"Male cows all have d.i.c.ks," d.i.c.k Teig scoffed, "but they don't all have t.e.s.t.i.c.l.es. Only bulls have b.a.l.l.s."

Aha! I thought. Just like firemen.

"So how do you know Emily's cow is a bull when all you can see is the head?" Lucille demanded of her husband.

"Because he has horns," he repeated. "Bulls have horns."

"And they're supposed to have b.a.l.l.s, but if you can't see see his b.a.l.l.s, how do you know he has any?" his b.a.l.l.s, how do you know he has any?"

"You don't always need to see see someone's b.a.l.l.s to know he has them." someone's b.a.l.l.s to know he has them."

Hmm. I wondered if d.i.c.k was making a commentary about bulls or himself.

Lucille did a sarcastic eye roll. "It's a steer."

"A bull," said d.i.c.k.

This is what happened when people raised on Iowa grain farms decided to talk animal husbandry. It seemed a good time to intervene. I raised my voice to be heard above the fray. "I told you where I I was when Shirley fell off the cliff. Why don't you tell me where was when Shirley fell off the cliff. Why don't you tell me where you you were because I can't believe all of you were together every minute of every hour we spent on that mountain." were because I can't believe all of you were together every minute of every hour we spent on that mountain."

Silence. Followed by an exchange of more cryptic looks.

"I went to the ladies' room by myself," confessed Helen.

"So did I," said Jane. "The vegetable lasagna was good, but it didn't sit very well, if you know what I mean."

I arched my brow at the two d.i.c.ks. "All right," said d.i.c.k Teig. "I'll own up. Ra.s.smuson and I followed Stolee around for a little while when he was filming the sunbathers in front of the hotel. And then we all headed off in separate directions to take a few pictures."

"Sunbathers?" said Helen, thwacking him on the shoulder. "You were ogling sunbathers?"

"What about you, Lucille?" I prodded.

"I can account for every minute I was on that mountain, and I was always always with someone. So there." with someone. So there."

"Even in the ladies' room?"

"I didn't use the ladies' room."

A collective intake of breath around the table. Either Lucille Ra.s.smuson was a very cool liar, or she had the longest set of pipes known to man.

"And furthermore," she continued, "that cow on Emily's watch looks like he's been castrated, so that would make it a steer."

"It can't be a cow if it's been castrated," Jane Hanson spoke up. "You can only castrate bulls."

"That still makes it a steer," spat Lucille.

"So the animal on Emily's watch isn't a cow?" said Helen.

Jane's voice was strained. "It could be a heifer with horns."

"A heifer?" snarled d.i.c.k Ra.s.smuson. "That's a bunch of bull."

Helen looked confused. "Are you saying there's no such thing as a cow?"

"A heifer becomes a cow after she's given birth," said Jane. "And all all cattle are born with horns, but farmers remove them for safety reasons." cattle are born with horns, but farmers remove them for safety reasons."

"How do you know so much about cows?" I asked.

"h.o.a.rd's Dairyman. Aisle five." Aisle five."

"Who said anything about cattle?" Lucille wanted to know.

"Could the animal on Emily's watch be an ox?" Helen asked. "Oxen have horns, don't they? I just don't know if they have b.a.l.l.s."

I stabbed a few peas with my fork and shoved them into my mouth. Maybe tomorrow night we could discuss the gay and lesbian movement. I was dying to hear their take on that.

Nana had packed two nightgowns for the trip, which was a good thing because I found myself having to wear one of them to bed. I wouldn't have minded sleeping in the nude, but Nana stated quite emphatically that if two of us were going to share one bed, one of us was not was not going to be naked. going to be naked.

We lay in bed shoulder to shoulder--me, staring at the darkened ceiling, Nana, snoring like a lumberjack. I turned to look at her in the shadows and shook my head at the toilet paper she'd wrapped around her head. She said the toilet paper was a better alternative than a hairnet because it cushioned her hair without flattening her curls. As she slept, however, the tissue kept creeping down over her face, so as the night progressed, she was beginning to look more like Lon Chaney in a twenties version of The Mummy. The Mummy.

