I came up behind him and threaded my arm through his. "The front desk clerk told me that the castle has had a dozen owners since it was first built, none whose name he knows. But the current owners are a group of American investors and a family by the name of McCrilly. He also told me that Rita's death was being attributed to natural causes."

"How would he be privy to information about Rita?"

"His father is the local mortician."

"So the police are going to ignore the b.l.o.o.d.y footprints altogether so the coroner can sign off on the cause of death."

"Not only ignore. The custodian has already cleaned the carpet."

He shook his head in disgust. "At least they took pictures of the prints. I conducted my own investigation of the castle this morning but got no farther than a padlocked door leading to what I suspect is the dungeon."

"You didn't try to open it?"

"I asked the front desk clerk to open it."

"Liam?"

"It was a woman. Big-boned. Brown hair. Unusual name. Nessa, I think it was. She said she didn't have a key. I asked her what was down there. She said she didn't know because she'd never set foot through that door. I asked her why not. She said because there's no electricity below ground level, she's heard it's full of spiders, she doesn't like spiders, and she basically has no curiosity about dungeons."

I was starting to see a pattern with this lack-of-curiosity thing. I guess this explained why the quest to discover the New World had been turned over to an Italian.

"Something peculiar is going on in this place," he allowed, "and I'll wager the answer to the whole affair is in the dungeon. I need the key to that padlock. The custodian probably has one." He looked across his shoulder to the door. "What room did you say his body is in?"

Uh-oh. His police inspector genes had kicked in big-time, which didn't bode well for a romantic end to the evening. I needed to divert him, and fast. "Speaking of affairs." I waltzed two fingers up his arm. "Do you suppose you could make your phone call so we could get started on ours? I have the room to myself, the whirlpool accommodates two, and there's a decanter of bubble bath just waiting to be poured."

That got his attention. "Bubble bath? I've never taken a bubble bath."

"Not even with your first wife?"

"Especially not with my first wife. Our apartment didn't have a tub. It only had a shower."

"Trust me," I whispered in a sultry voice close to his ear. "You're in for a treat."

He smiled with antic.i.p.ation. Cupping his palm around the back of my head, he covered my mouth in a long sizzling kiss before he deliberately set me away from himself. "I'll make my phone call. You fill the tub."

"And don't forget. There's something you want to ask me."

He trailed a knuckle down my cheek and regarded me with his electric blue eyes. "I'm not likely to forget."

Okay, I wasn't going to win any awards for subtlety, but if we did did decide to plan a life together, we had some serious issues to discuss, like living arrangements, jobs, children. Would he want me to move to Switzerland with him? Living in Switzerland might be romantic. Switzerland had Alps, lakes, castles, chocolate. But Iowa had something Switzerland couldn't offer--Blimpie's Grilled Chicken Sandwich. Could I survive being separated from my family decide to plan a life together, we had some serious issues to discuss, like living arrangements, jobs, children. Would he want me to move to Switzerland with him? Living in Switzerland might be romantic. Switzerland had Alps, lakes, castles, chocolate. But Iowa had something Switzerland couldn't offer--Blimpie's Grilled Chicken Sandwich. Could I survive being separated from my family and and edible meat products at the same time? I didn't know. I mean, it could prove to be unbearable. We had edible meat products at the same time? I didn't know. I mean, it could prove to be unbearable. We had so so much to sort out. much to sort out. Unh. Unh.

I headed for the door, turning back to face him when my hand touched the k.n.o.b. "Can I ask a favor?"

He opened his arms in a palms-up gesture. "Anything, darling."

"When you come down to the room, will you bring your gun?"

"I'm not carrying a gun."

"You're not?" My voice sank with disappointment. So much for fantasy role-playing. "Then what's that thing in your front pocket that feels like a gun?"

He slid his hand into his right pocket and withdrew the item in question. "My wallet. Sorry to disappoint you."

I smiled brightly as I watched him slip the wallet back into his pocket. "I'm not disappointed." What I'd felt had been in the other other pocket. Hoochimama! pocket. Hoochimama!

