A voice cut in. "Is there some problem?" Derek Wenner was approaching from the gallery, highball in hand. He was a man who'd been good-looking once. Of medium height, fair-haired, his gray eyes magnified by glasses with steel-blue frames. He was in his late forties now, by a charitable estimate, a solid thirty pounds overweight. He had the puffy, florid complexion of a man who drinks too much and his hairline had receded in a wide U that left a runner of thinning hair down the center, clipped short and brushed to one side. The excess pounds had given him a double chin and a wide neck that made the collar of his dress shirt seem tight. His pleated gabardine pants looked expensive and so did his loafers, which were tan and white, with vents cut into the leather. He'd been wearing a sport coat earlier, but he'd taken it off, along with his tie. He unbuttoned his collar with relief.

"What's going on? Where's Kitty? Your mother wants to know why she hasn't joined us."

Bobby seemed embarrassed. "I don't know. She was talking to us and she fell asleep."

"Fell asleep" seemed a bit understated to me. Kitty's face had been the color of a plastic ring I sent away for once as a kid. The ring was white, but if you held it to the light for a while and then cupped your hand over it, it glowed faintly green. This, to me, did not connote good health.

"Hell, I better talk to her," he said. I had to guess he'd had his hands full with her. He opened the door and went into Kitty's room.

Bobby gave me a look that was part dismay and part anxiety. I glanced in through the open door. Derek put his drink on the table and sat down on Kitty's bed.

"Kitty?"

He put a hand on her shoulder and shook her gently. There was no response. "Hey, come on, honey. Wake up."

He shot me a worried look.

He gave Kitty a rough shake. "Hey, come on. Wake up."

"You want me to get one of the doctors from downstairs?" I said. He shook her again. I didn't wait for a response.