I couldn't sleep. I kept thinking about Shirley Angowski and the way she'd looked at the bottom of the precipice and wondering if the police had recovered her camera bag from the ravine. What if she had had plummeted to her death accidentally? If that was the case, I was wasting a lot of energy worrying about who was where and when. But if someone had pushed her, I wanted to know who, and I wanted to know right now. What person who had access to dimethyl sulfate also had a grudge against Shirley Angowski? plummeted to her death accidentally? If that was the case, I was wasting a lot of energy worrying about who was where and when. But if someone had pushed her, I wanted to know who, and I wanted to know right now. What person who had access to dimethyl sulfate also had a grudge against Shirley Angowski?

There were only three people I could cross off my suspect list. Me. Nana. And Louise Simon. Even if Louise had had the opportunity to poison Andy before he left Iowa, she hadn't been on top of Mount Pilatus, so she couldn't have pushed Shirley. Although, after I thought about that for a minute, I frowned at my logic. The fact that Louise hadn't killed Shirley didn't mean she hadn't killed Andy. What if someone else had killed Shirley independently of Andy? What if there were two two killers? killers?

I rubbed my throbbing temples. If there were were two cold-blooded murderers, at least I could take comfort in the fact that one of them was on a boat in Alaska. two cold-blooded murderers, at least I could take comfort in the fact that one of them was on a boat in Alaska.

"EHHHHH!".

The shriek had me jackknifing into a sitting position in a fraction of a second. I swung my legs over the bed and landed on my feet.

"EHHHHH!".

A woman's scream. Coming from the room next door. Oh, no. Not again. I HATED people saying death happened in threes.

"STOP IT! GET AWAY!".

I jumped as something thunked thunked into the wall. I hoped it wasn't a body. I groped for a weapon. My shoe. into the wall. I hoped it wasn't a body. I groped for a weapon. My shoe.

"EEEEEEEK!".

I thought about my shoe. Was this wise? This was the mate to the only pair I had left. If I ruined this shoe, I'd have to go barefoot.

I dropped the shoe and grabbed my pillow instead. More thunks against the wall. More screams. Footsteps pounding across the room. A scream echoing in the hall. I raced to the door and threw it open.

Grace Stolee was in the hall jumping from foot to foot and screaming like a madwoman. The door to her room was open wide and she kept jabbing her finger toward it in utter hysteria. Oh my G.o.d. Had someone tried to kill Grace?

I ran toward her. "Who attacked you?"

She pointed toward the door again. I spun around to follow her gaze.

A man stood within the shadows of her room. He was big, and hulking, and lumbering straight toward us. When he came into the light, I saw his face. Kind of. His forehead and nose and mouth were hidden behind a mask that fit over his head so that only his evil little eyes were visible. Oh my G.o.d! It was Hannibal Lecter.

"EHHHHH!" I screamed.

"EEEEEK!" Grace screamed.

He had something in his hand. A gun? A knife? I didn't wait to find out. I rushed at him and whammed him in the midriff with my pillow. He doubled over with a loud, "OOHFF!" My pillow burst. Feathers sprayed everywhere. Hannibal dropped his weapon. Onto my foot.

"OW!" I cried.

"EEEEEK!" Grace screamed like a banshee. She jabbed her finger toward my room. I turned around. A hideous dwarf with toilet paper tacked to its face charged at us with the ferocity of an avenging angel. "It's the Mummy!" shrieked Grace. BOOM. The floor shook as Grace went down like a ton of bricks.

PSHHHHHHT! "Take that, sucka!" yelled Nana as she power-blasted Hannibal with a shot from an aerosol can.

"Get him again," I yelled. "He eats people!"

PSHHHHHT!.

Hannibal waved his arms through the air. He coughed. He wheezed. He dropped to his knees. I stuck my nose into the air and took a whiff.

"What kind of hair spray is that? It smells really good."

Nana peeled a layer of toilet paper off her face and held up the can. "They didn't have hair spray in an aerosol so I had to get room deodorizer. Alpine Meadows. You like it?"

I inhaled again. "That's really nice. You suppose they sell that back home?"

Hannibal groaned, gasping for air. Returning to the task at hand, I found the snap on the back of his mask and ripped it off.

The guy was bald, red-faced, and weeping uncontrollably. Oh my G.o.d! It was d.i.c.k Stolee! Had he been about to kill Grace? Was the mask his signature? Did he always don it when he attempted to kill people? Had he been wearing it when he poisoned Andy? When he pushed Shirley off the cliff? Just like Jason in the Friday the 13 Friday the 13th movies. Or was Jason the one in the Halloween Halloween series? Whatever. Filled with indignation and rage, I grabbed the aerosol can out of Nana's hand and conked him on the nose. He crossed his eyes stupidly and collapsed onto the floor. series? Whatever. Filled with indignation and rage, I grabbed the aerosol can out of Nana's hand and conked him on the nose. He crossed his eyes stupidly and collapsed onto the floor.

