I willnot, as it turns out, be having much fun trying.
Or not so far, anyway.
First of all, it takes me a good twenty minutes to find my way back to my room, and I only manage it in the end by enlisting the help of Agnes, who kindly shows me the way, and tells me she’ll try to draw a map for me when she has a spare moment.
Once I get to the room, though, I pull off the red ‘granny’ sweater and wrench the wardrobe doors open only to find, like Mother Hubbard herself, that the cupboard is completely bare.
‘Where are my clothes?’ I demand seventeen minutes later, having somehow made my way back down to the lobby, where Dante looks at me as if I’m hurting his eyes.
‘You’re .?.?. wearing them?’ he says, looking pointedly at the wretched sweater, which I was forced to hurriedly put back on again, considering it’s now one of the only things I have. ‘Which is certainly an improvement on last night, I must say. I’ve been meaning to speak to you about that, actually. I know you’d just arrived, but the Chrysalisdoeshave a strict dress code and we do ask that guests be fully clothed at all times. Robes don’t count, just FYI. Not outside of the spa area.’
‘Thanks for the fashion advice,’ I snap, the stress of the moment making me forget to apologise for once in my life, ‘but I don’t meantheseclothes. I mean the ones in my room. They’re not there. They’re .?.?. g-gone.’
I started off strong, with an assertive,I will take no shit from youtone that would’ve made Hunter Stuart proud if he’d only been here to see it. But I end on the kind of muffled wail that would make even abansheeproud, and that’s not exactly the impression I was hoping to make here.
Luckily, though, it at least makes Dante take me seriously.
‘Gone?’ he says, his handsome face arranging itself into a frown. ‘What do you mean they’re gone?’
‘Just that,’ I tell him, managing to get a grip of myself again. ‘I went into my room to get changed, and the wardrobe is empty. Someone’s taken all my clothes.’
Dante pulls a face that suggests he very much doubts that anyone would want my clothes.
‘Are you sure?’ he asks. ‘Were you definitely in the right room? Agnes mentioned you keep getting lost?’
‘This is the only key I have,’ I tell him, holding it up. The rooms at the Chrysalis all have old-fashioned locks rather than swipe cards, and the room number is clearly visible on the tag. ‘Surely it won’t let me into any other room but mine?’
‘No. It wouldn’t,’ Dante says, picking up a phone from the reception desk and pressing a button on it. ‘Look, leave it with me. I’m sure it’s just some kind of misunderstanding. I’ll look into it for you.’
He turns away to mutter something into the phone, leaving me standing there with my mouth hanging open as I wonder what to do next. I can’t even imagine what kind of ‘misunderstanding’ could result in all of my clothes vanishing over breakfast.
No, that seems more like something someone must have done on purpose.
But who?
And, well,why?
The thing is, everyone connected with the influencer campaign was already at breakfast when I arrived; sure, Sabrina was a few minutes late, but not late enough that she’d have been able to get into my room without a key, and steal all of my clothes. Which just leaves the hotel staff. Lovely Agnes, who I refuse to believe is capable of messing with anyone, let alone a guest. Dante, whohasbeen pretty sneery about my dress sense, to be fair, but whose surprise at the Mystery of the Missing Clothes seems genuine. Or .?.?.
‘Hello again. Still here, are you? They haven’t kicked you out yet?’
Hunter Stuart.
‘Oh. It’s you,’ I say, turning to face him, then almost falling over as a giant ball of fur in the shape of Stevie the wolf-dog comes barrelling at me.
‘Er, aye. It is. Have I done something to justify that frosty response?’ Hunter replies, his brow creasing in confusion.
‘I don’t know.Haveyou?’ I shoot back, the dignified effect I was going for somewhat ruined by the fact that Stevie’s currently trying to wash my face with his tongue.
‘Sorry,’ I mutter, seeing the confused look on Hunter’s face, and realising I have absolutely no proof that he’s the clothes thief either. ‘I’m just having a bad morning.’
I quickly fill him in on the influencer competition, and the missing clothes drama.
‘I see,’ he says gravely as I reach the end of my sorry tale. ‘So you reckon someone wants you out of the picture, then? A sabotage attempt, to ruin your chances of becoming Miss Chrysalis?’
‘Er, no, not really,’ I reply, taken aback. ‘That sounds a bit far-fetched, don’t you think? They’re content creators, not the Mafia. And it’s not “Miss Chrysalis” either, it’s just a silly competition.’
‘One with quite a lot of money at stake, though,’ points out Hunter, stroking his chin thoughtfully. ‘I’d be watching my back, if I were you. And my bed.’
