Isobel rested her forehead against the cool tile of the bathroom wall and watched the automatic sink wash down her response to what she had just seen. She was tempted to look again, to make sure she wasn't hallucinating, but the splayed feet just visible under the stall were enough to convince her.

Doreen Fink was sitting on the pot, with a pair of scissors sticking out of her meaty bosom and blood dripping down the sides of her mouth. Her eyes were glassy and unseeing, and although Isobel had never seen a dead body before, she was pretty sure Doreen had peed her last. With a jolt, Isobel remembered that she still had to go to the bathroom terribly. For a moment, she couldn't move; her hands seemed frozen to the sink. Then, feeling cold and hot at the same time, not to mention distinctly weak in the knees, she inched her way as fast as she could to the stall farthest from Doreen's, sat down, and tried to think.

She knew she should call for help, but she didn't want to be the person who found Doreen, with all the possible guilt that implied. She could simply leave and belatedly join the emergency drill, but no doubt Doreen's stall door would display two large handprints from where she had pushed it inward. Those handprints would be even harder to explain if she fled the scene of the crime, which she was well aware was a crime in itself. If only she had passed out, she wouldn't have to do a thing. She briefly considered faking it, but decided this was not the best time to be caught acting. No, going for help was the only sensible course of action.

She flushed, washed her hands, and splashed cold water on her face. The alarm bells had finally stopped, and it wouldn't be long before people would be returning to their desks. Somebody might come into the bathroom at any minute.

Somebody did.

It was Paula Toule-Withers, who glowered at Isobel and reached for the door of the first stall.

"Don't go in there!"

Isobel's shout startled her every bit as much as it did Paula, who shrieked and jumped back, hitting her head on the tile wall.

"Holy Christ!" yelped Paula. "What is wrong with you, you stupid twit?"

Isobel had half a mind to let Paula see for herself, but the words choked themselves out anyway.

"She's dead! We need to call for help."

Paula sucked in her breath and growled, "I'm telling Felice-no more actresses!"

And with that, she pushed in the door to Doreen's stall.

Isobel wasn't sure which she found more satisfying: the fact that Paula didn't even make it to the sink, or the fact that now her fingerprints were on the stall as well.

* * *

As Isobel waited in the small, airless conference room with the others, she found herself annoyed by how thoroughly Doreen Fink had ruined her day. If only Doreen hadn't tricked her into staying longer, Isobel wouldn't have been around to discover her body. Then again, obnoxious as Doreen had been, it seemed unjust to blame her for her own death. Even so, Isobel couldn't help feeling manipulated. She wondered if she could bill for the extra time.

Paula Toule-Withers returned from her police interview, retrieved her things, and left without a word. Isobel looked around the table at the others. The color still hadn't returned to Stan Henderson's pudgy face, which was greenish pale against his shock of brown hair. Senior Vice President Frank Lusardi, a dark-haired man in a well-tailored suit, was occupied with his BlackBerry and seemed to be trying to maintain his distance from the rest of the group, which was difficult, given the close quarters. Conchita Perez, a matronly Hispanic woman, was hunched over a rosary, wiping away her tears with a parade of never-ending tissues that emerged from her sweater sleeves like clowns from a Volkswagen. Isobel would have liked to compare notes with Nikki, but she had been the first person interviewed and released.

Isobel was famished. She hadn't eaten anything since breakfast, and it was already four o'clock. Finally, the young policewoman who was running interference came back and gestured for Isobel to follow her past the roped-off bathroom to an unused corner office.

"Sit down, please," said an intense, ferrety-looking man from behind the desk. "I'm Detective Harvey and this is Detective Kozinski." He nodded at the policewoman, who had terrible skin and fair hair pulled off her face with an incongruously girly headband.

Isobel sat in a straight-backed visitor's chair and folded her hands in her lap.

"State your name," commanded Detective Harvey.

"Isobel Spice."

"Address?"

"I'm staying at the Evangeline Residence for Young Women on Gramercy Park South until I find an apartment of my own. I just moved here."

"Phone number?"

Isobel rattled off her cell phone. Detective Kozinski picked up a small inkpad and a piece of white cardboard.

"We'd like to take your fingerprints for elimination purposes. If you don't mind."

Isobel blinked at the two detectives. "Do I have a choice?"

"Legally, you can refuse," Detective Harvey said.

Isobel knew her fingerprints were all over the bathroom, albeit for completely innocent and explainable reasons. Still, she didn't see any reason to call attention to them if she didn't have to.

"I'd rather not," she said.

Detective Kozinski shrugged and set the inkpad on the desk next to a bottle of Purell and a roll of paper towels. "How long have you worked here?" she asked, flipping open her notebook.

Isobel looked at her watch. "Six hours."

"Very funny," said Detective Harvey.

"No, really. I'm a temp. I was hired this morning, very last minute."

"Through which agency?"

"Temp Zone."

"Who's your rep?"

"James Cooke," Isobel said, as Detective Kozinski scribbled. "Wait! You're not going to call him, are you?" Isobel asked, horrified.

Detective Kozinski paused, pen in mid-air. "Do you have a problem with that?"

"No! I mean, yes. It's just..." Isobel picked up the Purell and smoothed down a peeling corner of the label. "This is my very first temp job and it was going so well. Doreen asked me to stay extra-"

"Doreen did?"

"Yes."

"And what did you say?"

"There was an audition I wanted to go to, but Doreen sort of bulldozed me into it. Then I realized that it would make me look good to James if they wanted me longer. I had to convince him to take a chance on me, because I've never worked in an office before. I just graduated in June, and I only moved to New York a few days ago. I really want to make a good impression on him. I don't want him to think I cause disaster wherever I go."

Detective Harvey cleared his throat. "Do you usually cause disaster wherever you go?"

"No, of course not!" This time, Isobel knew better than to mention the lobsters. "He just didn't believe me when I said I could juggle six phone lines at once."

"Had you ever met Doreen Fink before today?"

Isobel shook her head. "I'd never met any of them. I still haven't met some of them."

"What were you doing in the bathroom during the emergency drill?" Detective Harvey asked.

Isobel cocked her head. "Isn't that obvious?"

"In a murder investigation, nothing is obvious. Please tell us why you ignored the emergency drill and went to the bathroom instead."

Isobel felt her face grow warm. "Because I had a Starbucks venti bursting the seams of my bladder. I was trying to be a good do-bee and not take a break, but I couldn't hold it anymore."

"So you pushed open the door to the first stall without looking underneath to see if someone was in it?" Detective Kozinski asked.

"Why would I look?" Isobel asked. "It was an emergency drill. Nobody was supposed to be there."

The two detectives exchanged a glance, then Detective Harvey said, "We don't have any more questions for you right now, but we'd like you back here tomorrow at nine a.m."

"But I haven't been hired for tomorrow," Isobel protested. "Will I get paid?"

"Put it this way," Detective Kozinski said, as she ushered Isobel toward the door. "They're gonna need a secretary."