"There's a security system that wasn't in operation during the time your wife was based in the building." "Then I'd imagine Deanna let her in. Then she killed her." He shifted forward, resting one hand on the black silk covering his knee. "Imagine what this will do for her ratings, Lieutenant Jenner. He knows." Dan jabbed a finger toward Finn. "How many Nielsen homes will tune in to watch a cold-blooded killer, Riley? She'll murder the competition." He laughed, rubbing a hand over and over his face. "Just like she murdered Angela."

"Whoever killed your wife won't benefit from it." Jenner glanced at Finn, pleased to see he was maintaining an outward calm. Jenner decided he liked the pattern of their work together. Not something as clich@ed as good cop-

bad cop. Just teamwork. "Did Miss Perkins have an appointment book, a calendar?"

"Her secretary kept her calendar, but Angela always carried a small date book in her purse."

"Would you mind if we took a look in her room?"

Dan pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes. "Fuck, do what you want."

"You ought to order up some breakfast, Mr. Gardner," Jenner said as he rose.

"Yeah. I ought to do that."

Jenner took out a card and left it on the coffee table beside the ashtray of smoldering butts. "I'd appreciate it if you'd contact me if you think of anything else. We'll be out of your way in just a few minutes."

The first thing Finn did in the bedroom of the suite was open the drapes. Light spilled relentlessly into the room. The bureau top was crowded with bottles and pots, the expensive toys of a vain woman who could afford the best. A champagne flute with a pale pink outline of lipstick at the rim stood in the center. A floral silk robe flowed gracefully over the arm of a chair, its hem brushing matching ballet-style slippers.

The only evidence that a man shared the room was the suit hung on the valet.

"You didn't mention an appointment book in her purse, Lieutenant."

"There wasn't one." He glanced around the room like a hound sniffing the air. "Cosmetics, hotel key, cigarettes, lighter, a silk hankie, a roll of Certs, an eelskin wallet with ID, credit cards and better than three hundred cash. But no date book."

"Interesting." Finn nodded toward the champagne flute. "I'd say that was hers, wouldn't you, sitting there with her perfumes and skin creams."

"More than likely."

"There's another out in the parlor, over by the wet bar. Lipstick on that, too. Dark, hot-red lipstick."

"Good eye, Mr. Riley. Why don't we see if room service knows who Angela's drinking partner was?"


Carla Mendez had never had much excitement in her life. She'd been the oldest of five children born to a shoe salesman and a waitress and had lived a simple, uninspired life. At thirty-three, she had three children and a husband who was slavishly faithful and usually out of work.

Carla didn't mind her job as a hotel maid. She didn't like it particularly, but she did her job well if mechanically and tucked away tiny bottles of shampoo and skin cream as religiously as she tucked away her tips.

She was a small, sturdy woman, built like a fireplug, with tightly permed black hair and tiny dark eyes that were nearly lost in a network of worry lines. But her eyes were bright now, flitting from cop to reporter.

She didn't like cops. If Jenner had approached her alone, she would have closed up like a clam, on principle. But she couldn't resist Finn Riley. The way his dimples deepened when he smiled at her, the gentlemanly way he'd taken her hand.

And he wanted to interview her.

It was, for Carla, the biggest moment of her life.

Sensing her mood, Jenner hung back and let Finn take the ball.

"What time did you come into Miss Perkins's room to turn down the bed, Mrs. Mendez?"

"Ten o'clock. Usually I'd turn down much earlier, but she told me not to come in, not to disturb her before ten. She had appointments." Primly, she tugged on the hem of her uniform. "I don't like to work so late, but she was very nice." The twenty-dollar tip had been even nicer. "I've seen her on TV, too. But she wasn't stuck-up or anything. She was real polite. Messy, though," she added. "She and her husband used about six bath towels between them every day. And she had cigarette butts in every single ashtray. Dishes everywhere." She glanced around the parlor. "Cleaning up after people gives you insight," she said, and left it at that.

"I'm sure it does." Finn gave her an encouraging smile. "Was Miss Perkins with her husband when you were turning down the bed in their suite?"

"Can't say. Didn't see him. Didn't hear him. But I heard her, and the other one."

"The other one?"

