The first two doors she reached were labeled Private, which to Portia would scream privacy. But both were locked. Robyn continued on. As she neared the end, something clattered around the corner.
She froze, listening.
A low moan. She envisioned rounding the corner to see a couple. She cleared her throat – loudly – and listened for muttered oaths or exclamations. A moment of silence, then running footsteps. She rounded the corner to see the exit door fly open, a woman's figure disappearing through it.
She started going after her, then replayed the pounding footsteps and knew they hadn't come from Portia's four-inch heels. She looked down the hall. There was only one door – half open, dark inside. She guessed that's where the woman – or couple – had fled from, but she should check it for Portia, just to be thorough.
Stepping through the darkened doorway, her foot knocked something. She bent, fingers closing around metal.
A gun.
Her startled brain gave the command to drop it, but she stopped herself. With her luck, someone would find it and use it in a crime… with her prints all over it. Better to find a staff member and hand it in.
As she turned to go, a moan sounded behind her. The hairs on her neck rose. She squinted into the dark room. A pale figure lay crumpled on the floor.
"R-Rob?" Portia's voice was a papery whisper.
Robyn raced forward and dropped beside her, letting the gun clatter to the floor. Her gaze snagged on the dark stain spreading over Portia's blouse.
"Cell…" Portia whispered. "Cell phone…"
"Right." Robyn fumbled for her purse, digging out a handful of crap and dumping it before finding her cell. "I'm calling 911."
"No, my…"
Portia's voice trailed off in a rattle. Then she went still. Robyn shook Portia's shoulder. She didn't blink, just stared. Sightless. Lifeless.
Robyn lifted her phone, fingers trembling as she dialed 911. Then she remembered the figure running out the back door. Portia's killer had just left. Robyn might still be able to catch her, or at least get a better look at her.