“Because you think I might be honest, or because I’m not going to have sex with you?”

“Not going to have sex with me right now. Always keep your options open.”

This was getting irritating. “You really think a lot of yourself, don’t you?”

“Just being realistic, darling. I assure you I would blow your mind.”

“My wife blows my mind,” replied Liza only slightly defensively.

Ruby made a sound that in a less poised person might have been called a snort. “I strongly suspect that’s a lie, or at least that it hasn’t been true for some time. But in any case, I will tell you three things.”

“If we’re in danger why not tell me all of the things?”

“My life depends on candour; my freedom depends on caution. You see the dilemma.”

“A dilemma that would miraculously vanish if I let you eat me out in a broom closet?”

Somehow, Ruby managed to convey a raised eyebrow entirely vocally. “My, my, you did go quickly to specifics. But yes, that is rather the size of it. And really, when you put it that way, doesn’t it sound like a bit of a win-win from your perspective?”

Liza gave her a resolute look. “Still married.”

“‘I’m married’ is to sex,” drawled Ruby—she was one of nature’s drawlers—”what ‘I’m on a diet’ is to chocolate. It means ‘I want to, but society is telling me I shouldn’t.’”

“It means ‘It might feel good in the moment, but there would be real consequences I’d have to live with.’” Liza did her best not to think too much about either the feelings or the consequences. They were both distracting in different ways.

“So you do admit it would feel good?”

This was becoming almost as absurd as Belloc and his grandstanding. “Of course it would feel good. Unless you’re incredibly shit at oral it would feel good. But—” Liza made a strangled, exasperated, sexually confused noise that came out as a sort of “grah.” “Will you just tell me what you know about the actual murder?”

“Good to know you’re living up to the name of your podcast at least.” Ruby sounded deeply disappointed. “About the murder itself, I know nothing. But where my erstwhile employer is concerned, I suspect everything, as should you. Rule nothing out, not even that Ackroyd has just faked his own death and is even now stalking the halls of the hotel waiting for a moment to strike.”

“That seems unlikely.”

“In my world, it pays to be flexible mentally as well as physically.”

Despite the circumstances, Liza laughed. “Do you just spend your whole life being paranoid and horny?”

“It’s what I intend to call my autobiography. I don’t think it’s likely that Mr Ackroyd’s mangled corpse will be wandering around trying to shoot me, but it has happened to me at least once before.”