"Was the door ajar when you got back? Did you lock it when you left?"
"What is this, the third degree?" he asked, a familiar touch of asperity in his voice.
"I just want to understand what happened," I said. "Cal Parker was hit over the head, too. I'm wondering if the same person attacked both of them."
He looked up at me, and our eyes met over Kirsten's prone form. "I don't know what I'll do if she dies."
Again, the pain welled in my heart. I was glad we were no longer married—we hadn't been a good match—but seeing him care for another the way I'd wanted to be cared for was hard. "I'm sure she'll be fine," I said with a calmness and confidence I did not feel. "Do you know of anyone who might have wanted to harm her?"
"Of course not!" he said. "Everyone liked her."
"Did she talk with anyone while she was in town?" I asked. "Anyone she knew?"
"Only her fans at the store," he said. "We've spent most of the time... well... here," he said, flushing as his eyes strayed to her silky teddy. When Ted and I had walked down the aisle just over 20 years ago, this was about the last situation I pictured us being in a few decades down the line.
"She was dating Cal Parker once," I reminded him.
"But he's dead!" he said.
"Yes," I said. "But it's possible that whoever attacked him also attacked Kirsten. Maybe it was somebody they both knew."
"No," he said, shaking his head vehemently, and again running his hand over the top of his head, a familiar gesture. "This has got to be random. A break-in gone wrong. A burglary..."
"Is anything missing?" I asked, putting a finger on Kirsten's wrist to monitor her pulse, which was disturbingly fluttery; would the EMTs ever get here? We both glanced around the room; the drawers were untouched, and there was no sign of anything being rifled through.
"Not that I can tell," he said.
My eye was caught by a button on the floor. "What's this?" I asked.
"I don't know," he shrugged, squinting at it. "Maybe it was from the previous guest and the maid staff missed it. Who cares? I just want her to live.”
I grabbed my phone and took a picture of the button; there was a bit of light blue fabric still attached to it, as if it had been ripped off a shirt cuff or collar. Had Kirsten done that trying to defend herself? I glanced down at her hand; one of her manicured nails was broken, and a bruise was blooming on her left forearm. A defensive wound?
Almost automatically, I glanced at my ex-husband's shirt; to my relief, he was wearing a collared polo shirt, which I didn't recognize but was yellow and had all of its buttons attached. I pulled up my phone camera again and took a picture of the rock in the corner. Would Kirsten survive? I wondered. Would she be able to tell us what happened?
And was I right that the same person had attacked both Cal and Kirsten?
And if so... why?
It felt like hours before the paramedics arrived.
"Is she going to be okay?" Ted asked as they squatted over her.
"We'll take her in and do everything we can," the taller of the two said.
"She'll be okay, though?"
"We'll let the hospital staff evaluate her," the woman said tersely, glancing up at her partner. "Our job is to stabilize her and take her in; you'll have to talk with them. Are you family?"
"She's my girlfriend; we're together," he said.
"Does she have family?"
"Her mother," he said. "She's in Portland... should I call her?"
"Better safe than sorry," she replied, which told me all I needed to know. The outlook wasn't good.
I didn't recognize the police officer on duty who came shortly after the paramedics, but he recognized me. As they worked on Kirsten, he turned to me. He looked just a few years older than my daughters. So young.
"You're the one who found Cal Parker, right?" he asked, tablet in hand. He had freckles and red hair, and looked like one of the boys in a Norman Rockwell painting. Except for the technology and the police uniform, that was.
"Right," I said.
He glanced over to where the paramedics were strapping Kirsten to a stretcher. "How do you know the victim?"
"She's my ex-husband's girlfriend," I said.
"Ex-husband's girlfriend," he repeated slowly. "And how did you come to be in their hotel room?" he glanced around. "This is their hotel room, right?"
"He called me when he found her. I usually take... er, took care of medical issues in the house. I came over to be with him."
"So she was already down when you got here?"
"That's right," I said.
He glanced over at my ex-husband, then asked, in a low voice, "Is your ex-husband a violent man?"
"He never laid a finger on me the twenty years we were married," I told him. "This happened while he went out to pick up Chinese food."
"She was attacked while he was gone," he said, not sounding convinced. "Is that what he told you?"
"It is," I said. "But Kirsten Anderson and Cal Parker used to date. I think whoever killed him may have attacked her, too."
He glanced over at Ted again. "Used to? Is your ex the jealous type?"
"I told you, he didn't do it," I said. "Look; I found a button on the floor; it looks like it was torn off of a blue shirt. My husband... er, ex-husband's wearing a yellow shirt."
"He could have changed
