Alpine for You (6 page)

KERPLUNK!

I thrashed to the surface in a frenzy of sodden clothing and frozen limbs. I opened my eyes. The hairpiece was just beyond my nose. I'd taken Red Cross lifesaving. I knew how to save a drowning body, but I wasn't sure if the same technique would work on a hairpiece.

I swiped at the toupee and crushed it in my fist, then swam the four feet to shore. Dick Stolee helped me out of the water and up the stairs. He snatched his hairpiece from me. After wringing a gallon of river water out of it, he smacked it against his thigh in what I figured was the male version of the blow-dry method. "Looks like it'll be good as new. Thanks, Emily. You're all right."

"D-don't mention it." I was shivering so badly, I thought my jaw would crack. My teeth chattered. My knees knocked together.

"It's damn cold out here, Emily. You'd better get into some dry clothes." Dick looked at his watch. "And you'd better hurry. We only have a couple of hours until we head back to the bus."

I stared at his watch in horror. Unh-oh. Everything had happened so fast. Had I remembered to remove my watch before I'd done my Little Mermaid routine? I lifted my arm and reluctantly coaxed the sleeve of my sweater past my wrist. No. NOOOO!

"Something wrong with your watch?" Dick inquired.

I waved it in front of his face. "It's f-full of water. How can it be f-full of water? It's brand-new! It's w-water-resistant!"

"I think what you wanted was water
proof.
Remember that next time. Gotta run. Have to see what the big deal about the church is. Thanks again." He held his toupee up like a prized fish and posed in front of his camcorder for a final shot.

"Dick's hair," narrated Dick Teig. "Reunited with Dick's head."

"Sacre bleu,"
I muttered as I peered down at the ruined watch that was costing me the equivalent of ten years' worth of curly fries.
Sacre bleu
is a common expression among non-Norwegians in Iowa. From what I can figure, it means,
Uff da.

This was great. This was JUST great. How could I have let this happen? I was the student who'd been voted "Most Clever" in my high school graduating class. How could a supposedly clever person be so oblivious?

With a grunt of disgust, I squeegeed water out of my pant legs and shoehorned my feet back into my shoes. "Miss Andrew?" That voice. I knew that voice. I spun around to face Inspector Miceli. I felt liquid heat arrow downward from my navel.

"Inspector. Wh-what a surprise."

His blue eyes assumed a sooty, grayish cast in the daylight. "Someone from across the river pointed out a commotion over here."

"I saved a man's hairpiece from drowning."

He smiled that beautiful smile of his. "You must have done a thorough job. You're incredibly wet. Though I must admit, it's a look that rather becomes you." He slung off his leather trench coat and wrapped it around my shoulders. This was getting serious. We were already at the part of the relationship where we were sharing each other's clothing. "What happened to the rest of your group?"

"Inside the church."

"You shouldn't stay out here, Emily. I'll take you back to the hotel so you can change into dry clothes."

"But I c-can't go. I need to stay with the group. I'm their new escort."

"You need to go back to the hotel," he said matter-offactly. "With me."

"Okay." Could I play hard to get, or what? "But I'll need to stop inside the church and tell my grandmother where I'm going."

"You go on to my car. I'll tell your grandmother."

I gathered up my cardigan and raincoat. We'd only walked a half dozen steps when Etienne's trench coat started making a sound. I looked down at the coat, startled. "Is it my ears, or is your coat chirping?"

"My cell phone. Excuse me, please."

He dug the phone out of his pocket, then walked a short distance away to converse. When he returned, he wasn't smiling.

"Bad news?" I asked.

"Your Mr. Simon. It appears he might have died from something other than a severe asthma attack."

I remembered what Jane Hanson had said. "You mean, the stress of wanting to be the perfect escort really did kill him?" I felt a trill of alarm. I was only twenty-nine. I had a lot more living to do. Maybe I should rethink this escort thing.

"Something more deliberate than stress killed him, Miss Andrew. There are indications that your Mr. Simon may have been murdered."

