Dutch Me Deadly

My mouth fell open. “You knew about that, too?”

“Charlotte plowed into a speeding bicycle because … she wasn’t looking where she was going. Do you see any dots?”

George shooed something away from his line of vision. “I see ’em, but are you sure they’re not floaters?”

“Emily is getting us all hopped up over nothing,” accused Bernice. “If we listen to her, we’re all gonna end up having another lousy vacation, because she’ll convince us to waste all our time trying to prove her stupid conspiracy theories.”

“I thought that was the reason we come on these trips,” said Nana.

Eight sets of eyes pingponged from Bernice, to me, to Bernice again. “Show of hands,” announced Osmond. “How many people are in favor of ousting Bernice from our caucus?”

While he counted the eight hands that shot into the air, I excused myself to answer a sudden knock on my door.

“Don’t ask,” Jackie fumed as she stormed into the room. Beth Ann followed close behind her, like a beagle chasing a squirrel.

“Whatever you say,” I agreed as I closed the door.

Jackie paused in the center of the room, feet apart, hands on hips, eyes snapping. “Men!”

Silence. Gaping. Uncertainty.

“What’s wrong with ’em?” asked Nana.

She flashed a grateful smile. “You’re so sweet to ask, Mrs. S. I’ll tell you what’s wrong with them.” She snapped her fingers at Beth Ann.

“‘Our drinks arrived,’” Beth Ann read from her notebook. “‘My strawberry daiquiri was as pink as liquid antacid and twice as frothy. Jackie’s selection was more cosmopolitan—James Bond’s favorite, a vodka martini, shaken not stirred.’”

“I thought it was stirred, not shaken,” said Helen.

“What’s the difference?” asked Margi.

George scratched his head. “Are we talking about martinis or cosmopolitans?”

“Do cosmopolitans have olives?” asked Grace. “I love olives.”

“I love them little baby onions,” said Nana. “But they don’t taste real good in a Shirley Temple.”

I shot a pathetic look heavenward.

Knockknockknock.

“Hold that thought,” I said as I answered the door.

Wally stood in the doorway, out of breath and frazzled. He nodded toward Jackie. “Good. I was hoping she’d be here. Can I come in?”

I swept my hand toward the inner sanctum. “Be my guest.”

He gave a little wave of acknowledgment to everyone before confronting Jackie. “I want you to know I’m really sorry about what happened downstairs, and you have my word that it’ll never happen again.”

“Words are cheap,” she fired back. “What are you planning to do if it does?”

“Dietger will be looking at immediate dismissal, not only from this tour, but from the company. We have a zero tolerance policy against any type of fraternization between guests and drivers. I’ll file a report. If it happens again, he’s outta here.”

Jackie twitched her lips, unwilling to give an inch. “His people skills are abhorrent.”

“I know,” Wally said contritely.

“I hope you realize that the fiasco last night was all his fault. How does he get off leading a bunch of old geezers into the Red Light District and then just dumping them?”

“I’ll include that in my report,” he promised.

She flexed her shoulders, thawing slightly. “All right then. I’m not a total troglodyte.”

“What’s a troglodyte?” whispered Nana

“Neanderthal,” Tilly whispered back.

Nana waited a beat. “That don’t help none.”

“Is there any way I can make it up to you?” Wally glanced from Jackie to Beth Ann.

“Well, you did act the gallant when you came to our rescue.” Jackie batted her lashes and brushed an imaginary fleck off his shoulder. “I didn’t know you had it in you.”

“Me either,” said Beth Ann a little breathlessly.

“Just doing my job.” But if his chest puffed out any more, his buttons would be history. “I—uh, I guess I should be getting back to my computer before the bartender forgets he’s supposed to be keeping an eye on it for me. I just wanted to make sure we were squared away.”

Bernice raised her hand. “Are you on Facebook?”

“Company requirement. Look for me under Peppers. Wally Peppers. I’m the only one listed.”

Halfway to the door he paused, then turned around to offer Beth Ann a come-hither smile. “You mentioned you were pretty good with computers. Could I steal you away for a few minutes to help me with mine? I keep getting a message that tells me I have a runtime error 28, but I don’t know what that means.”

“It means you’re out of stack space.”

“Do you know how to fix it?”

She shoved her notebook into her purse and returned his smile, looking delirious to be singled out for special duty. “Piece of cake.”

I closed the door behind them and tossed Jackie an inquiring look. “What’s up with that?”

“Long story short. Dietger was making a pest of himself wanting to join us for drinks. I told him it was a private party. He interpreted that to mean we’d like to sleep with him. I told him to bugger off. He sat down at the next table, leering at us. Wally saw what was going on and read Dietger the riot act, which is when Beth Ann and I split. Not a good scene. Dietger was sooo angry that he was being dressed down. No good is going to come of this. Mark my words. Our little Belgian coach driver is trouble.”

I shook my head. “What I meant was, what’s up with Wally? Do I detect a little sexual chemistry going on between him and your favorite client?”

“There better not be any sexual chemistry going on.” Jackie trained an arch look at the door. “How can I teach Beth Ann anything about the fine art of decision-making if she decides to hang out with him instead of me? Do you realize how devastating that would be to my career? I can’t have clients making their own decisions. I’d be rendered obsolete!”

She worried her bottom lip, unconsciously gnawing the gloss clear off. “You know, I should have suspected he was up to something. Before he burrowed himself into a corner with his computer, Wally stopped by our table all friendly and chatty and polite. I figured he was hitting on me.” She let out a long-suffering sigh. “It happens a lot, you know.”

“Maybe not this time,” I suggested.

“But … but … how could he prefer Beth over me?” Her face crumpled in slow, agonizing waves, her voice became a plaintive wail. “Oh, my God, Emily. I’ve lost my touch. I’m all washed up. I’ve become invisible!”

“I wish to heck you’d become invisible,” cracked Bernice. “Will you park it someplace? You’re blocking my view.”

“Oh. Sorry.” She sat down on the edge of the bed and offered smiles all around. “So, what were you doing before yours truly barged in on you?”

Pursed lips. Puckered brows. Blank looks.

“Isn’t that somethin’?” Nana said, chiding herself. “I can’t rightly recall what we was doin’.”

“I think we were discussing snack foods,” said Helen.

“Seems like we were fixing to vote on something,” said Osmond. “But doggone if I can remember what.”

I beamed. Failing memory wasn’t such a bad thing, especially when you were trying to keep the troops focused. “We were discussing our murder investigation and what we should do next.”

“That’s right,” said Margi. “Someone suggested we should all pitch in to help Emily prove her theory.”

“I think it was Bernice,” Alice marveled.

“First time that’s ever happened,” muttered George.