“Throw the girl a fish. She remembers me.”
“Of
terrific tour director. How could I forget you?” I pulled a face. “Our local guide was pretty annoying, but you were wonderful. I’m astounded
“Are you serious? Three days in Switzerland? Three dead bodies? How could I forget you?”
“I had nothing to do with those deaths.”
“You found the bodies. Close enough.”
“It is not!”
“Besides which, you deliberately ditched me so you could have drinks at the Hotel Chateau Gutsch with that hot police inspector.”
Okay, he had me there, “I wouldn’t call what I had a drink. It was more like an extravagantly expensive sip.”
“You were a jinx!”
“I was n—!” I winced. “You really think so?”
“I know so. The rest of the trip went great after you and your group left, except that the company canned me because they held me responsible for exceeding the allowable number of guests expected to die over a three-day period.”
“There’s an allowable number?”
“Yah: zero! So I get hired by another company, establish a perfect record, and what happens? My holiday gets canceled so I can replace an otherwise healthy guide who croaks for no reason at all.”
“Actually, there was a bicycle involved, so—”
“And who do I find in the middle of it all?”
I forced a smile. “Have I caught you at a bad time?”
“And I’m hearing rumors that not all the guests made it back from an unauthorized excursion to the Red Light District last night. Is that right?”
“Which part?” I asked sheepishly. “That the excursion was unauthorized or that several guests didn’t make it back?”
“
“We were only missing two last night.” I lowered my voice to a whisper. “But the number sort of climbed to three this morning.”
His eyes seemed to dance in his sockets, aping the kind of reaction you might expect if you stuck a screwdriver into a live electrical outlet.
“I’m right on top of the situation though,” I chirped. “I’ve talked to the police, I have a couple of forms to fill out, and I know exactly what to do if nothing is resolved by early afternoon.”
Eye blinking. Panicked silence.
“Come
Color drained from his face like dye from a cheap shirt.
“Would you like to sit down?” I asked gently. “You look a little—”
He held up his hand. “I’m changing the itinerary,” he choked out in a sandpapery voice. “This morning we’ll visit the Rijksmuseum. This afternoon, the Anne Frank house. And in between, I’ll be hunkered down in whatever isolated corner I can find, trying to locate our missing guests. Sound like fun?” He glowered at me. “Good thing for you my phone is fully charged. I’ll note the changes on the whiteboard.”
“I’m sure the missing guests will show up. The policewoman I spoke to sounded really confident that they’d be dragging themselves back any minute now. Her advice was simply to be patient and try not to panic.”
“Easy for her to say. She’s never traveled with you before.” He looked me up and down, as if hoping I’d disappear. “So, you’re the official escort for the Iowa contingent, are you?”
I nodded.
“I won’t ask you how many guests you’ve lost in your official capacity.”
Which was a good thing, since I’d lost count.
He threw a long look beyond me, as if he were dredging up more unpleasant memories. “Is that irritating woman with the wire-whisk hair and crab walk still part of your group?”
“Bernice? Bernice Zwerg? You remember her, too?”
“You’d better give her a hand. She just walked into the wall.”
_____
“I’m good,” Bernice snuffled when her nose stopped bleeding. “But if my pain and suffering get too overwhelming, I plan to sue.”
We’d settled her into a chair in the lobby and plied her with tissues, but had to send Margi running to the restroom for wet paper towels when Osmond keeled over in a dead faint. “Stay calm!” Alice advised as I dug his medical history form out of my shoulder bag. “He’s fine with his own blood; it’s other people’s that gives him the problem.”
“That’s a stupid place to stick a wall,” Bernice complained as we hauled Osmond off the floor.
“Right,” said George. “Contractors always make a point of putting load-bearing walls in stupid places, like … public buildings.”
“Don’t get smart with me, George,” she snapped. “This hotel has got a lot of nerve booby-trapping this place and not bothering to warn us. That wall wasn’t there last night, was it?”
This seemed to perk up Osmond, who called for a group vote despite being half-conscious on the sofa. I studied their faces as they cast their yeas and nays, and noticed something astonishing for the very first time.
“Did you know that your eyeglasses are exactly alike? How do nine people as different as you guys end up with the same eyewear?”
“It’s on account of Pills Etcetera,” Nana explained. “They was runnin’ a special—$39.95 for no-line bifocals.”
“And you all selected the same frame?”
“The special only applied to one frame,” Tilly chafed. “A detail the pharmacy failed to mention in its weekly flyer.”
My brain cells started cranking like the pistons in a steam engine. Identical eyewear? Group vision problems? Hmm. I might be onto something.
“How many of you are accidentally bumping into things this morning?” I questioned.
Nine hands crept slowly into the air.
“How many of you saw fireworks in front of your eyes in the coffeeshop last night?”
Everyone except Nana raised a hand.
“When the symptoms first appeared, how many of you tried on someone else’s lenses to see if a different prescription would improve your vision?”
No hands went up.
Nana rolled her eyes. “They was
Disbelieving gasps filled the air.
“That’s a bunch of hooey,” accused Bernice.
“It most certainly is not,” said Tilly in her professor’s voice. “That’s exactly what happened. Now that my brain is operating on all cylinders again, I’m being haunted by colorful memories I’d rather forget.”
Nana looked frustrated. “Hold on. If
Tilly slid her eyeglasses off her face and offered them to Nana. “See if these help.”
“You guys!” I chided. “You
“I can see!” Nana exclaimed. She coaxed the frames up her nose and darted a look around the lobby. “The furniture’s not miniaturized no more! Your heads are bigger than mothballs. I can even see the scribblin’ on that whiteboard over there.”