"M
urdered?" Sure, Andy had been a lowlife. He'd thought of no one but himself, hurt countless women, and ruined a lot of lives. But if every man who acted like that was murdered, we'd be a planet of Amazon women. "How could he be murdered? He's from Iowa. Iowans aren't murdered. Iowans die from overdosing on bacon, or from being crushed in customer stampedes when Fareway runs a special on Iowa chops."

"I can't give you details, but I will tell you that his death appears more suspicious now than it did at five o'clock this morning."

"You think someone on the tour killed him?"

"In a majority of homicides, the victim and his killer are usually acquainted. We have one possible lead to follow, but should that turn out to be a dead end, do you know anyone on the tour who would have a motive to kill him?"

He had me there. I was acquainted with many of the seniors in the group, but if one of them despised Andy enough to kill him, I didn't know who it would be. I shook my head.

"When we have the results back from serology, we'll know more. Until then I can only caution you to watch yourself, Miss Andrew."

"Watch myself?" I felt my stomach drop to my knees.

"Am I in danger?"

"What you assumed to be the sounds of sexual acrobatics last night in Mr. Simon's room may well have been the sounds of Mr. Simon being murdered. If the perpetrator thinks you heard something that could implicate him..."

He left the sentence unfinished, but his expression spoke volumes. Unh-oh. This wasn't good.

"I'd appreciate your keeping this information to yourself until our findings are more conclusive, Miss Andrew. There's no sense causing panic among the people in your tour group."

What about causing panic in me? I was going to be constantly looking over my shoulder now, expecting some friendly acquaintance to stick a knitting needle through my ear. "You think the killer might strike again?"

"Until we discover the motive for the murder, we've no way of knowing that. But as the group's escort, you should be alerted to the possibility that someone on your tour could be capable of murder."

I felt honored to be taken into his confidence, but the honor did nothing to calm my frazzled nerves. How could I keep this to myself? "Can I tell my grandmother about this? I promise she won't tell anyone. Telling a secret to Nana is the same as stashing gold in Fort Knox and throwing away the key. I think she should know. After all, if the killer suspects I heard something, he might think Nana heard something, too."

Inspector Miceli nodded. "If that will allow you to sleep better, by all means, share the information with your grandmother. I urge both of you to be aware of your surroundings at all times and to report anything that looks suspicious." He handed me a card with his name and office phone number on it. "I can be reached here anytime, day or night. If the need arises, call me."

He dropped me off at the side entrance to the hotel. Leaving his trench coat behind, I ran through the drizzle into the welcoming warmth of the lobby. "Room thirty-three-ten," I said to the clerk at the front desk.

He checked the grid of slots behind him. "Did you leave your key in the box this morning?"

"Yes, I did."

"It's not here." He checked the box on the front desk to find it empty. "It's not here either."

"Well, I put it in the box before I left. Where else could it be?" Then it occurred to me. What if the killer had been watching my movements? What if he'd snatched my key from the box after I'd deposited it there this morning? What if he was waiting in my room, intent on killing me, too? Oh. My. God.

I could see the nattily attired clerk studying my tangled nest of wet hair and sodden top. He arched an eyebrow at me. "It must be raining outside. We sell items for such occasions in Lucerne. I believe you call them umbrellas."

I would have gritted my teeth if they hadn't been chattering so hard. "How about you send someone up with a master key to open the door for me?" And to check out the room for maniacal killers before I set foot in it.

"Your name, Madame?"

"Emily Andrew."

"If you'll kindly have a seat in the lobby, I'll see what I can do about locating your key."

In my present state, I didn't dare sit on the room's velvet sofas, so I threw on my cardigan and raincoat for warmth and stood in front of the lobby window, watching the mist and fog cloak the daylight. I regretted having trashed my umbrella. With a killer on the loose, I might need a weapon. And even though a broken umbrella wasn't in the same league as a hand grenade, I bet I could poke someone's eye out with it, which would be eerily prophetic since my mother had been warning me about the likelihood of that happening from the time I'd turned six.

I supposed I could use my new watch as a weapon, but giving the killer the incorrect time didn't seem threatening enough. I needed something with more punch.

