BACK IN A NOVEL IDEA’S RECEPTION AREA, I SMELLED Marlette before I saw him. Once again, that stale scent of unwashed flesh and clothing permeated the space. Despite the aromas created by my tray of hot drinks, the espresso and steamed milk failed to mask the distasteful odor.
“Mr. Marlette.” I put the beverages down on the coffee table and cast a quick glance at him out of the corner of my eye. I was surprised to see that he was reclining on the sofa with his face resting against one of the back pillows. He had clearly fallen asleep. “Sir. You can’t rest here.”
When he didn’t respond, I sighed in exasperation and decided to deliver Zach’s beverage before it grew tepid. I couldn’t just shoo Marlette away. Bentley had stated that he often came to the office twice a day. If he was going to be a regular fixture in my life, I wanted to lay down some ground rules with him. And truth be told, I was dying to read his query letter.
I gave Zach his double espresso and then quickly returned to the front, hoping Marlette had awakened, but he hadn’t moved an inch since I’d left the room. His head was still resting against the cushion, and his shoulders were slumped forward as though he were in a deep slumber. Yet something was wrong about his posture. Then I realized exactly what was amiss.
Marlette’s shoulders were not gently rising and falling with each breath. They weren’t moving at all.
I quietly approached the sofa and placed my hand lightly on the man’s ratty shirt. I patted him on the upper arm, and when he didn’t respond, I gave the arm a mild shake.
Finally, I was forced to push a mat of hair from the man’s face in order to put my fingertips under his nose in hopes of feeling an exhalation, but my hand stopped midair the moment I saw that Marlette’s eyes were open. Open and unblinking with a trail of dried tears leading down each cheek.
Having long been a fan of television medical dramas, I knew to check for a carotid pulse by locating Marlette’s Adam’s apple and then moving my fingers outward until they encountered a ropy muscle. The flesh on Marlette’s neck felt doughy, and as I searched, I noticed his lips were abnormally large and the flesh on his face was swollen.
“Nothing,” I whispered, feeling the panic rise in my chest. Next, I grabbed Marlette’s bloated hand, and turning the dirty palm over, I pressed firmly on the wrist. “Come on,” I entreated. “Come on.”
But the limpness of his wrist and the slack weight of his arm made it perfectly clear that the life had gone out of Marlette. There was already a hollowness to him, as though he had run away from his body and would never return. I backed away from the flaccid cheeks, the inert chest, and the repellent smell of a man who had walked in with an offering of flowers earlier that hour. Yet his skin was warm to the touch. Maybe there was still life left in his body.
Wracking my brain, I tried to recall everything I once knew about performing CPR, but my mind drew a blank. All I could remember was that if I did it wrong, the lifesaving procedure could do more harm than good.
I rushed down the hall and banged on Bentley’s door.
“This had better be good!” Bentley sounded most displeased. “Lila? Is that you?”
I went in, too upset to acknowledge that she’d finally said my name correctly.
“I need help! Does anyone here know CPR? Mr. Marlette…” I swallowed hard and then forced myself to calm down. “I think he’s dead.” I gestured behind me. “He’s out there on the sofa. I couldn’t find a pulse.”
Bentley scowled. “That man is infuriating. Is there anything he won’t do for attention?”
Jude, who had leapt to his feet during my startling announcement, shouted, “Call 911!” and then ran off toward the reception area.
“How awful,” said the man seated in a leather chair across from Bentley’s desk. I nodded gratefully at the voice of compassion, locking eyes with Carson Knight, the thriller writer who was in the office to review the lucrative deal from Doubleday. He must have arrived while I was downstairs getting acquainted with Makayla. A good-looking man in his late forties, Carson had a lean body, sand brown hair, and intelligent gray eyes that were gazing at me with concern from behind a pair of silver-framed glasses.
Bentley waved me away. “Go on. Phone the authorities.”
I pulled out my cell phone and hurried toward the foyer. As I passed Flora’s office, her door opened and she peered out.
“What’s all the commotion?”
I pointed down the hall. “Marlette. I think he’s dead, but someone has to try to revive him.” Rushing off, I almost knocked over Franklin, who had just stepped out of his office.
“I know CPR. One of my clients wrote a book on reacting to emergency situations,” he said. “Where is he?”
“Follow me!” I said and ran to the lobby with Franklin right on my heels.
Jude was at the couch, leaning toward Marlette, who was no longer hunched over but lying flat on his back. “We’ve got to get him breathing,” Jude said, spinning around to face us.