularity contest?

I didn’t know if she knew who I was and didn’t want to let a murder-house owner stay in her hotel, or if she knew who I was and this was a thing she was doing on Adam’s orders, on Adam’s behalf. Or if it was all in my head.

I trudged back out to the car I’d optimistically parked in guest parking, slung my bag in the back, and slumped in the seat.

Gripping the wheel, I gently bonked my forehead a few times. It didn’t do much to lighten my mood or burn off any frustration but you gotta try, right?

I drove home on autopilot. I’d been planning to order room service, specifically the cake. I was home with the engine switched off before it sank in that being denied a room also meant being denied cake. I should have stopped off on the way to pick up fish and chips for supper.

I could always go and get some now? Yes. Good idea.

I fired the engine back up, changed my mind, and switched it off again.

I smothered a scream.

Okay. It was entirely possible that the stress was catching up to me. I could admit that. And I was feeling petulant. I could admit that, too. Didn’t like it. Could admit it.

The last time I was in this situation, Adam had shown up and taken care of me. Allowing it had made me weak and dependent.

He was like crystal meth, wasn’t he?

One hit: instant addiction.

I glared balefully at my house. When I was in my bedroom at Steeple Norton, I’d been yearning to be right here at home. Now I’d got what I wanted, I was here, and going inside seemed like way too much effort.

I’d have to have emotions and feelings.

I’d have to change my bed, after deciding which of the graves—I’m sorry,bedrooms—I wanted to occupy for the night.

I’d have to throw away everything in my fridge and break open my packet of emergency Hobnobs for supper.

God, my life sucked.

(Apart from the Hobnobs.)

I much preferred it when I’d been at the hotel and had a relaxing bath, cake, and Adam.

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