A young man dressed in the livery of the hotel stood in the hall. He had a stack of violet-colored boxes wrapped in elegantly tied violet ribbons.
“Mrs. Cage’s spa purchases,” the bellhop said.
“Oh, I forgot about those,” Lyra said.
Simon stared at the stack of violet boxes. “You bought all that stuff today?”
“No more lectures, please,” Lyra said. “Let the man in.”
Simon grunted, unhooked the chain on the door, and stepped back, careful to keep the gun out of sight.
The bellhop hustled through the door. “Where would you like these, Mrs. Cage?”
“Set them on the table, please,” Lyra said. She found her purse, unsnapped it, and took out some money. “Here you go. Thank you so much.”
The bellhop looked thrilled with the tip. “Anytime, ma’am.”
He went out the door and sauntered down the hall, whistling.
Simon closed and locked the door. He put the chain back on and turned to watch Lyra untie a ribbon on one of the boxes.
“I can’t believe you were shopping while you were in the middle of conducting an investigation,” he said.
“When you spend a day at a spa you’re expected to make a few purchases. The treatment ladies work on commissions as well as tips. It would be rude not to buy some of the products.”
She lifted the lid off one of the boxes and took out a violet jar.
“What is it?” Simon said.
“Guppy’s House of Beauty night cream. It’s guaranteed to restore the radiant glow of youth.”
“You’re not old,” he blurted, unthinking. “Your radiance is just fine.”
She wrinkled her nose. Her eyes sparkled with amusement. “Thank you. But it was made clear to me today that a wife must devote herself to a rigorous program of regular skin care and exercise in order to hold her husband’s attention. After all, to quote Madam Guppy, we would not want Mr. Cage’s eyes to wander.”
“Mr. Cage has not been able to take his eyes off you since the moment he first saw you.”
There was a fraught silence. It reminded Simon of the tense pause that occurred between a lightning strike and the sound of thunder. You knew there was power and energy and danger in the atmosphere. You just didn’t know exactly when and where the explosion would take place.
Lyra watched him with a steady, unflinching gaze. He got the feeling that she was once again trying to get a fix on him; trying to read his mind.
“Is Mr. Cage unable to take his gaze off me because he’s afraid that when I am out of his sight I will jeopardize his investigation?” she asked, her tone suspiciously polite.
“That, too,” he admitted. He walked slowly toward her and stopped a foot away. “But mostly he can’t take his eyes off you because you are... unpredictable. Complicated.”
She nodded very somberly. “Unpredictable is good. So is complicated.”
“A mystery,” he said.
“Oh, yes, I like being a mystery. I like it very much.”
She set the jar of night cream aside and turned away from the stack of violet boxes to face him. She lounged back against the table and, stretching her arms out to either side, gripped the edge with both hands.
“I could say the same about you,” she said. “You’re complicated. Mysterious. You are, however, becoming a little more predictable.”
“Help me out here—are we still quarreling, or have we started flirting?”
“You’re not sure?”
