by Maddy Hunter
His wife, Grace, sat primly beside him, her back straight as a steeple. She was Dick’s height, trim but thick-waisted, wore her hair stylishly short and wavy, and had the best posture of anyone I’d ever known. I attributed that to the many years she’d spent teaching ballroom dancing at the Arthur Murray Dance Studio in Windsor City. She was a pretty woman, lithe, dignified, and could move as quickly and quietly as the wind. If she ever decided to compete in the Senior Olympics, she’d be a cinch to unseat Bernice in the dash.
Wally continued. “The authorities may need to interview some of you about Mr. Simon, so please be cooperative.”
“What did he die of?” Helen Teig inquired.
Wally shrugged. “We won’t know for a few days. They have to perform an autopsy. But chances are, it was probably from natural causes. Mr. Simon’s death shouldn’t affect our schedule, so you needn’t worry that your holiday is going to be interrupted. Triangle Tours promised you nine days of breathless sights, and it’s nine days of breathless sights you’ll get.”
“Your brochure also promised us temperatures in the seventies,” groused Lars Bakke. “I been out this morning already. It’s forty-five degrees, tops.”
I turned my head in the direction of the huge picture windows that supposedly afforded a panoramic view of Lake Lucerne. Well, would you look at that. While I’d been scarfing down my six cornflakes, the sun had come up. Kinda. You couldn’t actually see it for all the fog and drizzle, but it was definitely lighter out there.
“The temperature was in the seventies,” said Wally. “Last week. Today’s weather is an unfortunate blip. It’ll warm up tomorrow. You’ll see.”
Dick Stolee clicked his stopwatch, and yelled out, “Time.” Everyone stood up.
“Sit DOWN,” Wally snapped. He wrenched his necktie loose and unbuttoned the top button of his shirt. “I have one more item to discuss with you. It’ll only take another minute.”
Dick Stolee hit the reset button.
“With Mr. Simon having departed the world, you don’t have a bank-appointed escort anymore. When I spoke to Mr. Erickson this morning, he suggested that someone from your group might want to volunteer to take over Mr. Simon’s duties.”
“What kind of duties?” George Farkas ventured. George had lost a leg in World War II, but he’d been fitted with a prosthesis that seemed to work better than the original. He ran marathons in Windsor City, skied in Aspen, mountain climbed in Yosemite, and at Christmas, he’d unstrap the thing and let the grandkids crack nuts with it. It was pretty much an all-utility limb.
“The duties are pretty light,” said Wally. “You’d have to keep track of the medical forms everyone filled out for the trip. Dispense any over-the-counter medications people might need if they get sick. Help people make phone calls back home if they can’t figure out the phone system. Give assistance to anyone in the Windsor City group who’s having a problem. Things like that.”
I’d worked with the public before, so I knew what a can of worms this job could turn out to be for the misguided soul who volunteered. Phone calls at all hours of the night. Complaints about the food, the service, the weather. Whining about the locals not speaking English. Griping about not being able to figure out the conversion rate from Swiss francs to American dollars. The volunteer would be chugging antianxiety drugs by the fistful within twenty-four hours of accepting the position.
“Mr. Erickson authorized me to tell you that the volunteer will be reimbursed all expenses for the trip once he or she is back in Windsor City.”
“I’ll do it!” I stood up. “I volunteer!” Okay, so I was misguided, but I was practical. I’d lost my job. I needed the money. I had bills to pay.
“Emily’s a good choice,” agreed Dick Teig. “Chances are, she won’t kick off before the end of the trip. All in favor say, ‘Aye.’” A chorus of “Ayes” echoed through the room. “The ayes have it. Emily is our new escort.”
“Time!” shouted Dick Stolee.
The entire room stood up and hurried in an orderly clump toward the side door, where the bus was scheduled to be waiting.
“Don’t forget to leave your keys in the box at the front desk!” Wally reminded everyone.
I was too shocked by my impulsiveness to move immediately, but Nana elbowed George Farkas out of the way and set off in a footrace to get to the door first. From somewhere in the middle of the crowd, I could hear her yelling that she’d save me a seat on the bus.
