The two women looked at each other quizzically.

“You expecting anyone?”

“No,” Elgin replied, “but whoever it is, tell them I died and didn’t leave a forwarding address. I’ve really got to try and rough out a new plot before I’m up to my ass in re-writes or I never will get away to the retreat.”

The buzzer sounded again and Martha hurried through the living room and foyer to the speaker set in the wall just inside the front door.

“Yes?” She clicked the switch from “talk” to “listen.”

“Miss Jackson,” came the warm baritone voice of their doorman, “it’s Ben.”

“Yes, Ben.”

“Miss Collier has a couple of visitors down here…” She thought she detected a note of concern in his tone.

“I’m sorry, Ben,” she cut in, “but Miss Collier’s unavailable today. Please ask whoever it is to call Fantasy Publishing about an appointment.”

A heartbeat pause went by before the voice spoke again, this time a nervous strain clear.

“It’s the police, Miss Jackson,” he told her slowly. “They say they have to speak to Miss Collier right now.”

“The police?” A tiny ripple of fear passed through her.

“Yes, ma’am. They showed me their badges and everything. Should I send them up?”

“Yes, certainly.” She switched off the speaker and waited tensely for the doorbell. When it chimed, she jumped, even though she’d been expecting it.

Opening the door, Martha found two middle-aged, medium height, average-looking men, one in a gray suit, one in dark blue. Both held up gold badges and picture ID’s in small leather cases.

“I’m Detective Sloan,” the man on her right announced flatly. “This is Detective Belknap. Miss Collier?”

“Uh…no,” she stammered. “I’m Martha Jackson, Miss Collier’s secretary. May I ask what this is about?”

“If we could come in,” Detective Sloan sidestepped her question, “we’d like to speak to Miss Collier. It will only take a moment.” He gazed at her expectantly with clear, calm gray eyes as if there might actually be some doubt as to whether or not she’d admit them.

“Yes. Certainly. Please come in.” She stepped back and opened the door wider, closing it carefully behind them when they’d moved inside.

“If you’ll come with me gentlemen, Miss Collier’s in the living room.”

But when they got there, Elgin had disappeared gone.

Martha felt her heart speed up as she glanced around the room and through the open glass doors to the terrace.

“Uh, please won’t you sit down gentlemen?” Martha pointed to the empty sofa. “Let me just go and see if I can find her. I mean…I’m sure she’s here somewhere. That is, I’m sure she hasn’t left. She was right here a minute ago.”

She dashed across the living room, almost tripping over her feet opening the study door and slamming it behind her.

Elgin sat at her computer, scrolling lazily through her e-mail.

“Who was it?” she asked without looking up as Martha came to her side.

“The cops,” Martha replied, the words dropping like rocks between them.

“The cops?” Elgin repeated in amazement, her head jerking up, confusion plain on her face.

Her secretary nodded emphatically. “And not just uniformed beat cops either. These are plain clothes. Detectives Sloan and Belknap.”

“What…what do they want with me?”

“They wouldn’t tell me. Just said they need to talk to you. But from the looks of them, I don’t think they’re here selling tickets to the Policemen’s Ball.”

Standing up, Elgin took a deep breath and released it slowly.

“Well then, I guess we better go and see what they want.”

As they opened the door, the two men who’d been seated side by side on the sofa rose silently and Elgin had the distinct feeling she’d interrupted a serious, private conversation.

Forcing a smile, she extended her hand.

“I’m Elgin Collier,” she told them with as much hospitality as she could muster.

“I’m Detective Sloan. This is Detective Belknap.” They produced gold badges and picture ID’s that Elgin couldn’t read without her glasses.

“Detectives. Won’t you please sit down? Can I get you something? Coffee perhaps?”

“No thank you, Miss Collier,” replied the man closest to her. “We’d like to speak to you if you have a few minutes.” His gaze flickered to Martha. “Alone if that’s all right?”

“Why…uh…certainly.” She turned to her secretary. “Martha, will you please finish going through my e-mail?”

“Sure. Call if you need anything.” And with a last quick glance at the detectives, she disappeared back into the study.

The three of them settled back down, the detectives on the sofa, Elgin across the coffee table in a big high-back, chocolate leather wing chair.

“Now, what may I do for you gentlemen?”

Detective Belknap took out a small, ragged green spiral bound notebook and a cheap looking ballpoint pen. His partner waited as he flipped through until he found a blank page. With an almost imperceptible nod, he signaled to the other detective that he was ready to begin.

“Miss Collier, we have a report that yesterday, a few minutes after noon, you had an…encounter with a street beggar in front of the Riverview Plaza building.”

Shit!

“Why…yes,” she replied carefully. “It was really nothing.”

“Could you tell us, in your own words, what happened.”

“Well, as I said, there really wasn’t anything to it.” Out of the corner of her eye, Elgin saw the detective’s pen moving rapidly across the paper.

“I’d just come from my publisher’s office. Fantasy Publications is in the Plaza One Tower. I came out and while waiting for a cab, a street bum accosted me, demanding money. His intimidating manner naturally frightened me. I told him I didn’t have any change and tried to walk away but he grabbed my arm and threatened to break it. I…I guess I just had some kind of self-preservation impulse because the next thing I knew, he was lying on the ground. A cabby hustled me to his taxi and brought me home.”

“And you never saw this man before?”

Here it comes. They’re probably here to arrest me. And the miserable bastard’s lawyer has probably tipped the media so they’ll be waiting at the precinct house when I arrive.

“No.”

“You’re sure?”

“Positive.” She took a breath. “May I ask what this is about? I mean, if the man has filed some kind of legal complaint against me, I’d like to know so that I can call my lawyer. And I’d be happy to show you the bruises he left on my arm.”

“Why didn’t you call the police?”

“Because I really didn’t see any point in causing a lot of trouble for a street beggar who, from the smell of his breath, had obviously been drinking. And how would it look to the media for a well-known author to be involved in an altercation with…well, it just didn’t seem to me to be worth the trouble. However, if this person is accusing me of something, I’m sure I can find plenty of witnesses to prove that whatever happened, I acted purely in self-defense. Is he accusing me of something?”

“No, Miss Collier,” the detective answered slowly, “you’re not being accused of anything. And we have several witnesses who’ve already corroborated your story, including leaving the scene by taxi.”

“Then what may I ask, are you doing here?”

“Because the street beggar with whom you had your…altercation…was found murdered yesterday afternoon.”