Walker and Marc had volunteered for the unpleasant task of wrapping Vanessa in a sheet and laying her out on the floor of the freezer, while Alan and Paul kept Hal company. When Walker and Marc rejoined the rest of the group in Moira and Grace’s living room, they were grim faced and solemn.

“Brandy?” Moira passed the bottle that Alan had brought. “I think we could all use a drink.”

Hal held out his glass for a refill.

“Careful, Hal.” Moira poured just a bit more in his glass. “That stuff is pretty potent.”

“It’s just what I need. I still can’t believe that Vanessa’s dead. And even worse, I don’t know whether I should drown my sorrows or celebrate. Vanessa was a real piece of work, but at least she was interesting. I think I’m going to miss her.”

Laureen clamped her mouth shut and avoided Hal’s eyes. It was apparent that she wanted to say something, but she managed to remain silent.

“I am sorry, Hal.” Paul patted Hal’s shoulder. “I wish to offer condolence, but I do not know which words to say.”

Hal nodded and took another sip of his brandy. “Well, I do. I say there’s something rotten in Denmark, and don’t take that personally, Paul.”

“I am Norwegian. You may say what you wish about Danes.”

“Right.” Hal gave a lopsided grin and turned to Marc. “You said her skull was smashed?”

“Hal, please,” Moira soothed, reaching for his hand. “Don’t dwell on it.”

“I’m not dwelling. I’m just trying to make some sense out of it.” He turned to Marc again. “You think she hit her head on that metal table in Laureen’s freezer?”

Marc nodded. “That’s what it looked like, Hal. Of course I’m no expert, but . . .”

“What was she doing in there in the first place?” Hal interrupted. “The first time she saw Laureen’s freezer she said she thought it was scary. She told me that it reminded her of a television show where a guy was impaled on a meat hook. I just can’t picture her going in there for no reason.”

“We think she went after the brownies. There was an open package on the floor and everyone heard Laureen say she had a batch in the freezer.”

“Well . . . maybe.” Hal looked dubious. “Vanessa was crazy about those brownies. But that doesn’t explain how she got into your unit.”

Alan responded immediately to Laureen’s questioning look. “I know what you’re thinking, but you’re wrong! I never gave her a key, and I have no idea how she got in. Are you sure you locked the door when you ran down to get the pizza dough?”

Laureen frowned. “I think I did. But I could’ve left it open. I do that sometimes, when I’m just going somewhere in the building.”

“That explains it, then.” Hal nodded. “But why did Vanessa hit her head on that table? There wasn’t anything on the floor to trip over, was there, Laureen?”

“Only a case of lobster tails, but that was in plain sight. I’m sure she would have seen it.”

“Not if the light went off.” Alan hurried to explain. “The freezer has two switches for the lights. The first one goes on and off with the door, the same as a refrigerator. But there’s a wall switch that overrides it. That’s on a ten-minute timer.”

“That’s too complicated for me right now.”

Alan patted Hal on the shoulder. “That’s all right. You’re entitled to get a little smashed. You see, there are times when you want to spend more than a couple of minutes in the freezer, rearranging the shelves or whatever, and you don’t want to leave the door open that long. That’s when you use the wall switch, and if you forget to turn it off when you leave, it shuts off automatically after ten minutes.”

“So Vanessa used the wall switch and closed the door. Is that what you’re saying?”

“That’s right. Now picture this. Vanessa’s in the freezer looking for the brownies. She finally finds them and she’s opening the package when the lights click off. Naturally, she panics and runs for the door, but it’s pitch-black, and she trips over that case of lobster tails and crashes into the corner of the table.”

Hal reflected for a moment. “That tracks, Alan. Even better than Columbo. Vanessa used to love reruns of Columbo.”

“Buck up, old bean.” Jayne patted Hal’s shoulder. “I think you’d better stay in our guest room tonight so we can keep an eye on you.”

Hal struggled to his feet. “No, I’m okay. I’ll just take the rest of this brandy with me, if Alan’ll let me.”

“Go ahead, Hal.” Alan got up to offer a steadying arm. “Laureen and I’ll walk you home. And if you need another bottle just bang on our door.”

They all said good-bye to Moira and Grace and went out.

“Shall we hold the elevator?” Paul offered at the third floor. Laureen shook her head. “We’ll take the stairs down to our place. It’s good exercise.”

Ellen stared glumly at the indicator light as they passed Johnny’s unit on the fourth floor. He was a two-timing rat and she was glad he was gone, but she hoped he was safe in Italy. Those plane tickets bothered her. She’d driven him to the airport a couple of times, and before leaving he’d always checked to make sure he had his tickets.

Number five flashed next and Ellen shivered a bit. Had Clayton and Rachael made it down the mountain on the snowmobile? Or were they at the bottom of a ravine somewhere, under a pile of twisted wreckage? The sixth floor was Betty’s and thinking about her didn’t make Ellen feel any better. At least number seven was Marc’s floor.

“See you tomorrow.” Marc gave a wave and Ellen sighed with relief. Eight was hers and nine was Jayne and Paul’s. But ten was the spa and that’s where they’d found the hand in the pool. Ellen blinked hard. Suddenly this whole building seemed like a tomb to her, or a death trap for those still living.

“Ellen?” Walker tapped her on the shoulder and she almost jumped out of her skin. “We’re home.”

“Oh, sorry. I must have been daydreaming.” Ellen turned and managed a smile for Jayne and Paul as she stepped off the elevator.

“Night, Ellen, honey.” Jayne gave a little wave. “See you tomorrow, Walker.”

As Walker unlocked her door, Ellen turned to watch the indicator light on the elevator. The up-arrow glowed, then flickered off at the ninth floor, where it would stay until morning unless somebody called for it in the middle of the night.

“Ellen? Coming?” Standing by the open door, Walker looked concerned. Ellen forced a smile. As she stepped inside and closed the door behind her, the indicator light began to glow again as Betty’s secret friend rode to the sixth floor for another long night of surveillance.

Moira released her tight chignon and ran her fingers through her hair. This upswept hairstyle hurt like hell, but it was worth it if Grace didn’t notice her wrinkles. She scowled at her reflection in the mirror of the white French vanity Grace had bought her for her birthday. It was rumored to have once belonged to Marilyn Monroe, and Moira hadn’t had the heart to tell Grace that claiming reproductions had once belonged to the rich and famous was a thriving business. Once, when a client had specifically requested a Napoleon Bonaparte bed, Moira had spent months looking. She’d found six, each with papers testifying that the little dictator had slept in them. And every one had been a fake.

The workmen had delivered the vanity while she was at work and when Moira had come home, she’d found it sitting in the bedroom with a note from Grace stuck in the corner of the mirror. Moira had left it there. It said, This once belonged to MM. You’re not blond, but you’re still my bombshell.

Moira pulled open the drawer to take out her hairbrush. The rollers on the drawer were made of a plastic that hadn’t existed when Marilyn was alive, but she’d never tell Grace. She was brushing her hair, preparing to pull it back up into its uncomfortable twist, when Grace came in. “Leave it down, Moira,” she suggested gently. “You’re not going to have any hair left if you keep pulling it up so tight, and I like it better down, anyway. Think we ought to go up and check on Hal?”