Wally found me in my stupor and shook my hand. “Welcome aboard.”
“Sure,” I said. I’m not usually one to second-guess my own decisions, but I was having a weird feeling about this one. Did I know what I was doing? Could I handle the responsibility of thirty old people? Had anything in my lifetime prepared me for such a mammoth undertaking?
I’d played the Pied Piper of Hamlin in a grammar school play once. It was kind of the same thing, wasn’t it?
“And by the way,” Wally confided, “I hate to tell you this, but the police are going to cordon off the whole area around Andy’s room on the third floor. You and your grandmother are going to have to pack up your things and change rooms.”
Chapter 4
“Change rooms? But we just finished unpacking!”
“The hotel says they’ll have another room available for you around noon.”
“My grandmother is happy where she is.”
“We should be back from our tour of the city around twelve-thirty. That’ll give you a half hour to get situated in your new digs before we head out to the Lion Monument for group pictures at one.”
“No can do. She doesn’t want to move. This room speaks to her.”
Wally pinched the bridge of his nose as if he were warding off a migraine. “They don’t pay me enough to do this job. All right, Miss Andrew, I’m not above bribery. What do I have to do to get you out of that room?”
Hmm. This was handy. “I want another room.”
“The hotel is offering you another room!”
“I want a good room. A really good room.” I poked my finger into his sternum. “A standard room.”
“A standard room. You want a standard room? I’ll get you a standard room. Now, do you promise to be out by one?” I nodded agreement. He looked me up and down. “Is that what you’re planning to wear today?”
Okay. So I hadn’t had time to dress like Audrey Hepburn this morning. Middle of the night wake-ups tended to skew my fashion sense. But I allowed no one to insult my Green Bay Packers sweatshirt. The Packers were former world champions. “I was planning to wear my beaded Vera Wang, but wouldn’t you know, the zipper broke.”
“Look, Miss Andrew, Triangle Tours has an image to maintain, so if you could manage something more professional, you’d make my life a whole lot easier.”
“Make your life easier? Hey, I’ve been mooned by somebody’s grandfather, pummeled by a killer shower, grossed out by a dead man, and treated to famine conditions at breakfast. And the kicker is, I paid three thousand dollars for the privilege!”
“Memories, Miss Andrew. Think of the stories you’ll have to tell the grandchildren.”
“I don’t have grandchildren. I have goldfish.”
Wally tapped the crystal of his watch. “I may be running a little fast. What time do you have?”
“My watch died.”
“Couldn’t have happened in a better place. Bucherer is right down the street from here.”
“What’s Bucherer?”
“Only the premiere shop for watches in Europe. The bus is going to leave us off right in front of it this morning. You’re on the payroll now. Live a little.”
Normally, when my day started out this poorly, I’d pop a couple of Hershey Kisses® to lift my spirits. But since I was fresh out of chocolate, maybe I’d have to settle for a new watch and hope it had the same effect. Wally was right. I was on the payroll now, and this was Switzerland. I’d be crazy to pass up a chance to buy a really good cheap Swiss watch.
“We’re du
e to leave in twelve minutes,” Wally said. “If you’re going to change your clothes, you’d better get moving.”
With the prospects of a shopping spree making the day appear a little brighter, I took the stairs two at a time and sprinted down the corridor toward room 3310. A couple of uniformed policemen outside Andy’s room did their best to ignore me as I plugged the key into the doorknob and turned the knob…again, and again, and again. I made a growling sound.
“Do you need help with that, Madame?” one of the policemen inquired.
“Please. I only have ten minutes before my bus leaves.”
He reinserted the key and turned the knob. CLICK.
“There’s a trick to this, isn’t there?” I accused.
“I don’t think so, Madame.” He nodded politely and returned to his colleague. I flew into the room, throwing off my sweatshirt on the run. I shrugged into an aubergine cashmere sweater set, then ripped off my jeans and hopped into slim black cigarette pants and chunky heeled shoes. Wally wanted professional? I’d show him professional. I ran into the bathroom to brush my teeth, applied lipstick and blush, threw on my raincoat, grabbed Nana’s raincoat and our umbrellas, then raced back out the door. On the first floor I dropped the room key into the box at the front desk, then dashed out into the cold October mist and drizzle.
