Chapter 18: Murder at the Hotel
Lew
Lew dreamed about home. He was half-aware he was dreaming, and he didn’t want to wake up. He could smell the orange-cinnamon smell of his shampoo instead of the sharp tang of Brilliantine. The traffic noise on the High Road was a rumbling hum in the background. He could hear his flat mates bullshitting in the kitchen about something or other. In a minute, his alarm would go off and he’d wake up to The Killers asking him whether he was Human. But the duvet was unnaturally heavy over his legs and the musty-stuffy-muggy smell wasn’t going away.
With a wrench, he woke up with a crushing sense of loss. The duvet was two blankets and a lumpy quilt. The musty-stuff-muggy smell meant that Agnes already had her coppers boiling in the laundry downstairs. And th
