In a certain small villa within the residential area of the mountain resort, a room was dimly lit.
Lilian Parker stood at the entrance of the master bedroom on the second floor, with a hand holding imported dates soaked in milk and the other rapping gently on the door.
"Mr. Cooper, the dates are cleaned, I'll bring them in for you."
There was no response.
She reached up to twist the doorknob, which was not locked.
As she pushed open the door, she was hit by a thick puff of smoke as soon as she stepped inside. The room was dark with the exception of a faint glow from a cigarette near the window.
A man was on the phone, his voice so cold it could freeze one into a sculpture. She stood by the door, not daring to move, as she heard him ask,
"You said she went to the bar? She seemed quite happy?"
