Claire Rizzardi didn’t know it was her last day on earth. If she had, maybe she’d have called her parents to say “I love you” or had a chocolate donut for breakfast instead of her usual yogurt and fruit.

As it was, however, she spent an ordinary Saturday doing ordinary Saturday things.

She jogged on the beach for an hour before going to work. Once at the hotel, she reviewed the banquet menus for the coming week—mostly weddings, she noted, as it was still summer. She looked over the orders from the food vendors and wine merchants. Even though her title was “Catering Manager,” she was expected to make sure the hotel’s three restaurants and four bars were well-stocked.

After menus and orders, Claire bent to a bulging file drawer to dig up the invoices that were scheduled to go out Monday. She tried to keep her mind on the figures, but thoughts of her lover kept intruding—

She softened, angular features and all, as she remembered her most recent tryst with him. It had been a forbidden encounter in this very office, she recalled, cramped and messy as it was. He’d pushed her back on the paper-strewn desk, keeping one large hand behind her head as the other roamed her body like a sniffer dog, and made furious, silent love to her.

She told herself that he hadn’t meant it later, when he said they shouldn’t see each other as often. She needed to be with him.

Menus. Food orders. Invoices.

And what about today? What functions do we have in house? She’d known perfectly well this morning, but thoughts of his sweaty torso had driven the knowledge straight out of her head.

That’s right! The Grossman wedding in the Lighthouse Ballroom.

She cut through the banquet kitchen to check on the reception, then returned to the kitchen.

“Irina, be careful. That’s a lot of plates you’re holding.”

“Don’t worry, Ms. Rizzardi. I’m fine,” came a calm reply from the high-cheekboned blonde.

Irina’s coworker, Natalia, balanced two trays loaded with plates, pushed the kitchen door open with her foot, and sped out of sight to her tables. Claire knew she’d have memorized how every meat-eating guest preferred their steak, as well as who had food allergies and which ones were vegetarians.

Claire congratulated herself on her decision to promote Natalia to Head Banquet Server.

Her eyes narrowed, however, as they fell on Galina.

A perfectly competent server, but still—the ex-girlfriend. A threat.

Her lover was so handsome, she sighed to herself. How could he ever prefer me with Galina around? Claire had a mirror. She knew her athletic physique, sharp features, flat chest, and thin lips weren’t a collection of man-pleasing attributes. Why did Galina have to be so pretty? Claire looked at her perfect, lineless skin, plump lips, generous bustline, and wavy brown hair—

Enough, she told herself, waving her hand to swat away an imaginary fly.

What else can I do this afternoon?

Check the walk-in freezer.

That shipment of chicken fingers should be in by now, as well as the soups the patrons thought were homemade.

After a quick stop at her office to shed her jacket and make a few notes, Claire headed down to the walk-in freezer in the basement.

As usual, no one was there.

The boxes and crates were stacked in neat rows, she was glad to see. She’d spent so much time lecturing her servers on the importance of neatly kept supplies, and it seemed the message was finally getting through—for the most part. She leaned down to straighten some crates of lump crabmeat, grateful for the chill after the stifling temperatures of an August heat wave. As she was counting the number of boxes of ice cream on hand, she heard the heavy door swing almost closed.

Crap, she thought. That door locks automatically. I’d better prop it open before I get stuck in here.

She turned, but before she could take even a step, she felt an arm encircle her so tightly that she couldn’t move. She flinched and shuddered as cold water doused her entire body. Some type of cord was quickly used to bind her hands behind her back.

“Help!” she managed to croak before her assailant taped her mouth.

As she heard the door shut with a terrible clicking sound, Claire realized she was truly alone. Whoever had put her in this predicament had left, she couldn’t call for help, and her only hope was that someone—anyone—would come in.

With every passing minute, Claire thought more longingly of the too-warm sunshine outside. Without a jacket, drenched, she felt her long dark hair stiffen and ice crystals form on her eyelashes. She started to panic in earnest.

Claire struggled to free her hands for a time before realizing that her labored breathing just used up the precious, limited oxygen faster.

Wait. That’s all she could do—wait. Even the seldom-visited walk-in freezer saw a human face occasionally. Maybe they would run out of ice cream for the Grossman wedding dessert plate. Claire forced herself to be calm. She couldn’t yell through the tape, and she couldn’t free her hands either. All she could do was wait.

Her eyes fell on a black marker, and she began to inch her way toward it.

Maybe she could send a message, at least.

After a while, she didn’t really want to fight, she was sluggishly amazed to find.

It was strange, she thought drowsily after fifteen minutes or so. She didn’t even feel that cold anymore.

Slowly, she turned her head from side to side, looking for something softer to lean on than the rock-hard crate of beef patties at her back.

But after another few minutes, Claire closed her frosty lids, slumped onto the unyielding, frozen box, and went to sleep.

She didn’t care anymore.