Upstairs, they let themselves into their room, and at once a feeling like needles ran down Liza’s spine. Unlike the reverend’s room, she was familiar with the space and so could spot the little things out of place—the dressing table that had been slightly shifted, the pillows on the bed not quite the way they were normally arranged by the staff. The way her laptop was very obviously missing.

“Fuck.”

Hanna shut the door carefully behind them and then stood with her back to it. “This is bad, right? This is very, very bad.”

“Probably?” Searching for an upside, Liza settled on, “I mean, unless it’s good. Maybe whoever it was realised that what they were looking for isn’t here and has moved on. Maybe this is it, and we’re done now.”

“Does that honestly seem likely?”

Honestly, it didn’t. Hell, the very fact that her laptop—which contained all her notes for the next episode of Murder Most Actual and the half-edited recordings of the last episode, along with just straight up being logged in to her personal email—had been stolen and it wasn’t her biggest concern right then was a pretty major sign that something was very wrong indeed.

“Do we tell the manager?” asked Hanna.

Liza was at best only sixty percent sure that Mr Burgh was trustworthy. Which meant there was a forty percent chance of his being a manipulative sociopath who would definitely want them dead if they confirmed that they had access to his banking information. And forty percent seemed like bad odds. Especially because he was on quite a short list of people who could have searched their room in the time they’d been out of the hotel. “I think maybe no. At least not everything. We should probably report the computer stolen because,” she winced; this was about to go down a but-we-know-that-they-know-that-we-know rabbit hole, “if we didn’t suspect that somebody came to my room looking for something specific, that’s what we’d probably do.”

Perching on the very corner of the bed, Hanna rested her chin on her hands. “While we’re there, do you think we could get a different room?”

“It does feel a bit yicky still staying here, doesn’t it?”

“Not yicky. Unsafe.”

Liza went and sat next to her wife, putting an arm around her protectively. Not that she was really able to offer much protection. Maybe she should have taken that gun. “We’ll be okay.”

“Will we?” It was a challenging will we, not a reassurance-seeking one. “Because if somebody came through that door right now and tried to murderise us both, I’m not sure what we’d do.”

“Hide under the bed?” Liza was trying to be light-hearted, but it was scary to think about.

“First place anybody would look.”

“You say that, but when was the last time you looked under a bed?”