Red Sky at Morning

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THE HOTEL LOBBY was full of people: men in business suits, and women in equally well-tailored suits of their own. The plush carpet muted the conversation, but the buzz tickled the senses as the crowd shifted and moved, sophisticated glances meeting and mouths tensing into polite smiles.

Behind the long, marble-topped front desk, two reservations agents observed the cocktail party with mildly bored expressions. “I hate these parties,” one confided. “They’re so stupid.”

Her companion shrugged. “They’re all right. At least, this bunch is okay. They tip. That convention we had in last week...shoulda ended up at the Motel Six.”

“You got that right.” The female clerk fiddled with her terminal, then leaned on the counter and sighed. “How much longer?”

“Two hours.” The dark-haired man leaned on the counter next to her, watching the crowd. “Uh-oh...”

“What?” The woman peered in the direction of his gaze. “Oh.” She rolled her eyes. Entering the hotel’s elegant glass and brass revolving door was someone obviously out of place in the lobby full of expensive, chic clothing.

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