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chair, but slouched and sprawling, he managed. I put his age at about seventy, a spry seventy, although at the moment, his face looked awfully slack.
    A book was cradled in his lap. I couldn’t help but lean forward to see what it was. With its cellophane wrapper, it appeared to be one of Caldwell’s prized first editions. I read the title— Winnie-the-Pooh . Seemed an odd choice for such a learned, older man, but maybe he found it amusing. I had always found the book completely hysterical.
    I sat down opposite him on the love seat. I thought of waking him, but he seemed so peaceful and quiet that I decided to let him be. Plus, Caldwell had said he had a bad heart and it might startle him to have a strange woman wake him in the night.
    But as my head cleared and I continued to watch him, a feeling grew in me that something was wrong.
    Mr. Worth was much too peaceful, much too quiet. I stared at his chest and could detect no movement. But maybe he was a very shallow breather. Or maybe he had sleep apnea.
    Then the thought struck me: Maybe he had sleep apnea and it was preventing him from breathing at all. I forced myself to walk up very close to him. Looking down, I noticed that he was holding the book upside down. I slipped it out of his hands, closed it, and reshelved it in its proper place.
    When I could still see no movement in Howard, I put out my hand and touched his neck. Neither warm nor cold. I could detect no pulse, but I wasn’t really sure where to feel for it.
    When I took my hand away from his neck, he fell forward. His chin hit the edge of the chair and then his head turned, somehow landing crooked in his own lap. Not a natural position at all.
    I shrieked. The elderberry syrup threatened to come back up. My breath came in gasps.
    A hand tumbled free and hit the floor and I shrieked again.
    Swallowing another scream, I managed to say, “Mr. Worth?”
    But I knew I was talking to a dead man.

NINE

    Dial 999
    T hree doors banged open almost simultaneously. A thunder of footsteps hit the hallway upstairs, then came pounding down the stairs.
    I stepped back from Howard Worth. Caldwell stopped in the doorway and looked at me.
    “You screamed?” he asked.
    I pointed at Howard, slouched over in his chair.
    Two older women in matching plaid bathrobes pushed past and stood right in front of Howard. I guessed they were the Tweedles.
    One of them asked, “Is he all right?”
    The other said, “He doesn’t look all right.”
    Then, as Caldwell came forward, Annette appeared behind him, wrapped in a pink chenille robe and shivering.
    “What’s going on?” she asked in a high, thin voice. “What’s Howard doing sitting like that?”
    Caldwell pushed between the Tweedles and knelt down in front of Howard. He checked his pulse in a couple places. He pushed the lifeless man back so he was sitting upright in the chair. Turning to me, he said, “Call emergency. It’s nine-nine-nine. I think he’s gone, but we need to try.”
    As Caldwell held Howard up in the chair, I pulled out my cell, but realized it would be a long-distance number and I’d never manage it. Then I grabbed the phone that was on a small table by the fireplace and dialed the number.
    As I gave the woman who answered the information, I watched a small tableau form in the room. Annette crumpled at Howard’s feet; Caldwell half knelt, pumping at Howard’s chest; the Tweedles stood behind Annette, like two bookends leaning into each other for support.
    Time slowed and eddied around us. Caldwell finally propped Howard with a pillow and stood up. Annette was sniffling and leaning on Howard’s knee. The Tweedles sat down on the love seat and benttheir faces into their hands. I stood by the doorway, ready to let anyone in if they would only come and knock.
    About the time I had started to shred my bathrobe belt with nervousness, there was a pounding at the door and I let in three large firemen and a medic. They took over the room, pushing Caldwell