The Body Came Back

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It was very quiet and comfortably cool in the luxurious sitting room of the 8th floor hotel suite overlooking Biscayne Bay in Miami. There was only the muted whir of the airconditioning unit and the occasional tinkle of ice cubes in a glass as the sole occupant of the room sipped reflectively from her highball.

She was a tall woman in her early forties, beautifully gowned in a dove-silk dress, seated at the end of a long sofa behind a coffee table that held a serving tray containing a fifth of Scotch, a bucket of ice cubes, and an uncapped bottle of soda. Beside the tray in front of her was an ashtray with half a dozen crushed cigarette butts in it. Her right hand held a half-filled glass of amber liquid with two partially melted ice cubes floating in it, and between the first two fingers of her left hand was a newly-lit cigarette which she held pensively an inch from her lips, squinting her eyes slightly to shut out the blue smoke that curled upward while she stared across the room at the blank wall in front of her.

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