Wally stood beneath the protection of his umbrella outside the open door of the bus. When he saw me, he made a hurry-up gesture. “You’re the last one. All the Rhode Islanders are even here. Let’s go.”
I gave him my version of the evil eye and jogged past him up the stairs of the bus. Scattered applause as I appeared. A few grumbles. “I told you we were going to have to wait for her,” Solvay Bakke groused, as I maneuvered down the aisle toward where Nana was sitting. I slid in beside her, winded and sweating, and handed her her raincoat and umbrella.
“That was sweet a you to go back to the room for my things, Emily.”
“Maybe our new room will be closer to the lobby,” I said, gasping.
“New room? What happened to the old one?”
“Police orders. We have to pack up and move when we get back from our tour of the city. But Wally promised we’ll have a much nicer room this time, so the move will be worth it. And I’ll help you pack your things so it won’t be such a hassle for you.”
The bus driver revved the engine. The doors closed. We nosed out into traffic. Wally stood at the front of the bus, talking into the loud speaker.
“The bus will leave us off at the Schwanenplatz, also known as Swan Square. You’ll have a half hour to browse through some of the shops before we meet in front of the Bucherer store for our walking tour. Our local guide’s name is Sonya, and she knows everything there is to know about Lucerne, so don’t be afraid to ask her.”
We passed lampposts hung with baskets of pink and purple flowers, old stone hotels swathed in mist, shrubs clipped with military neatness, and a steady stream of morning traffic. It was obvious we weren’t in Iowa anymore. There were no combines toodling down the road at ten miles per hour. No field cultivators hogging both sides of the highway. No sport utility vehicles spinning off into the ditch as they gunned past the farm vehicles.
“Lake Lucerne is on your left,” Wally announced. “There’s a promenade along the lake that’ll take you right into the center of town. Mount Pilatus is across the lake. It’s seven thousand feet high and is a pretty spectacular sight. The entire lake is surrounded by mountains.”
At the moment, the entire lake was surrounded by fog. Not exactly a Kodak moment, but that didn’t stop Dick Stolee from whipping out his camcorder in the seat in front of us and pointing it out the window. “Mount Pilatus and Lake Lucerne,” he narrated into the microphone. I guess he wanted to make sure he didn’t confuse this fog with the fog he’d shot from the window of the plane when we’d left Chicago.
We passed a building called the Hotel Montana, which seemed geographically misplaced here in Switzerland, but since it put me in mind of Shirley Angowski, I looked toward the back of the bus to see if I could spy her.
“Pssst.” Nana elbowed me. When I turned to her, she nodded toward Dick Stolee’s head. “When I first moved to Windsor City, he had a bald spot at his crown,” she whispered. “I know ’cause him and Grace always used to sit in front a me in church at the eleven o’clock Mass. Then I switched to the five o’clock service on Saturday. Now the bald spot’s gone. He’s wearin’ a rug, and a pretty good one, too. Musta bought it new for the trip.”
My big purchase for the trip had been a new Kevlar umbrella with an unbreakable exoskeleton. If it didn’t rain, I could use it to fend off bullets. Red, to match my raincoat. And best of all, it was automatic.
“I wonder how he keeps the thing on?” Nana puzzled. “I saw somethin’ on one of them news magazines once where a man had metal snaps sewn into his scalp so’s he could snap his hairpiece on. You suppose Dick went that route?”
I didn’t remember him setting off the alarm at the security checkpoints in Des Moines or Chicago, so it didn’t seem likely. I studied his hair with a critical eye. “It looks pretty authentic to me, Nana. Are you sure it’s fake?”
“When a man Dick Stolee’s age sprouts a whole new crop a hair, it’s not real. It’s synthetic. Maybe he had Velcro strips implanted in his head. Velcro would keep a hairpiece on real good.”
