The rest of us followed her down the hall and into the foyer. Claire Benoit was propped up against the wall, a security guard pressing a cloth to her arm. An upturned bowl of Christmas balls had spilled its contents around her and drops of red blood were scattered over the silver spheres. Ms. Dalton knelt beside her. “What happened?” The whites showed around Claire’s eyes and she was breathing fast. When she didn’t answer, the dean looked at the guard. He pulled back the cloth to reveal two puncture wounds still streaming blood. “Maybe she tripped and fell against the fireplace. She could have hurt herself on the poker . . .” He paused, his face confused. “But I don’t know where it went to.” Bel tapped him on the shoulder. “Be a good man and go call an ambulance.” The guard nodded and rushed back to his office. Bel lifted the woman’s arm while she stared at him, panting and murmuring something.
