Dutch Me Deadly

Jack was Jackie, was she pulling the same stunt and leaving Tom for another woman? Oh, my God. Was my ex- husband a serial home wrecker? Or was she simply crying out for a hormone replacement drug with more active ingredients?

“Here she comes,” Jackie tittered, bouncing on her heels in anticipation. “Isn’t she adorable?”

I wouldn’t have pegged her for Jackie’s type at all. She didn’t look self-absorbed, ditsy, or flamboyant, but rather gave the impression of being modest and quietly intelligent, the kind of person who’d be happy to give you directions or walk your dog if you were pinched for time. Her eyes were snappy, her makeup tastefully understated, her clothes fashionable without being overly trendy. She was about my height and weight and had hair the same color and length as mine, but hers was sleekly cut into cascading angles that rippled with movement and liquidy shine. I suppressed a twinge of envy. I supposed my hair could look like that, too, if I borrowed someone else’s head.

Jackie grabbed the woman’s hand and pulled her close. “Emily,” she gushed, “this is Beth Ann Oliver. I told her all about you, but I didn’t want to tell you anything about her until she and I had set our relationship in stone.”

I forced a tentative smile. Not only did Beth Ann and I share the same body type and hair color, we had the same shape face. The same green eyes. The same fair complexion. She extended her hand to shake mine.

Holy crap! We were wearing the same color nail polish! We probably even used the same name-brand concealer and blush. Oh, Lord. This was terrible. The unthinkable had happened.

Jack had fallen in love with me all over again. Only it wasn’t the real me. It was a lookalike me! The only difference between us seemed to be our perfume. I smelled like white tea and lemon; she smelled like a funeral parlor. Oil of roses. I hated oil of roses.

“I’m so happy to meet you, Emily,” my lookalike effervesced as she gripped my hand with both of hers.

“Me, too.” I pumped more energy into my smile. “Imagine. You. Me. Together on the same trip. Wow.” The smile remained plastered on my lips. “So, how long have the two of you been, you know … together?”

They exchanged questioning glances. “Has it been two months already?” asked Beth Ann.

“Two months, three days, and”—Jackie checked her watch—“six hours.” She lifted one shoulder in a coquettish shrug. “Approximately.”

“They’ve been the most wonderful two months of my life,” Beth Ann confessed. “I’ve never felt so vital, or alive, or — or fulfilled.”

Jack used to have that effect on me, too—before he realized he felt more fulfilled in my bikini panties than his boxer shorts. “It’s official then?” I asked squeamishly. “The two of you are a couple?”

“I prefer to think of us as a team,” Beth Ann corrected. She looked up at Jackie. “What do you think? Does team work for you?”

“Euw, I like that,” Jackie tittered. “A team. Like Laurel and Hardy, or Batman and Robin, or Rocky and Bullwink–”

“I was thinking more like Huntley and Brinkley.” Beth Ann’s voice grew wistful. “My dad always claimed that television wasn’t worth watching after they broke up.”

“Honey, if he came unglued over Christie Brinkley’s breakup, he must have been apoplectic when Brad Pitt ditched Jennifer Aniston for Angelina Jolie. I mean, celebrity breakups can absolutely destroy a fan’s sense of wellbeing. It can alter his whole vision of the universe.”

Beth Ann regarded Jackie quizzically before breaking into a wide smile. “You’re such a kidder.”

Sure she was. And I invented the Internet. “So am I correct in assuming that you’ve booted Tom off the team?”

Beth Ann looked horrified. “Tom’s the one who introduced us, so we’re not about to boot him anywhere. He guaranteed we’d hit it off, and he sure knew what he was talking about. Look at us! We’ve been connected at the hip since the day we met.”

“It’s so freaky, Emily. Who knew Tom would turn out to be such a dynamite matchmaker? I mean, your average guy is usually so wrapped up in himself that he doesn’t realize other people have emotions.”

The voice of experience talking.

“Maybe we should show our appreciation by making Tom an honorary member of our duo,” Beth Ann suggested. “Do you think he’d go along with it?”

Jackie gasped with excitement. “Would he ever! The three of us together on the same team? Can you imagine the possibilities? We’d rock!”

So help me, if they became a threesome, Jack could do the honors of explaining menage a trois to Nana.

I startled as a horn blared long and loudly outside the hotel. Jackie peered out the lobby window. “Geesch, what’s with the guy in the bus? Why is he laying on the horn like that?”

I followed her gaze. “That would be our driver. Dietger. A real charmer.” I checked the time. “He’s probably signaling us to board the bus.”

“Isn’t that the tour director’s job?” asked Beth Ann, looking disappointed that someone with an official uniform and striped umbrella wasn’t herding us toward the revolving door.

“It usually is,” I explained, “but at the moment, we have a vacancy in that department.”

“Get out of here,” whooped Jackie. “What happened to our tour director?”

I bolstered myself with a deep breath. “She had issues.”

“What kind of issues?” asked Beth Ann.

“Personality. Maaajor personality issues. And maybe some trouble with her peripheral vision. And balance problems. And—”

“She’s dead, isn’t she?” said Jackie.

“As a doornail,” I replied.

“Yes!” Jackie pumped both fists in the air, then to Beth Ann, “See what I told you? Emily always ends up with a body count on her tours. This is so exciting. Day one and we already have our first victim!” She grabbed my arm in a pleading gesture. “It was murder, wasn’t it? Are we going to investigate? Can Beth and I tail your suspects? Can we wear disguises? Pleeeeease? I packed some great outfits that I can wear undercover. No one will ever know it’s me.”

I responded to her questions by ticking off the answers on my fingers. “I don’t know. Maybe. No, and forget it.”

Her exuberance drained from her face in slow motion, making me suffer the kind of guilt I sometimes feel when I have to send my nephews to their rooms for shooting peas out their nostrils at the dinner table. She stared at me in disbelief, shoulders slumping, face flooding with disappointment, mouth sliding into a pout. Nuts. Why was I such a pushover for a pathetic look? I could think of only one way to redeem myself.

“Love your boots.”

“Really?” She threw off the pout for a pose, angling her foot to show off her stylishly pointed toes and pencil thin heels. “I ordered them online. At Nordstrom’s. And are you ready for this? Free shipping!”

My jaw went into freefall. My heart fluttered. My fingertips tingled. There was nothing to get a girl’s adrenalin pumping like the prospect of having trendy footwear arrive on her doorstep minus shipping fees and handling.

Dietger laid on the horn again, forcing guests in the lobby to cover their ears to prevent their hearing aids from exploding.

“What is his problem?” Jackie snapped, marching to the window and pounding on the glass to get his attention. “Hey, you! Enough already!” She waved her arms above her head, then made a quick slashing motion across her throat.

Dietger bore down on the horn even longer.

“Try a time-out sign,” Beth Ann suggested, joining her at the window. “Maybe he’s a fan of the NFL.”

Okay, I knew I wasn’t in charge of the tour, but someone needed to take over before we all went deaf.

I stuck my thumb and forefinger in my mouth and let fly a shrill whistle that cut through the blaring horn and spun every head in the lobby in my direction. “I’m acting in an unofficial capacity,” I said in a loud voice, “but that’s our bus outside, and Dietger isn’t going to lay off the horn until we board it, so will you please exit through the revolving door now so we can preserve whatever hearing we have left?”

“I don’t recall anyone putting you in charge,” a dissenting voice protested.