“He probably had a heart attack, right?” Evans sounded hopeful.
“Was he alone?” Maggie asked, noticing an empty wine bottle with one glass on the nightstand.
“No one else is listed under his registration.”
“But he wasn’t alone,” another voice said from outside in the hallway.
Maggie came around the bed, back into the entrance just in time to see two men standing over the night manager’s bony shoulder.
“Are you from the sheriff’s department?” she asked.
“I didn’t call the sheriff’s department,” Evans said, bracing his hand on the doorway and making a barrier with his skinny arm.
“911?” Maggie tried again.
“I didn’t call anyone,” Evans said. Then with wide eyes and an attempted whisper, he leaned toward her and added, “My boss said to get you. Only you.”
“I’m Detective Glen Karst,”