As we drove past an elegant pale yellow building that was the size of a city block, Wally spoke into the loudspeaker. “The structure on our left is the Casino. Some of you might want to try your luck at the gaming tables some night, but you’ll need to dress. Sport coats for the men. Sunday dresses for the ladies. The twin spires on your right are part of the Collegiate Church and date from the thirteenth century. The cathedral itself was completed in 1633. The other church of note in the area is the Jesuit Church which was built between 1666 and 1673. Sonya will be taking you there this morning.”
My eyes started to glaze over with the onslaught of historic dates. I hoped he didn’t intend to test us on the information later.
The bus made a right-hand turn into an area reserved for tour buses. “Our bus is number 222,” Wally reminded us, as we popped out of our seats. “We’ll board from this spot at twelve-fifteen. And remember, at nine-forty we’ll gather in front of Bucherer to begin our walking tour.”
As we left the bus, the wind picked up, blowing rain into our faces and chill air down our necks. “Wind’s a good sign,” said Dick Stolee, whose hair remained unruffled in the gale. “Maybe it’ll blow the fog away. What time are we supposed to board the bus again?”
“Two-twenty-two,” said Grace.
Dick Rassmuson snugged on his seed-corn hat and pulled a cigar out of his pocket. “I heard him say nine-forty.”
“I thought nine-forty was the year they built that church back there,” said Dick Teig, who would like to have donned a seed-corn hat, but the only thing big enough to fit over his head was an airplane hangar.
I rolled my eyes. The Dicks had better hope we weren’t going to be tested either. As the newly appointed escort to the Windsor City group, I thought it my duty to intervene. “Our bus number is 222. We leave on our walking tour at nine-forty. We board the bus again at twelve-fifteen.”
“We only have a half hour until the walking tour begins,” fretted Helen Teig. Her eyebrows formed such perfect arches today, they almost looked real.
Lucille Rassmuson gnawed her bottom lip with worry. “We’d better wait in front of that store Wally talked about so we’ll be on time.”
“But you have a whole thirty minutes!” I reasoned. “You could get out of the rain. Browse. Buy a cup of coffee.”
“Too risky,” said Dick Rassmuson, who angled his umbrella over Lucille’s head, lit up his cigar, and herded the other two Dicks and their wives through the rain toward the meeting place.
“Well, I’m not gonna stand out here in the rain,” Nana informed me. “Bernice and me are gonna find us a chocolate shop. This is good weather for choc
olate. You don’t have to worry about it meltin’. You wanna come with us?”
I shook my head. “I need to see a man about a watch.”
Bucherer dazzled. Opulence. Glitter. Crystal chandeliers. Gleaming display cases. Precious gems set in eighteen-karat gold and platinum. Mont Blanc pens. Reuge music boxes. After receiving directions from a clerk on the ground floor, I climbed the stairs to the watch department on the first floor. Clerks abounded behind a maze of glass counters—tall, slender, unsmiling clerks with no-nonsense faces. I inched my way toward one of the nearest counters and scanned the multitude of watches displayed on blue velvet trays.
“May I help you, Madame?” The woman looked anorexic. She was dressed in a body-hugging black dress, had a thin red slash of a mouth, and wore her hair pulled back so severely from her face, her eyes slanted halfway to her ears. Blinking was probably a major undertaking.
“I’d like to buy a watch,” I said.
“Of course.” With cool disdain and an elegance of movement, she unlocked the case in front of her and withdrew a tray of ladies’ watches. “This is a very nice timepiece. An eighteen-karat gold Piaget. You’ll note the diamonds encrusted in the bracelet and around the case frame. This sells for 36,110 Swiss francs.”
I didn’t have to do the conversion to American dollars to figure out I could buy a small house for the same price. I nodded. “There’s no second hand. I need a watch with a second hand.” A whopping lie, but it allowed me to maintain my dignity.
One of her eyebrows arched imperceptibly, no small feat considering the rest of her face hadn’t moved at all. “Very well.” Into the case went the Piaget tray. Out came another. “This is a popular model called the Lady Datejust. The bezel is diamond-set. The dial is mother-of-pearl with rubies. It’s an eighteen-karat gold Rolex and sells for 29,400 Swiss francs.”