The Queen's Accomplice (Maggie Hope Mystery #6)(92)

—

“We can still call this off,” Durgin said as Maggie checked in with May, the young blonde with the port-wine stain and gray front tooth at the desk at the Castle Hotel.

“No,” Maggie told him. Then, to the girl, “No, I don’t have any luggage, actually.” She was trying to modulate her voice, which kept creeping higher in pitch. After she signed her name in flowing black ink, she looked around her. A number of women in uniforms or brightly colored dresses under wool coats were going out for the evening. The lobby was emptying out, the fire dying. It was quiet, but he was there, she was certain of it. She felt his presence. Come on, you Beast. Come and get me.



“Well, please let me know if you need anything.” May’s face was troubled.

Dr. Frank came out from his office, hand extended. “Ah, Miss Hope! How are you?”

Maggie ignored his question. “This is DCI James Durgin,” she said, gesturing.

“Why, hello! Hello! How do you do, Detective.”

Durgin’s face was stone. “We spoke earlier today on the telephone.”

“Of course, of course! Right this way!”

In the privacy of his office, Dr. Frank asked, “How’s the investigation going? Any news? I certainly hope so—those poor, poor women. And I’m happy for you to make use of the Castle Hotel, in any way you need.”

The plan Maggie and Durgin had devised was for her to check in to the Castle Hotel, where the Beast, incensed by her appearance at the press conference, would make his move. Durgin and his officers would be outside in an unmarked car, watching the front entrance. There would be another unmarked police car at the back. A plainclothes officer would be in the hotel’s lobby, pretending to wait for one of the guests. If Maggie were to be in any danger, she would take off the blackout curtains in her room, to let the light spill out into the darkness. Then they’d know she’d been approached.

“I’ll have May escort you to your room.” The doctor was all concern.

“You don’t have to do this,” Durgin said, taking her hand. “We can call this off, here and now.”



Maggie wanted nothing more than to run from the building, run away from London, from the war, from everything. But instead she took a shaky breath. “No, I’m staying.”

As Durgin glared, Dr. Frank dialed zero on the telephone. “Yes, Miss Hope is ready to be shown her room, darling.”

When May entered, she asked, “Anything else, Daddy?”

“No, my sister. This is Miss Margaret Hope, the woman I spoke with you about—”

“Yes, we met when she signed the book—”

“—and DCI Durgin. After you take Miss Hope to her room, I want you to exit the hotel, as we discussed. The police officers will take care of you.”

“Daddy—” May protested.

“Your father’s right,” Durgin said. “It’s for your own safety, Miss Frank.”

May smiled. “Of course. Whatever you say.”

“May!” came a deep, resonant voice, the sort movie stars used. It belonged to a young man opening the door; however, the voice didn’t match his looks. The man was short and slight, boyish-looking, despite his smart double-breasted, pin-striped suit and camel-hair coat. His eyes were a striking hazel. Skin tags dotted his face, and his upper front teeth overlapped, one with a significant chip.

“DCI Durgin and Miss Hope, this is Nicholas Reitter,” May told them. She’d blushed hotly as the young man entered.

“You’re May’s fiancé,” Maggie stated.

Nicholas smiled. “Why yes. She mentioned that, did she?”

“She’s wearing an engagement ring and your photograph is on her desk.”

He looked at her strangely. “You look familiar, Miss Hope. Have we met before?”

Maggie felt a prickle of recognition, but couldn’t quite place him. “I don’t think so.”



May fluttered her eyelashes. “Nicholas couldn’t serve because of a congenital heart defect,” she explained, “but he’s off to the Middle East soon—surveying and mapmaking and all sorts of things I don’t really understand.” She twisted at her ring. “We’ll be married during his first leave.”

Durgin looked to Maggie. “Are you ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.”

May touched the redhead’s shoulder. “Come, let me show you to your room.”

—

Faux-gas lamps at haphazard intervals along the corridor left long shadows as Maggie and May walked past.

May opened the door to the room Brynn had stayed in, then handed Maggie the key. “Here you go. Is there anything else you need?”

“No, thank you, though.”

“I’ll leave you to it, then.”

Inside her cramped room, Maggie tossed her handbag on the dresser and slipped off her coat. She sat down on the bed.

And waited.

The chamber was furnished and comfortable enough. Its windows were blocked by blackout curtains, and the only sounds she heard were the low rumble of traffic and a faint wailing siren. Maggie stared up at the ceiling, heart beating, doing breathing exercises.

Then she heard a scratching at the door.

She froze, her heart pounding.