Page 30 of Without a Clue

“Oh?” she says, her voice rising. “With the gold trim?”

“And was planning to give it to you for Christmas,” I continue, “but no more! No vintage Christmas plates for you, Jackie!” I raise my finger, announcing as an afterthought as I swivel back around, “No Christmas presents for any of you!”

The shuffling behind me is loud as we march by door after door.

Heads are bowed.

They deserve it.

I’m an excellent gift giver, for the record.

They should be highly disappointed that my incredibly thoughtful gifts they receive year after year will be no more.

“To be fair, Penelope,” Neena says, “we never thought you’d be, well, quite so upset.”

I halt.

Turn.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“But of course that’s our fault,” she continues hastily as she cinches her robe tighter around her. “It’s just . . . with a missing note . . .”

I raise my hand. “I’m sorry, Neena, but Hugh being dead on the mattress with pools of blood on the sheets around him is anything but unconcerning. Of course I would react this way. Any sane human should react this way—”

“Blood?” Gordon interrupts. “No, he was just going to be missing. Leave a note.”

“What do you mean there was blood?” Neena says, stepping closer to me, her eyes growing wide in alarm.

“I mean there were pools of blood!” I cry out. “Pools.”

We all stare at each other for one long moment.

Then Neena pushes me aside.

They all, for that matter, push me aside and race toward the door.

“Hugh?” Neena calls out loudly, heedless of the volume of her voice or the time of morning. “Hugh, come on now! It’s time to give it up—”

And then she, and we, all skid to a stop as we reach the door and bump directly into the rough blue uniform of a man backing up.

“Out of the way,” he says gruffly, and then in our collective horror we see on the stretcher the figure of a man outlined by the cover of a white sheet, running all the way up to, well, to . . . Hugh.

“That’ll do it,” another man in uniform says, snapping a pencil into a notebook and pocketing it in his back pocket.

The gurney moves another foot or two backward and then the officer calls out, “Wait,” and takes a couple of steps forward. He covers Hugh’s face with the sheet; the lifeless, bloodied face that every single one of us has known for what feels like forever.

The officer pats the metal of the gurney, and the man continues moving it out of the room.

And that’s when Neena faints directly into Gordon’s arms.

Chapter 6

To find out your employer and one of your closest companions is dead once is horrifying.

To have to go through the experience all over again fifteen minutes later is enough to cause your own heart to stop indefinitely.

Neena recovers, comes to, remembers what’s going on, and faints again.