"The other woman. They were scratching at each other like cats." Carla tugged on her hem again, examined her shoes. "Not that I listened. I mind my own business. I've been working in this hotel for seven years. You can't do that if you poke into people's private lives. But when I heard how she'd been murdered — Miss Perkins — I said to Gino, that's my husband, I said to Gino that I'd heard Miss Perkins going at it with this woman in her suite only a couple hours before she was dead. He said I should maybe tell my supervisor, but I thought it might cause trouble."

"So you haven't told anyone about it?" Finn prompted.

"No. And when you came in and said you wanted to talk to me about the people in 2403, I figured you already knew." Her eyes flashed back up. "Maybe you didn't."

"What can you tell us about the woman who was with Miss Perkins, Mrs. Mendez?"

"I didn't see her, but I heard her all right. Heard both of them. The woman said, "I'm sick and tired of playing your games, Angela. And one way or the other they're going to stop." Then Miss Perkins laughed. I knew it was her 'cause like I said, I've seen her on TV. And she laughed the way people do when they're feeling mean. And she said something like, "Oh, you'll keep playing, darling. The stakes…"" Carla screwed up her nose as she concentrated. ""The stakes are too high," she said, "for you to do anything else." They called each other names for a while. Then the other woman said, "I could kill you, Angela. But maybe I'll do something even better than that." Then I heard the door slam, and Miss

Perkins was laughing again. I finished up real quick and went out in the hall."

"You know, Mrs. Mendez, I think you should try my line of work." She preened and tugged on her hem again. "You're very observant," he added.

"It comes natural, I guess. You see a lot of funny things working in a hotel."

"I'm sure you do. I wonder… Did you see the woman who'd left?"

"No. There wasn't anybody out there, but it took me a couple of minutes to finish stacking fresh towels, so she could have gotten on the elevator. That was my last room, so I went home after that. The next morning I heard that Miss Perkins had been killed. At first I thought maybe that woman had come back and killed her right there in my suite. But I found out it didn't happen in the hotel at all. It happened at the TV station where Deanna Reynolds has her show. I like her show better," she added guilelessly. "She has such a nice smile."


Deanna tried to use that smile as Finn hesitated at the front door of the cabin. "I'm fine," she told him. She'd told him that repeatedly since she'd been released from the hospital three days before. "Finn, you're going to pick up a few things at the store; you're not leaving me to defend the fort against marauding hostiles. Besides" — she bent down to scratch the dog's ears—"I have a champion."

"Champion wimp." He cupped Deanna's face in his hands. "Let me worry, okay? It's still a new experience for me to fret." He grinned. "I like fretting over you, Deanna."

"As long as you're not fretting so much you forget to buy me that candy bar."

"Hershey's Big Block, no almonds."

He kissed her, relieved when her lips curved gently, sweetly under his. The day he'd had her to himself at the cabin had dulled the edge of her horror, he knew, but she still slept poorly and jolted at unexpected sounds. "Why don't you take a nap, Kansas?"

"Why don't you go get me that candy bar?" She drew back, her smile securely in place. "Then you can take a nap with me."

"Sounds like a pretty good deal. I won't be long."

No, she thought as she watched him walk to the car. He wouldn't be long. He hated leaving her alone. Though what he expected her to do was beyond her. Collapse in a hysterical heap? she wondered, lifting her hand in a wave as he headed down the lane. Run screaming from the house?

With a sigh, she crouched down again to rub the dog while he whined and scratched at the door. He loved to go for rides, she thought now. But Finn had left him behind, a canine sentry.

Not that she could blame Finn for being overprotective at this point. She'd been alone with a murderer, after all. A murderer who could have taken her life as quickly, as cruelly as he had taken Angela's. Everyone was worried about poor Deanna, she thought. Her parents, Fran. Simon, Jeff, Margaret,

Cassie. Roger and Joe and plenty of others from the newsroom. Even Loren and Barlow had called to express concern, to offer help.

"Take all the time you need," Loren had told her, without a single mention of ratings or expenses. "Don't even think about coming back until you're stronger."

But she wasn't weak, Deanna decided. She was alive.

No one had tried to kill her. Surely everyone must understand that one simple point. Yes, she had been alone with a murderer, but she was alive.