thought of the possibilities, and fear left me with only enough breath to whisper, “Please, Gertrude. Please let me out.”
She shook her head and then left the room.
I wanted to pick up the tea set and fling it at her. I wanted to take the little tongs from the sugar-cube bowl and stab her with them. Instead, I sank into the chair and rested my forehead on one palm, trying to keep my mind in the room where I was. I hadn’t the strength. I felt it float out of my body and to the window and imagined seeing all of Elsinore sparkling in the mid-afternoon sun.
I headed half-dazed for the elevator. As I passed Claudius’s office, he opened the door and asked me to come in. I hesitated but had no choice. He closed the door behind me, and I stood near it, hoping I could run if I needed to.
Leaning in, he said, “You told my wife that Hamlet was lying about your seeing me in the garden. I think you are the one who is lying. I need the truth and I need it now.” He was speaking slowly and measuredly, but behind his facade I detected a sense of nervousness.
“I…” I began, but was afraid to continue. My eyes flicked to the corners of the office, hoping to see a security camera in any of them like there were in so many of the other offices and meeting rooms. Sadly, there were none. I considered lying but realized that if he had evidence, I would be even more screwed. “The day… the day the ki… your brother died… I… I went into the garden to read.”
Claudius’s eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly.
“When I came out of the elevator, I… I saw you headed for… for the stairs.”
“And?”
My heart was racing, and blood was rushing in my ears. “And that’s it.”
“Who have you told?” he asked, his lips curling.
“No one.”
“You told Hamlet!” he shouted, and grabbed my arm. I tried to move away, but his grip merely tightened.
“Only him. Not even—” My voice broke at the thought of him. “Not even my father.” I was too scared to mention Horatio’s name for fear of what Claudius would do to him. And I hoped Horatio hadn’t casually mentioned it to anyone, though that would have been out of character.
Claudius bent at the knees so his face was level with mine and he squeezed my arm even tighter. “Let me be clear,” he growled. “You saw nothing. But if I find out that you so much as mentioned your being in the conservatory that day, let alone the fact that you saw me, I will kill you and whomever you told.” He held me for another moment to be sure his message had time to sink in, then opened the door and pushed me through it.
To my astonishment, when Officer Cornelius and I got back to my apartment, Hamlet was waiting. He was standing behind the kitchen island cutting fruit. Seriously. Cutting. Fruit. I couldn’t believe he was free, and I was locked up, and I couldn’t believe he was standing in my apartment, a place he’d fled from in anger. I wanted to scream, “Are you insane?” and then I thought that he really might be. Who besides a crazy person kills a girl’s dad and then comes to cut fruit in her kitchen? And if he was crazy, I didn’t want to be anywhere near him, especially if he was armed with more than just that carving knife.
I remained frozen while Cornelius took a step in front of me and asked, “Sir, what are you doing here?”
“I’m making a smoothie. I know how much Ophelia loves them. I’m headed for England tonight, so I thought I’d do this as a farewell gesture.”
“Sir,” Cornelius insisted, “you’re not allowed anywhere near her. Where’s your detail?”
Hamlet began cutting again.
I took a step back, but the elevator doors had already closed. The cool surface chilled my shoulder blades. It was such a familiar sight, seeing Hamlet in my kitchen, but it made me feel like I had jumped out of my body. Everything looked jerky and echoed. My mind raced to other days like this when I would have sat with him on my balcony and enjoyed the day doing nothing. But my father would not come home that afternoon; he was hidden somewhere, cold and dead, waiting for a proper burial. Mr. Smoothie himself had cut my father’s life short with ease.