situations back in New York. It was ugly." He turned his attention to the TV, but
there was nothing more about the Heritage Center. After a while, he said, "Tell me, what do you
make of this killing?"
She kicked off her shoes and stretched her legs out on the couch. "Well, it's definitely a
strange one."
"I agree. Very unconventional."
"Oh, that's a terrible pun!"
He had to think about it before he realized what she meant. "Oh. It is, isn't it? Sorry.
Although, think about it: An Unconventional Murder . It might make an interesting book
title."
"Maybe. But nobody would ever accept the premise. A dead body decked out in items
stolen from each of the members of the Executive Board? I mean, who would ever believe
that?"
" Of course, it's not just any body," Upton pointed out. "It's an unidentified body. In a
locked room. I've spent the last hour going around the hotel, asking everybody I could find if they
know who he was."
"Any luck?"
"Nothing. Nada."
"Somebody must have known him. They're just not admitting it."
Upton said, "Oh, somebody knew him, all right. Well enough to slip that garrotte around
his neck and strangle him."
"That's true, isn't it?" she said pensively. "Someone had to get close enough to be able to
do that. Do you think he was actually killed in the Aspen Room?"
"You know, I haven't really thought about it. If he was killed somewhere else, then the
killer had to drag the body into the room. I didn't notice any marks on the carpet. And then there's
the business about the doors. Jimmy seemed pretty sure he unlocked those doors at 7:00 a.m.
Royce says they were locked at a few minutes before nine. Yet when he and I returned at about
9:30, they were unlocked."
"Meaning that the murderer had a key?"
Upton frowned. "That would make the killer a hotel employee. Or, at least, someone
with access to keys."
"Which would certainly limit the number of suspects."
"It would eliminate our members. That would give me tremendous comfort. I've got a
feeling it's a dead end, but I'll follow it up, just in case."
"Why would it be a dead end?"
"Because what hotel employee would know who all of the board members are? And
which coats and hats and so on belonged to whom? Stealing all of those things took time and
some planning."
"I see your point. That limits the field considerably, doesn't it?"
"It sure does," Upton said. "And since my hat was stolen last night, it presumably means
somebody who was here yesterday."
Rena pulled her knees to her chest and shuddered. "You know, I love reading--and
writing--murder mysteries. But it sure is different to be living inside one of them. This gives me
the creeps!"
"Me, too. And to make matters worse, that garrotte came from Detective Cameron's
weapons display."
"It did?"
"It was stolen out of the display. And there's something else. You have a right to know.
The garrotte wasn't the only thing stolen."
"What do you mean?"
"This is just between you and me. Not Royce, not Suzanne, not anyone else. I need your
absolute word on that."
"Of course." she said. "You can trust me, Art. You know that, don't you?"
"I certainly hope so. There was also a stiletto. With a nine-inch blade. It's missing.
Cameron has no idea what happened to it but, presumably, it was taken by the same person who
stole the garrotte." He gestured toward the paring knife he had set on the glass-topped table.
"That's why I grabbed that when you came in."
She clutched herself again as another shiver ran through her. "I don't like this at all. It's
like waiting for the other shoe to drop."
"Speaking of which, have you spoken with that woman who claims Randy stole her
book? What's her name?"
"Thelma Ridgeway," Rena said. "I tried to, right after lunch, but she was heading into
another session. She said that whatever I wanted would have to wait."
"Well, will you try to talk to her again? Maybe we can head this thing off before it gets
out of hand."
"I will. She said she'd meet me at 2:30."
"It's