We left Miss Holt and Mr. Steele contemplating their relationship. The next morning …
They are bright-eyed and bushy tailed (though one wishes Laura had spent a bit of that quiet time contemplating her wardrobe.)
Steele, at least, is well turned out. He carefully adjusts his pocket square.
He knocks on a door. “Rise and shine, Dominic!”
Laura is Feldman’s wake-up call. Meanwhile, Mr. Steele does seem very concerned about that pocket square. There’s such a thing as being too fastidious about one’s grooming, Mr. Steele. Makes one seem a little precious.
Dominic and Feldman appear, fully dressed. Guess nobody bothered to shower this morning.
The whole crowd converges on Randi’s door. Apparently the lady needs her beauty sleep.
Steele decides to intrude on her boudoir.
Oh, dear. Such a tragedy. I mean, have you ever seen an uglier headboard? The interior decorator should be ashamed.
Mr. Steele discovers the murder/suicide/accidental overdose weapon.
He sniffs it. No, no, no. You SNIFF glue; you INJECT heroin. Get it right, Mr. S. In any case, he can’t smell a thing.
“Could have been an air bubble,” Laura suggests.
Now, Miss Holt. The poor woman is dead. No need to insult her.
Detective Feldman makes a solemn pronouncement: “Poor Randi. She slept her way right to the bottom.”
“You want to tell us about it, Mr. Feldman?” Laura asks.