"I think they only work on dead bodies. Did we decide which is intake and outflow?" Annie asked. "Or did we say it doesn't matter?"

"I think we're going with it doesn't matter," Kathryn said. "Just slice and dice, and let's get on with it. We can always take a shower later."

Alexis turned on the machine at her feet. Nikki bent over, the scalpel poised. She reached for the band of Owen's underwear and sliced downward, exposing his private parts. "Hmmm," she said as she pulled at his left leg. "Right side or left side?"

"Is he a left kind of guy or a right kind of guy?" Kathryn asked.

"Actually, they're hanging in the middle like he can't decide. I can barely see anything," Annie chirped. "Go with the right, Nikki."

Nikki backed up a step. "I should be wearing my glasses for this. Did anyone see them?"

"Wear mine, dear," Myra said, fishing in her pocket for her reading glasses.

Nikki slipped them on, and said, "It makes such a difference for upclose work." She jabbed the tip of the scalpel into Owens's skin, and he yelped so loud the room shook.

"Okay, okay, you crazy bitch. Untie me, and I'll tell you."

"It doesn't work that way. You tell us, then we untie you. First, you give us the combination to your safe. We'll call Mr. Winters, who will then have the contents delivered here to us by the same kind gentleman who gave you the story about Stu and admitted you when you first arrived. You know, to satisfy yourself that Stu Franklin was dead, and you were coming to identify the body. Now, what is it?"

Owens rattled off the number. Jack stirred himself to open his cell to call Homer Winters. "Twenty minutes, give or take. Harry will meet the guy up front."

While they waited for their delivery, Annie prowled around the room, checking out all the bottles and jars. The others continued to nibble on the remaining pizza.

"Cover me up," Owens said.

Myra walked over to the embalming table and looked down. "Why should we? You act like there's something to see. There isn't. Now be quiet, or I'll take matters into my own hands. Well, not literally, I'm very careful what kind of garbage I touch. By the way, Mr. Owens, I'm curious about something. Mr. Franklin said you got onto us because of sweaters. Explain that, please."

Owens was so drained he responded. "Old people always wear sweaters when they plan to be in the casinos for a few hours. We keep it cold on purpose so people don't get sluggish. None of you were wearing sweaters. Maybe if one or two of you had had them on, I wouldn't have paid any attention."

Myra looked at the others. She shrugged.