Nana looked at d.i.c.k. She looked at his mask. She looked back at d.i.c.k. "Hmm," she said.

"What?" I dangled the mask from two fingers and gave it the once-over. Some mask. It looked more like a jock strap to me, which made me wonder where else it had been. Yuck. I flicked it off my fingers.

"You remember me sayin' d.i.c.k Stolee has sleep apnea?"

I searched my memory banks. "Yeah. Kind of. You read it on his medical form."

"You s'pose that mask could be the sleep apnea mask he has to wear at night so's he won't stop breathin'?"

I looked at d.i.c.k. I looked at the mask. I looked back at d.i.c.k. Unh-oh. "But Grace was screaming. She yelled at him to get away. He had a deadly weapon in his hand. He was going to attack us!"

"What kinda deadly weapon?"

I did a visual search of the floor and plucked it out of the feathers. I held it up as evidence. "A curling iron. Looks like one of those travel models."

"Where's the cord?"

"This one's cordless."

"No kiddin'?" She lifted it out of my hand for a better look. "I could use one a these."

Doors finally started to fly open up and down the corridor. Heads popped out. Slippered feet wandered into the hallway.

I scratched my head. "This makes no sense. Why was Grace screaming if d.i.c.k wasn't attacking her? What was she so afraid of?" I caught sudden movement from the corner of my eye and ducked as something whooshed whooshed out of the Stolee's room straight past my head. "EHHH!" I screamed, swatting my hands through the air. out of the Stolee's room straight past my head. "EHHH!" I screamed, swatting my hands through the air.

Nana watched the thing wing its way down the corridor. "Well, would you look at that. It's a little bat. You s'pose that's what was causin' all the ruckus next door?"

A bat? I looked at d.i.c.k lying unconscious on the floor, a welt already starting to form on the bridge of his nose.

Oops.

Chapter 9.

"Mr. Stolee says if you'll agree to move to a room that isn't adjacent to his, he won't press charges."

The next morning, I was seated in the now-familiar office of the Grand Palais Hotel, wiping fingerprint ink from my hands. Ever the fashion plate, today I was wearing Nana's best Sunday sweatshirt--a lemon yellow pile pullover with lace at the collar and cuffs. Lace. Oh G.o.d. Etienne leaned against the office desk with the grace and elegance of a leopard. He looked very Swiss in his black suit and black turtleneck, but with his black hair falling rakishly onto his brow, he reminded me of one of my childhood fantasies. Zorro. I'm not sure if I'd been more enamored with Zorro's mask, cape, or sword, but the result was that to this day, men in black still make my hormones jump.

"I'm not sure why he doesn't appreciate my efforts," I objected. "I was only trying to help." I wadded the paper towel into a ball and tossed it into the wastebasket.

"I take it you haven't seen Mr. Stolee's nose."

I winced. "Did I break it?"

"It's the color of a zucchini and twice the size it was yesterday. You didn't break it. However, if I were you, I might accept his invitation to move to another floor."

"He probably wishes I'd move to another planet." I threw my hands up in surrender. "All right. I'll go quietly."

"Just for the record," Etienne said, a smile hitching up the corners of his mouth, "you hit him with a can of room freshener?"

"Our first choice was hair spray, but room freshener was the only thing Nana could find that didn't come in a pump."

He shook his head. "If Mr. Stolee had been the real killer, it could have gone very badly for you last night, Emily. I cringe to think what might have happened had he been wielding a knife instead of a curling iron. Your bravado was admirable, but I fear, foolhardy."

Etienne had me all wrong. I wasn't brave. I was only a hapless victim of circ.u.mstance who was having a hard time getting a good night's sleep.

"The next time you hear someone screaming in the hall, will you promise me you'll call the front desk instead of handling the situation by yourself?"

"I wasn't handling it by myself. Nana was helping."

"Which is even more reason why you need to pick up the phone. Think how bad it makes us look when seventy-eight-year-old grandmothers are taking down guests in the hall."

"What happened to the bat?"