A Stiletto Is Missing...

Methodically, he scanned each seat, waiting for its occupant to show some sign of life. Within ten minutes, he had concluded there were no dead bodies occupying any of the seats. He turned his attention to the thicket of people along the walls. One by one, he verified that they, too, were alive and showing the normal signs of human activity.

There was only one place left to check, but the room was filled beyond capacity and he nearly missed it.

In fact, he did overlook it at first. In a corner of the room, along the wall to his right, someone was seated on the floor, legs jutting out along the carpet. All Upton could see from his vantage point was a pair of black dress shoes and gray slacks. He studied the motionless figure for several minutes, waiting for some twitch or kick or other sign of life.

But there was nothing.

He leaned over and whispered to Rena, "I think I've spotted it, over in that far corner. It looks like it's just a mannequin. There's probably nothing to worry about."

"That's a relief," she said.

"And even it if isn't, there's nothing we can do about it until this session is over. We wouldn't want to set off a panic."

As the questions continued, Upton began staring obsessively at his wristwatch, wishing somehow he could will the minutes to move faster. Finally, the session was over. He flattened himself against the wall, letting the parade of departing writers pass him by. The usual hopefuls flocked forward, eager to engage the agents in conversation on the off chance one of them would agree to read a sample of the writer's work.

Fat chance, Upton thought, at least if the agent was Zachary Tuck. He gently elbowed his way toward the corner of the room, moving against the flow of the crowd.

There it was.

Seated on the floor, leaning against the two converging walls was an unmistakably male figure bundled up in a heavy overcoat. A plaid muffler was wrapped around its neck and its head was covered by a knit ski hat. The eyes were obscured by a pair of sunglasses.

Upton reached down and touched the inert figure on the cheek, quickly jerking his hand back as his fingers encountered human skin.

Rena gaped at the figure on the floor. "What—"

"This is no dummy," Upton muttered. "This is a real flesh and blood person."

"Is he asleep?"

"I don't think so." He felt for a pulse.

There was none.

"Rena, this man is dead."