Regina Cash stared at the enormous Christmas tree splayed across the floor of the lobby and directly on top of Eric McClain.
“Do you think he’s dead?” one of the guests in the lobby asked.
“Hard to tell,” said someone else.
“Do we need a chain saw?” asked a third person.
A moan emanated from somewhere deep within the mass of branches, pine needles, ornaments, and tinsel.
Regina Cash did not have time to dig McClain out from under the tree. She had just spotted the boy and the girl at the top of the stairs to her right. Cash contacted Nigel Stenhouse. It was now up to them.
Art and Camille made it to the top of the stairs and onto a broad landing overlooking the lobby. Nicely dressed men and women milled about the second floor with drinks in their hands—no one seemed to be paying attention to the two kids. The high walls were painted gold and covered with large mirrors and massive paintings. Just like the lobby below, the landing was decorated to the hilt for the holiday season—garland, lights, and wreaths hung everywhere. At the far end of the landing was a wide hallway. A sign above the entrance to the corridor read CONFERENCE FACILITIES AND BALLROOMS.
Art pointed toward the hallway. “That way,” he said.