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revolt.”
    â€œThat’s not funny.”
    â€œIt wasn’t meant to be. They’re talking about walking out unless the hotel provides armed security guards on each floor.”
    â€œI don’t blame them,” Theresa said.
    Rachael’s line of sight swung to a young man in a cook’s white shirt who was leaving the lounge. He toted a white cardboard box labeled POTATOES and headed for the restaurant but paused to give her a nod and a grin. Rachael burst into a smile of such wattage that for a second or two Theresa forgot about the dead lawyer. “Let me guess—that’s the William I’ve been hearing so much about.”
    â€œThe very same,” Rachael happily confirmed, her gaze lingering on the kid until he disappeared behind the frosted-glass doors of Muse. The Ritz-Carlton’s well-known restaurant served both foie gras and macaroni and cheese, which happened to be an excellent culinary representation of the city at large and its distinct and varied populace.
    Neil Kelly leaned an elbow on the stallion’s rump and cleared his throat, so Theresa got back to business—which happened to be the safety of her only child. “So you’re here in the lobby for your entire shift, then.”
    â€œYeah, unless Karla sends me off on an errand. But usually—oh, come on, Mom. I know what you’re going to say.”
    â€œYes, you do. You’re confined to this lobby until we wrap this up. No going anywhere in this building alone, got it? I don’t care if Elvis Presley checks in and wants a mint julep.”
    â€œIsn’t Elvis dead?”
    Neil cleared his throat again, loudly enough to be heard even over the growing hubbub of conversations around them.
    â€œRachael, this is Detective Kelly. He needs to ask you a few questions.”
    He gave Rachael a grown-up handshake and asked, “Neil Kelly. As exactly as you can remember, what time did you get that call from the Presidential Suite?”
    Rachael squared her shoulders, which were reflected in the marble wall behind her. “One thirty-one. I remember because I was staring at the phone display. When anyone calls from one of the suite rooms, we’re supposed to address them by name. Like, I’m supposed to answer the phone ‘Yes, Mr. Jones, how can I help you?’ But the display was blank, and I couldn’t figure out why—I get it now, because no one was staying in that room, but at the time it made me totally stuck.”
    â€œSo when you answered, what did the man say?”
    Rachael went over the conversation, telling them nothing they didn’t already know. Finally Neil thanked Theresa’s daughter with what seemed like genuine warmth and left to find his partner. Rachael said that her shift had ended, but she volunteered to wait and go home with Theresa, avoiding a long bus ride.
    â€œI’m done here. We’ll just run by the lab so I can hang up her clothing and make sure the blood dries, and we can go. What happened to your uncle?”
    â€œThe Ambassador Room, seventh floor.” Rachael’s hair swung toward the elevator bank. “They’re talking to all the lawyers. Who’s that guy, the one who just talked to me? Do you know him?”
    â€œVaguely.”
    â€œHe knows you.”
    â€œHere, grab this ALS—and what does that mean?”
    â€œHe likes you. I can tell.”
    Theresa shook her head as she shuffled her load. Despite firm biceps, an ability to ride a skateboard, terrific mathematics skills, and a local Halo championship under her belt, Rachael was all girl. A born people manager, and there was nothing she enjoyed managing more than her mother’s love life. “How nice. Just wait for me here, okay? And try not to get murdered.”
    â€œNot allowed.”
    â€œTo get murdered?”
    â€œTo sit around in the public areas. It’s a no-no for staff. I’ll wait in the office behind the desk.