"Emily?"

I turned to find Shirley Angowski heading across the Oriental carpet toward me, and she wasn't looking so hot. Her hair was flat, her eyes were puffy, and she was wearing a navy blouse with black pants, which was as big a fashion faux pas as wearing blue-green with olive green. I figured she must be really rattled about Andy to have her color sense thrown so far off kilter.

"What happened to you?" she asked, staring at my hair.

"Midmorning dip in the river. I don't recommend it as a scheduled activity."

"I'm so glad you're here," she said, taking my hand for comfort. "Everyone is out on that tour this morning, so I'm all alone. I don't know what to do with myself."

I noticed she'd done something with herself. Her fingernails were no longer the color of Pepto-Bismol. They were black as licorice Jelly Bellies. "Nice color," I said. "I sometimes do black on Halloween."

She held out one hand so we could both admire it. "It's called
Galactica.
It's part of the Millennium collection. I did it out of respect for Andy."

"Did you name this one?"

Shirley shook her head. "Revlon assigned someone else to do the Millennium collection. I don't know much about outer space. I don't even know where the Milky Way is."

No surprise there.

She sighed. "What am I supposed to tell people about last night, Emily? I'm so embarrassed. Andy invited me to the hotel lounge after dinner, and while he was at the bar ordering our drinks, some old geezer who looked like Yasser Arafat hit on me."

Unh-oh. The Italian pervert strikes again.

"I was very polite and told the guy I was with someone else; but his English was pretty minimal, so I don't know if he understood me. He just stood there jabbering at me, refusing to leave. Then Andy came back with our drinks and told the guy to leave, but he still refused, so they had words, Andy motioned for the bartender, and the old guy got kicked out on his ear. And he wasn't happy about it, Emily. You should have seen the evil look he gave us on his way out. It gave me the willies. I was so nervous after that, Andy suggested we retire to someplace more private, so we went up to his room and I helped him practice lines for a play he's going to audition for."

"Did you tell the police about the man in the lounge?"

"I sure did. And I gave them a really good description, right down to his trench coat and knobby knees."

Was this the lead Inspector Miceli had mentioned? "His name is Nunzio."

Shirley gasped. "How do you know that? Did he hit on you, too?"

"He hit on my grandmother."

Shirley nodded as if this behavior were perfectly normal. "He must have a thing for older women. I better call the police and give them his name. Anyway, Emily, Andy was very gentlemanly when we were in his room. Nothing happened. Honest. He didn't do a thing wrong except flub a few of his lines."

"How was his delivery?"

"Pretty stiff, but I didn't want to hurt his ego, so I didn't tell him. When I was about to leave, he told me if I felt like coming back anytime during the night, he'd leave his door unlocked as an open invitation. All I'd have to do is walk in."

That made sense. If he'd given her his key, she could have been standing in the hall all night trying to unlock the door.

"He said he hoped I did come back, because he sensed we were soul mates. That we shared a bond that transcended space and time."

I tried not to roll my eyes, but they flew up into my head despite all my efforts to the contrary. I had to hand it to ole Andy. What he lacked in originality, he made up for in consistency.

"Why did you roll your eyes?" Shirley asked.

"If there was a chance Andy could get a woman into bed, he'd always claim she was his soul mate."

"You mean, I'm not the only one he said that to?"

"I don't want to seem insensitive, but no, you weren't."

Shirley removed her glasses to dab at the tears that had sprung into her eyes. "But, he seemed so sincere. He said he was trapped in a bad marriage with a woman who refused to have sex with him. He said he knew that making love to me would erase all the hurt he'd suffered through the years. He seemed so wounded, so forlorn. I...I..."

"Couldn't refuse?"

She nodded. "He made me feel so special. Ordinarily, I'd never sleep with a married man, but he told me he planned on filing divorce papers when he got back home, so I thought, what the heck. I'm fifty-nine years old. What am I saving it for? If we hit it off, I was even going to give him a pedicure later in the week. I feel like such a fool. But I suppose I'd feel like a bigger fool if he'd kicked off while we were doing it. I've heard stories about how a man's thing can get stuck inside you if he dies all of a sudden. Then someone has to call the fire department and they use a special instrument to pry the two of you apart. I think it's the Jaws of Life or something. Do you think they have the Jaws of Life in Switzerland?"

