“It’s the Whispering Pines Cabins,” I said. “Given the housing shortage, it was about the only place a lot of the guys could find to live.”
“Glory be,” the chief muttered under his breath.
I could understand his reaction. Before Caerphilly’s housing crisis, the Pines had been a hot sheets motel. Its transformation into an overpriced residential hotel had been accomplished without any detectable renovation or redecoration. The more discriminating residents usually chose to provide their own bedding, though a card on the back of each room’s door still displayed the price of requesting clean sheets at times other than the maid’s daily visits.
The door also carried notices sternly instructing motel guests that they were required to open the door immediately if requested to do so by the police, and forbidding them to entertain unregistered male visitors. Since most of the current guests were young men in their late teens or early twenties, living four or more to a room, this last part of the notice was largely disregarded, and the place had taken on much of the rustic charm of a fraternity house.
Another frazzled officer hurried up to the chief. “Don’t these people understand that we have a murder here?” he exclaimed. “They keep demanding that we let them back into the building or bring their computers out here.”
As if on cue, several members of the staff spotted me and rushed over.
“Meg, how much longer are they going to keep us here?”
“Meg, can’t you talk to them? We have deadlines!”
“Meg, make them listen - “
“Meg, this is crazy; we can’t - “
“Meg, why are they -?”
“Quiet!” I shouted, and when they all shut up, or at least changed from shouting to muttering, I continued.
“I realize how important meeting your deadlines is,” I said. “But stop and think a minute. We’ve had a murder here! A fellow human being - one of our own staff - has been brutally murdered! You can’t expect things to just start back up in five minutes as if nothing had happened.”
“Well, yeah, okay,” one of them said. “But it’s been two hours.”
To give them credit, several of his colleagues gave him a dirty look.
“Why won’t they tell us anything?” another asked. “If they’re going to keep us out here, at least they could tell us what’s going on.”
“They won’t even tell us how he was killed,” one complained. “I mean, maybe we would have some useful information if they did.”
“I told you,” Frankie said. “He was strangled with a mouse cord! I saw it before Meg chased me out.”
“How do we know you’re not just blowing smoke?”
“Or pulling our legs?”
“Gentlemen!” the chief said. “And ladies,” he added, though I was the only female within earshot - the few others on staff were scattered about the parking lot, apparently doing useful things. Or at least quiet things that did not involve badgering the police.
“I don’t think there’s any harm telling you how he was killed,” the chief said. “As the gentleman said, he was strangled with a mouse cord.”
This set off a muttered chorus of exclamations. One voice rose above the rest.
“Wow!” one of the graphic artists exclaimed. “Just like Meg showed us!”
“Just like Meg showed us?” the chief repeated, glaring at me. “You’ve been showing these jokers how to strangle each other with mouse cords? Any particular reason why you failed to mention this?”
“Oh, God,” I muttered. “Purse fu.”
“Beg pardon?” the chief said.
“I was demonstrating a martial arts technique one day,” I explained. “My teacher showed me some self-defense moves using a belt. Which works great if you have a belt, and enough time to take it off before you’re actually attacked. But I happened to remark that I almost never wear a belt, and neither do many women, and would the same techniques work with a purse strap.”
“And they work great,” Rob exclaimed. “Meg foiled a mugger with them once!”
“Anyway, the subject came up around the office one day last week,” I said. “And Rob asked me to demonstrate. And my purse was locked in my desk drawer, so I used what was handy.”
“A mouse cord,” the chief said, nodding.
“Actually, it was a Kensington security cable,” Jack said.
“You show him,” Rob said to me. “I’ll pretend to attack you!”