Mackenzie was so close that I could hear his shoes scuffling the carpet. Surely he'd been informed that Estelle was in there, I told myself. I glanced toward the elevators. Japonica and Chief Sanderson were watching from behind a potted plant; Lloyd must have chosen a more prudent position, perhaps in a rapidly descending elevator.

"I already looked in here," the man said. "Besides, I don't trust those trigger-happy cops at the end of the hallway. Goddamn amateurs, thinking they'll get their pictures on the front page of the local newspaper for being heroes."

"I'll make sure they agree to meet your demands. They may not be able to arrange for a helicopter to land out front, but they'll cooperate if you want a car and a picnic basket. That's the only way you're going to get out of this, you know. Estelle's prone to fainting when she's scared. I can't see you tossing her over your shoulder like so much dead weight and trotting down the stairs."

Estelle's face reappeared. "I am not prone to anything, thank you very much. If this man wants me to be a hostage, then I can walk out of here on my own two feet. You make me sound like a dirty dishrag. I can't recall when I've ever fainted, not even when the doctor lanced a boil on my buttocks without bothering to give me a local anesthesia. It was not pleasant, let me tell you."

He looked back at her. "You are about the wordiest woman I've ever met. I ought to-"

Mackenzie shoved me aside, shouldered open the door, and fired his gun. The man gave him a stunned look, then crumpled to the floor. Rather than faint, Estelle opted to scream bloody murder (which was partly true). Japonica and Chief Sanderson thundered down the hall. I learned later that Lloyd was the guilty party who panicked and set off the deafening clamor of the fire alarm. An elderly lady in a silk bathrobe charged out of her room, swinging an umbrella. A dog raced past me and disappeared around the corner. Doors flew open and voices demanded to know what was happening. A sprinkler head on the ceiling began to mist us as if we were ferns.

I sat down on the floor. Mackenzie had continued into the room; the door was ajar but I couldn't see what he was doing. Chief Sanderson followed suit, but Japonica stopped and knelt beside me.

"You okay?" she asked.

"Just peachy," I said. "I had the situation under control. The guy was willing to allow Estelle to leave. I really didn't think he would hurt me, as long as everybody stayed calm. That did not happen, as you may have noticed. Why couldn't Mackenzie have held off for a few more minutes?"

"Kind of gung-ho, wasn't he?"

"No kidding." I pushed myself up and wiped water out of my eyes. "I guess I'd better see if Estelle's okay. Why don't you see if you can convince someone at the desk to cut off the alarm and the sprinkler?"

Japonica headed toward the foyer. I went into the room, stepped over the supine body in the same fashion he'd stepped over mine hours earlier, and sat down on the bed next to Estelle. Mackenzie was on the telephone, requesting an ambulance-no lights, no sirens, no unnecessary disruptions. Chief Sanderson was examining what I assumed was the perp's wallet.

"Well, you've still got your winnings," I said to her. "When Ruby Bee has recovered, you two need to take a really boring cruise in which your most pressing problem is how to eat your way through all the buffets without spilling out of your bathing suits."

She looked up with a faint smile. "I'll keep that in mind. Who was he, Arly?"

"I'm pretty sure he was the second man in the car you saw at the Starbright Motel. He was looking for Stormy's duffel bag, which he seemed to think might have ended up in here. Problem is, he already searched it earlier this afternoon. It was in the closet in her room. He also searched mine, Cherri Lucinda's, Jim Bob's, and Brother Verber's. He seemed to believe Stormy switched the three bags she brought upstairs in the elevator. Hers, yours, and"-I hesitated-"Ruby Bee's. Japonica told me he'd gone through Stormy's bag and left the contents on the floor of the closet. You don't think…?"

"Think what?"

"Just sit here. I'll be back." I wormed my way through the horde of security people who had appeared as if they'd been delivered on a chartered bus, and went down a couple of doors to the room I was sharing with Cherri Lucinda. I let myself in, engaged the chain, and opened the closet door. The faded flannel nightgown and support hose were hard to overlook, as was the tube of denture adhesive. These were not the items a sexually active young woman packed for the weekend. I was looking at the contents of Ruby Bee's bag-not Stormy's. Which meant, of course, that the pertinent bag was stashed on a shelf several miles away.

I should have returned to Estelle's room to do something, although I had no idea if my presence would be tolerated, much less allowed. Instead, I went out to the balcony and stared at the uninspired landscape of the parking lot as I tried to sort out all the stray bits of information I'd been given.

A few ideas surfaced, but none were such that I could dash down the hall and impress Chief Sanderson with my insights. I went inside and dialed the number of the sheriff's department. I'd expected LaBelle to be gone for the evening, but she answered with her customary charm.

" Stump County Sheriff's Department. State your business."

"This is Arly," I said. "Any chance Harve's still there?"

"How's your mother doing?"

"Not as well as I'd hoped. What about Harve?"

"He's gone for the day, and the deputy in charge is picking his nose and gaping at a gun magazine. I was just on the way out the door, so if you don't have any more-"

"Do you have a list of the employees at the club where the drug bust took place?" I asked.

"Do you realize how many lists this task force has made me write up in the last four days? Every time I turn around, I'm typing up some fool list for them. And by the way, Reverend Hitebred was in here earlier complaining about you. You didn't exactly charm the socks off him. Harve is wanting to discuss that with you."

"Find the list, LaBelle," I said levelly. "I want to know if Cherri Lucinda Crate and Stormy Zimmerman are on it."

"Yes, they are. There's an APB out on both of them. I'd like to think you haven't helped them escape. That'd be aiding and abetting, you know."

"What's the story on them?"

"Both of them were working on the night of the incident. By the time the task force got around to them, their apartments were vacant. Supposedly, they're on vacation, but I know for a fact the DEA boys are looking for them real hard on account of them being at the club when the you-know-what hit the fan."

I sucked on my lip for a moment. "Anybody else missing?"

"I am missing my supper, if that counts. Other than that, various people are wanted for questioning. A couple of thugs were seen hanging around before midnight. A girl, probably not more than sixteen, was shooting pool and asking for trouble. A biker broke a cue stick over someone's head. A bookie got into it with a client. A truck driver put his fist through the front of the jukebox. A flasher was hanging outside the ladies room, doing the raincoat routine. Just your typical night at the Dew Drop Inn."

I made a note not to make dinner reservations there. "Has the money turned up?"

"No, and the DEA boys seem to think there's a kilo of cocaine floating around as well. Their solution is to hang around the bars on Thurber Street, ogling the college girls and drinking beer. Undercover, or so they say. If you ask me-"

"What's a kilo worth?"

"They're saying fifty thousand."

"Oh," I said, as if a mule were dragging a plow across my brain in a painfully slow progression. Furrow by muddy furrow, it came to me. "I think you'd better find Harve and have him call me."