“It’s my sister’s,” Scarlett said quickly.

“Your sister has good taste. Expensive taste. I take it this elevator is original, mechanics and all?”

“Um…yeah.”

“Very authentic.”

Again, Scarlett had no idea what that remark was meant to mean. After about six days, the elevator triumphantly reached the fourth floor, and Scarlett sprang the gate. The Empire Suite was a long room at the front of the building, with three tall windows facing out to the street. The key stuck in the lock a little, but Scarlett got it open after a moment or two of jiggling.

It had been at least four months since anyone had occupied the room. It was painfully hot and still. Most normal hotels had AC running constantly, and the steady stream of guests meant that the rooms were regularly freshened. This room hadn’t been dusted since Monique left weeks before. The room was neat, but had that odd feeling that empty, expectant rooms tended to get—almost like they were angry that they’d been neglected. A superfine layer of dust had accumulated. That was her problem now. Hopefully Mrs. Amberson wouldn’t run out and down the street to somewhere better.

“I may need to…wake it up a little,” she said.

“Wake it up,” Mrs. Amberson said. “I like that. Very evocative.”

Mrs. Amberson stripped off the pink kimono, revealing a tight, short-sleeved tunic top, like something a dancer might wear. She tapped the cigarette case on her forearm and walked around the room, pausing to admire the dressing table and its moony mirror. This was the highlight of the room, in Scarlett’s opinion. Along with the gorgeous mirror, the table had a dozen small drawers that presumably used to hold all of the little things necessary for a woman in the twenties—lipsticks, bracelets, small bottles of illegal booze.

“Well,” she said, apparently satisfied. “This is the good kind of authentic. I can smoke on the balcony, right? Don’t worry. I won’t burn the curtains.”

She was already climbing over the desk, out of the window, and onto the tiny, sheltered ledge outside. It was really for flower boxes. It definitely didn’t qualify as a balcony.

“That’s not really for people,” Scarlett said. “I don’t know if that’ll…”

“I don’t weigh much. And it’s only four stories. I’ll take my chances.”

She sat against the short wrought-iron rail, sticking her arm through the bars, away from the window. She kept the curtain tucked back with her leg.

“You don’t smoke, do you?”

“No,” Scarlett said.

“Good,” she said through pursed lips as she lit her cigarette. “You should never start. Smoking kills. Oh, that’s good…”

That last remark was addressed to the trail of smoke leaving her lips.

“Twenty-nine hours,” she said. “No smoking on the plane. No smoking in the airport. No smoking in the cab.”

Mrs. Amberson regarded her through the filmy veil that she breathed into the air. Scarlett felt the minutes ticking away. It was one kind of scary thing taking Marlene someplace. It was another, much more scary thing to take her there late.