I was just making excuses not to go back inside that condo, regardless of my curiosity about who that man was. But my gag reflex had kicked into full gear and I couldn’t stand the thought of it.

I punched the button for the elevator a few times, like it didn’t register the first time. Finally, I heard the whirring, and the doors opened a few seconds later. Within a minute, I was back among the plant life and humidity that was the lobby of the Windsor Palms.

The security guard was playing a game on an iPod.

“The police are coming,” I said.

His eyes grew wide. “Why?”

“That condo? The one I went up to? The guy in there is dead. Looks like he was pretty sick before he died, too.”

Alarm flooded his face. “Dead?”

As he said it, I heard the sirens getting closer. Tim didn’t waste any time.

The guard started toward the elevators, but my little knowledge of police procedure made me say, “You might want to hold off going up there until the cops arrive.”

He didn’t have to wait too long.

Four uniforms arrived with paramedics. I didn’t want to burst their bubble as they crowded into an elevator, guided by the security guard. I figured I’d wait down here for Tim, who arrived only about five minutes later.

He ran a hand through his short red hair, looking exasperated as I told him what I had found.

“Lots of vomit,” I said, trying not to remember too vividly, but it was impossible not to.

“Charlotte called me. That’s why I’m here,” I volunteered.

Tim’s eyes grew wide. “Charlotte Sampson?”

I told him how she’d said she needed my help. “She’s sort of been in hiding. Frank DeBurra told me last night that she might be in danger. And when I showed up here, there was this dead guy, so maybe he’s not off base.”

“So where is she? Obviously she must have known about this guy, knew what you’d find when you got here.”

“And she knew I’d call the police.” I nodded at Tim as I realized this. “She didn’t want to call you herself. She couldn’t risk it.”

Tim frowned. “I think you better explain.”

“DeBurra came to my shop yesterday to tell me she’s wanted for questioning in an incident at a pawnshop.”

“What kind of incident?” Tim asked.

“She was in there asking about a brooch, and some guy came in and they had some sort of argument. Bad enough so the pawnshop guy called the cops.” I paused. “DeBurra’s been on my case about where she might be.”

Tim had a puzzled look on his face. “I hadn’t heard DeBurra was looking for her. And I don’t know anything about the pawnshop, so I really don’t know what the deal is. I can find out when I get back.”

“You mean they don’t tell you everything, Mr. Detective?” I teased.

He smirked. “It’s more like DeBurra doesn’t want to let me in on things.”

I told him how DeBurra had shown up outside the Mexican place last night. “I think he’s stalking me,” I ended.

“Obviously not; otherwise, he’d be here now, wouldn’t he?” Tim said flippantly, although I could see that perhaps he was a little pleased that DeBurra was falling down on the job.

I thought about that a minute, how DeBurra wasn’t following me today. Why not? Charlotte’s call this morning had come so out of the blue that I’d completely forgotten about DeBurra.

Maybe he’d slept in.

Or maybe something else was going on.

By now we’d gotten up to the twelfth floor. The doors slid open and we heard the pandemonium down the hall. Tim started walking toward the condo now, and I followed.

“It’s pretty gross in there,” I said, although my adjective didn’t even come close to what we were smelling. I plugged my nose and tried to breathe out of my mouth, but it didn’t help.

“Wait here,” Tim said at the door, putting up his hand to indicate I shouldn’t go inside. I wasn’t exactly upset about being excluded. “You’ve already contaminated the scene. I don’t want you to add to that.”

I started to say I hadn’t touched anything except the outside of the door, but he didn’t wait around to listen.

I hovered in the hall, listening to the voices murmuring in the back of the condo. I tried to hear what was being said, but everything was muffled. A couple of uniforms were checking out the living room, neither of them speaking. One of them picked something up off the floor, and when he showed it to his colleague, I could see what it was: a pink Hollister hoodie.

I caught my breath. That was Charlotte’s.

It seemed like just seconds since he’d been gone, but suddenly Tim rounded the corner and shouted, “Everyone out!”

The paramedics were on his heels, and the uniforms almost plowed me down. I jumped to the side of the door, waiting for Tim.

“So who is it?” I asked when he emerged.

“You didn’t see his face?” Tim asked. He’d come outside now and pulled the door so it was almost closed, but not all the way. The uniforms were already down the hall, banging on doors.

I was distracted, but Tim asked again, “You didn’t see his face?”

I stopped watching the hallway and turned back to Tim. “No. He was looking the other way. And I didn’t spend a lot of time in there because the smell was so bad.” I paused. “What’s going on?”

“I thought you would’ve recognized him,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Why?” I asked.

“Because you sketched him the other night. It’s Wesley Lambert.”

Chapter 22

Wesley Lambert?

Frank DeBurra had said Charlotte was involved with him, with the “wrong people.” What had she gotten herself into?

Tim interrupted my thoughts.

“How far into the bedroom did you go?” There was an urgency in his voice that I hadn’t heard in a long time. Not since my own trip to the emergency room ten years ago. My boyfriend at the time rode a Harley; I was twenty-two and felt invincible. I did wear a helmet. But it didn’t keep my leg from getting broken in three places when the bike fell on top of me after we got sideswiped by a car on the highway. My boyfriend? He wasn’t so lucky.

“I didn’t go in,” I said, concern in my voice now in response to his. “What, is there a problem?”

The uniforms had managed to rouse a few residents, who were being herded toward the elevators. A busty woman wearing a tight shirt and jeans carried a small white dog that started yapping. A middle-aged couple was still in their pajamas, but the uniforms were telling them they couldn’t go back in; they had to evacuate.

Evacuate?

I caught Tim’s eye, but he was distracted. There was another condo on the other side of the hall, and he strode over to the door and banged on it like there was no tomorrow.

“Police. Ma’am? You have to leave the building,” he shouted after a muffled reply on the other side of the door.

The door opened a crack, and I could see Tim leaning in, talking to someone. Finally, she stepped outside. She was short, dark-Mexican from the look of it. She held a dust rag. Cleaning woman, most likely. Her eyes were wide as Tim hustled her past me.

I didn’t quite know what to do or where to go, but since everyone was leaving, I didn’t want to stick around to see why. Something in that condo wasn’t safe.

I went over to the elevator and tugged on Tim’s sleeve. “I think I’ll go downstairs now,” I said.

Before Tim could answer, we heard the ding of the elevator and Frank DeBurra stepped into the hall. I didn’t have a chance to react, though, because two men and a woman came out behind him. They were all wearing big white hazmat-type suits with booties and gloves. They held face shields and goggles.

“Who’s still in there?” DeBurra asked Tim, ignoring me.

“No one.”

DeBurra looked at his companions. “Go on in,” he growled.

They stuck on their face shields, making them look remarkably like those guys at the end of E.T., and went into the condo. The residents were all on the other elevator now, going down. I wished I were with them, because DeBurra was staring at me. “Why am I not surprised to see you here?” he asked.