"They seem to have everything in Switzerland. Except sunshine and edible food. Look, Shirley, Andy's death wasn't your fault, so at the risk of sounding trite, I'd advise you not to dwell on what happened last night. You were simply in the wrong place at the wrong time. Bad karma. It happens to lots of people."

She apparently liked that answer because she stuffed her tissue back into her pocket and straightened her shoulders. "You're right. I'm going to get on with my vacation and not feel guilty or embarrassed about what happened last night. I probably did Andy a favor by finding him like I did. He might have been putrefying in there for a long time otherwise." She squeezed my hand. "Thanks for talking to me, Emily. I was going to skip the group picture at one o'clock, but you've made me feel so much better, I think I'll go after all. See you there."

Okay. So being the quintessential escort had its rewards. It felt nice to brighten someone's day, and I especially liked it that people felt inclined to spill their guts to me. Of course, I didn't believe for a minute that Andy intended to serve divorce papers on Louise. She was his cash cow. No way would he cut her loose. He'd lied to Shirley about his intended divorce and ended up dead. I could hear my mother now. "See what happens when you break one of the Ten Commandments?" Of course, in Andy's case, he'd broken more than one, so maybe it was the cumulative effect that got him.

One thing was for sure. He never should have left his door unlocked, especially after he'd just humiliated a man in public. Another clear-cut case of a man discarding common sense and thinking with his Mr. Peppy. It
had
to have been Mr. Nunzio who killed him. Granted, killing a man because he'd gotten you thrown out of a lounge was pretty extreme, but Nunzio was Italian, and Italians were notorious for their explosive tempers. He had a motive, and Andy's leaving his room unlocked had given him the opportunity. I just hoped the police dragged Nunzio in for questioning quickly. I didn't like the idea of having to watch my back with everyone in the group, but until the police were certain and charged the guy, that's exactly what I'd be forced to do.

With a possible suspect identified, I was beginning to feel a little calmer, until I remembered that my key was missing. Oh. My. God. Was it Nunzio who'd stolen my key out of the box this morning? Could he be in my room this very moment waiting to--

"Miss Andrew?" An unfamiliar female clerk motioned to me from the front desk. "I believe we have everything in order now. You should have mentioned you were in the room the police cordoned off. We put your key in a special place to remind us that you can't go up there."

"So no one stole it?" My knees wobbled with relief. I felt a hundred pounds lighter...for a millisecond. "What do you mean I can't go up there? Look at me! I need to change my clothes!"

"Hotel policy."

"I could come down with pneumonia and die!"

"There's a hand dryer in the ladies' toilet by the dining room."

If I still had my umbrella, her eye would be history. "All my stuff is in that room." I lowered my voice and skewered her with an icy glare. "I need my stuff."

"Sorry."

This wasn't going well. I decided I'd have to appeal to her feminine nature, provided she had one. "Are you telling me I'm going to have to go around looking like this all week?" I opened my raincoat to reveal the grossly distorted shape of my cashmere sweater.

Her lips did a little quirky thing, like a silent, "Euwww." She looked over her shoulder to the main office, then slid the key to room 3310 across the desk toward me. "I'll give you a half hour. Pack up your belongings and leave your suitcases outside your door. I'll have a bellman transfer them to your new room when we decide where we're going to put you."

Now we were getting somewhere. The only problem nagging me as I rushed up the stairs was, how could I unlock my door in a half hour's time?

Luck was with me. The policemen who had been in the corridor this morning were still there. "Excuse me. Could you possibly help me with my door again?"

The officer who had helped me earlier shook his head. "I'm sorry, Madame. You can't go in there."

Oh yeah? "I've been given permission to pack my belongings."

"By whom?"

"Inspector Miceli." Okay. So he hadn't exactly given me permission. But he
had
suggested I change my clothes. Close enough.