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clipped to a chrome strip on the wall. “Yeah, here it is,” he said. “Angel hair pasta with pesto sauce. Only she wants us to substitute linguine for the angel hair, hold the pesto sauce, toss it with olive oil, and send up parmesan cheese on the side. Freshly grated parmesan.” He rolled his eyes. “She’s a friend of yours? Stick with friends like George and you’ll be better off.”
    Nancy laughed. “Well, Gina’s not really a friend,” she said vaguely. Just then a chef pushed a plate of linguine over the counter from a side kitchen area. “That must be her order now,” Nancy added. “Mind if I check it out? I mean, if she’s going to be picky . . .”
    Paul laughed. “Be my guest.”
    Nancy took a fork and lifted a strand of the pasta. She sniffed it, then dabbed the end on her tongue. Everything seemed okay. Next she spooned through the small bowl of parmesan cheese Paul had set on a tray beside the pasta. The cheese also checked out fine.
    Paul covered the pasta with a dome-shaped silver lid and hefted the tray onto his shoulder. “Looks like you’re trying out for the Secret Service. Want to come up with me?” he asked.
    Nancy nodded and started toward the elevator. At that moment Stan Wasilick bustled up. “Ms. Drew, it’s bad enough you meddle with my work,” he complained. “But when you help employees break the rules—”
    Nancy turned to Paul. “You go on up,” she said quickly, hoping her cover wasn’t completely blown. Paul shrugged and went into the service elevator. Nancy turned back to the security chief.
    â€œI interrogated Rosita Ortiz in my office for twenty minutes about how she lost her passkey,” he said. “She finally cracked and told me she had let a guest without a keycard into his room. And she said that you had told her it wasn’t her fault.”
    Nancy sighed. “I was just trying to calm her down after her passkey was stolen,” she said. “And no one can prove that the intruder used her passkey to get into room 707. Now, if you’ll excuse me—” She slipped away and hurried down the wide center aisle of the kitchen. Using her good sense of direction, she found her way to the passenger elevator and rode to the seventh floor.
    Striding down the hallway, Nancy uneasily noted that Ned wasn’t outside Gina’s room. Just then she saw Paul enter the hall from the service corridor and turn toward room 707. Reaching the door, he balanced his tray on one shoulder and knocked.
    The door opened and Ned leaned out. Hmmm, Nancy thought. Why was Ned in Gina’s room?
    Then Gina poked her head around Ned’s shoulder. “Oh, good, my pasta!” she exclaimed. Her hand reached out to pull the silver cover off the plate.
    As she lifted the lid, Nancy saw Gina’s expression change. With a look of horror on her face, she dropped the lid and screamed, knocking the tray out of Paul’s hands. Nancy ran forward.
    Pushing past Paul, Nancy saw the mess on the floor. A mass of slippery linguine lay plopped on the corridor carpet—with a dead rat on top!

Chapter

Eight
    G INA WAS SHRIEKING AND hopping up and down. Her hands clawed wildly at Ned’s shoulder. He put both of his hands on her upper arms and held her tightly. “Calm down, calm down,” he kept saying.
    Behind them Sally Harvey came to the door and peeked out. Paul was already on his hands and knees, trying to clear up the pasta. Sally, seeing the rat, scrunched up her face. “Yuck!” she said softly.
    â€œLook,” Nancy said to Sally, seeing that she was calmer than Gina. “The rat could be a ploy to get you out of the room for some reason. You two may want to go somewhere else, but I think Ned should stand guard while you’re away.”
    Still holding Gina, Ned said, “There’s no way I’ll leave her alone. What if these