LaBelle cackled. "Long distance? You think our budget is funded by the Publishers Clearing House Sweepstakes?"

"Just do it-okay?"

"I'll call over at his house, but if he's not there, I am most definitely going to my sister's for supper. I promised her I'd come make dried-flower potpourri sachets for a rummage sale at the Voice of the Almighty Lord Assembly Hall. Why she let herself get talked into it is beyond me. Here she is, with two boys under the age of four and a husband that can't hold a job for more than-"

I hung up and stared at the wall. I knew where one of the so-called thugs was, which was on the carpet in Estelle's room. I knew where the kilo of cocaine was, and quite possibly a lot of money. Since the second thug, presumably the bald-headed one, didn't know its location, there was no reason to send the troops (Floyd, Lloyd, and Japonica) to the hospital. The problem was that I didn't know where he was.

I decided to go back to Estelle's room and see what was evolving. As I came into the hall, I found myself in the middle of a stream of blue-haired women of varying size and shape. " Tuscaloosa?" I said hesitantly.

They all stopped and stared at me. "Do we know you?" one of them demanded.

"Aren't you one of Joe Henry Blakeman's daughters?" asked another, staring at me.

A third shook her head. "She has the same jaw, but her build isn't right. The Blakeman girls all have broad hips. Good for childbearing, I suppose."

A dozen sets of eyes assessed my hips. Feeling as if I should give birth in the hall to prove my worth, I said, "Did you all happen to be out here this morning when the woman fell off the balcony?"

"Why's that any of your business?"

I expected at least one of them to smack me with a handbag. "Mama's in the hospital," I said, sucking in my cheeks and doing my best to snivel in an acceptably genteel fashion. "It's all so confusing. I drove all night so I could sit by her bedside, and then this morning I heard that dreadful scream and I guess someone told me you could help me understand what happened. Mama isn't doing so well. If she doesn't get better, I just don't know where to turn. My brother is over at the state hospital, and no one's seen Daddy or any of the dogs since the fire gutted the house."

It didn't make much sense, granted, but they bought it. Amidst much clucking and patting, I was escorted back into the room and settled in a chair. Seconds later, a damp washcloth was pressed against my forehead. Had it been within their power, I'm sure a cup of tea laced with brandy would have materialized as well.

"You drove all night? It's good to hear young folks still have that kind of regard for their parents," said one of the women. "I'm real sorry your husband couldn't accompany you. Were you able to find someone to look after him and the children?"

There was one and only one right answer. "My sister agreed to see to them," I said, gulping ever so bravely. "LaBelle has three of her own, all as sweet as they can be, but she promised to pick up Kevin and little Rose Marie after school and take them to their piano lessons. Harve will read them a bedtime story as soon as he gets home from the bank." I gazed up at their concerned faces. "You heard that scream?"

All of them nodded. The one who seemed to be the spokeswoman said, "We were on the way to breakfast when we heard it. Hattie stopped so abruptly that poor May ran right into her and fell backward, sending Dorothy crashing into Jewell Ellen. I can't remember when I've seen so many feet and fannies in the air at one time. We were all trying to catch our breath and get everybody off the floor when we realized Jewell Ellen had twisted her ankle. I don't know what we would have done if that nice man from room service hadn't come along. He helped Jewell Ellen back to her room and even called the desk to send up a doctor."

"Someone ought to inform the hotel manager about this conscientious employee," I said. "Did you happen to get his name?"

"There was some Mexican name on his name tag," said one of the ladies. "I was a bit surprised, since he did not have a accent."

"No, he didn't," added another, "and his hair wasn't the least bit greasy"

"What sort of hair did he have?" I asked.

"Short, and fuzzy on top. He reminded me of that unpleasant man from the bakery just down the street from my house. Do you remember him, Hattie?"

"How could I ever forget him?"

I jumped in before we digressed into stale cinnamon buns. "How old was he?"

The general consensus was that he was young, but as I looked at each in turn, I decided that from their perspective youth was relative. Children believe anyone over twenty is ancient; septuagenarians believe anyone under fifty is adolescent.

"But he most definitely had hair?" I asked. "No one would say he was bald?"

They were intractable on this point. Knowing I would never convince them otherwise, I thanked them for their concern and promised to give "Mama" their best wishes for a speedy recovery.

When I returned to Estelle's room, paramedics had arrived and were preparing the body to be transported to the local morgue. Japonica was questioning Estelle, but I could see from both of their expressions that nothing substantive was being communicated. I didn't see how it could be-Estelle had no prior awareness of the man who'd taken her hostage. It was likely he'd been in the car at the Starbright Motel in Memphis, but she'd never seen his face.

Mackenzie Cutting was still on the telephone, speaking in a low, urgent voice. Wondering if he was ordering fruit baskets for everyone on the eighth floor, I sat down across from him and glared until he replaced the receiver.

"Why on earth did you pull that shit?" I said angrily. "Didn't it occur to you that Estelle might have been hurt-or me, for that matter? What if his gun had gone off as he fell? The situation could have been resolved peacefully if you hadn't blundered in like that!"

"It seemed like the quickest and quietest way to handle it."

"To shoot him?" I said, raising my eyebrows. "If you develop a hangnail, are you going to cut off your finger or your whole arm?"

Mackenzie glanced up as the paramedics wheeled the gurney out the door. "Be sure and take the service elevator," he said to them, then looked at me. "My primary concern is the well-being of our guests. I perceived one of them to be in danger. The man had a gun, Miss Hanks. Should I have invited him to join me in the bar for cocktails and counseling?"

"No," I said, "I suppose not."

"What did you mean when you mentioned all these bags? Do you have a reason to think someone from C'Mon Tours has brought an illegal substance into the hotel? If so, you need to tell me where it is right now. We don't want any hint of scandal at The Luck of the Draw. We rely on our reputation to renew our gaming license each year."

Estelle came out of the bathroom, her lipstick applied by a noticeably unsteady hand. "Arly," she said as she sat down next to me, "that was a brave thing you did-talking to that terrible man like he was nothing but a backwoods Buchanon. You risked your life, and I appreciate it." She glowered at Mackenzie. "You, on the other hand, made a real mess of it, didn't you? Arly here had everything under control, but you had to come charging through the door like a professional wrestler. You're darn lucky no one else got hurt."

"What is going on in here?" demanded Mrs. Jim Bob as she came into the room. "There are all sorts of wild stories being repeated out in the hall. I must say, Estelle, that these stories seem to imply that you're involved with the wrong sort of people. I have enough to worry about without being exposed to a procession of gangsters all night long. Perhaps it might be better if you moved your things to another room, preferably not on this floor."