I hurried back down the corridor, pausing outside the room where Nana had found Archie. The sound of fiddles blared in the hall. The dancers' rhythmic foot-stomping vibrated the floor. I could hear m.u.f.fled conversation on the other side of the door, but the music drowned out the words. If Archie was still in there, I hope they removed his body before everyone returned from the dining room. One death was bad enough. The guests might get really creeped out and want to go home if they learned there were two.

I unlocked my door, flipped on the overhead light, and set to work. I rushed into the bathroom and turned on the water full force in the whirlpool. I ran back into the bedroom and stopped short when I noticed that one of the four boudoir chairs in the sitting area was missing. Huh. Had someone moved it to another room? Shrugging off the disappearance, I hurried toward the bed, only to stop short again.

The chair wasn't missing. It was angled close to the window, as if someone had wanted a comfortable chair in which to sit while they kept vigil over the castle grounds. Choosing to ignore what Tilly had revealed about the ghost's penchant for furniture rearranging, I told myself that maybe the maid had moved it earlier and I'd been in too much of a rush to notice. Furniture got moved around all the time in hotels. This meant nothing. Absolutely nothing.

I dragged the chair back to the hearth area, then threw myself back into my preparations. I folded down the bed-covers, plumped the pillows, and spritzed the whole place with the Strawberry Shortcake room freshener Nana had given me. I inhaled deeply. Nice. It smelled like real strawberries. I thought about the odor on our bus. Hmm. Hmm. Locating my shoulder bag, I stuck the canister in one of the outer compartments for future use. Locating my shoulder bag, I stuck the canister in one of the outer compartments for future use.

Darkness had gathered beyond the windows. I drew the drapes halfway to create a more cozy atmosphere, switched on the bedside lamps, turned off the overhead, then returned to the bathroom. I set out two fluffy bath towels and a bottle of scented body oil on the vanity. I arranged a cl.u.s.ter of votive candles on the ledge of the tub and unstoppered a container of lavender bubble bath that sat perched on the same ledge beside a dish of seash.e.l.l soaps and bath salts. When the tub was full, I set the single power/timer switch for thirty minutes and stood for a moment watching the circular jets shoot streams of air into the water, stirring up the surface like monsoon winds.

HRRRRRMMMM! Water bubbled. The jets roared, reverberating off the ceiling and tiles. I frowned. The whirlpool needed a m.u.f.fler. If Etienne decided to whisper sweet nothings into my ear, I hoped I could hear him. HRRRRRMMMM!

As I reached for the little plastic scoop in the bubble bath container, I noticed the handwritten label attached to the jar: We kindly ask that you use bath salts when the whirlpool is in operation. For long, quiet soaks without the whirlpool, we recommend liberal use of our bubble bath.

Hmm. Okay. This wasn't so bad. We could frolic in the whirlpool tonight and indulge ourselves in a hot bubble bath tomorrow night. Something to look forward to. Okay. This wasn't so bad. We could frolic in the whirlpool tonight and indulge ourselves in a hot bubble bath tomorrow night. Something to look forward to.

Returning my attention to the jar beside the bubble bath, I dumped a small scoop of bath salts into the tub, then looked over my handiwork. Okay, the bathroom was ready except for lighting the candles. Now I had to get me me ready. I closed the bathroom door, muting the sound of the whirlpool to a softer ready. I closed the bathroom door, muting the sound of the whirlpool to a softer hrrrrrmmmm. hrrrrrmmmm.

I opened my suitcase, stashing clothes into drawers and hanging them up as I considered what to wear. Since I'd packed for warmth, I was short on s.e.xy sleepwear, so I figured I needed to improvise. I stripped down to my undies and covered up with a teal satin wrap that hung to mid-thigh and tied at the waist. Now the question was, should I unpin my hair from its bun, or should I let Etienne have the pleasure of doing it while we were in the tub?

Knock knock knock.

I peered at the door. Wow. That was quick. Lucky me to fall in love with a man who boasted the competence of a German, the grace of a Frenchman, and the testosterone of an Italian. Jittery with excitement, I crossed the room and opened the door.

"Men can be such pigs!" cried Jackie as she burst into the room. "I sneak out of the entertainment to check on Tom, and guess what I find him doing?"

My first choice would have been "boinking the maid," but since one maid was dead and the other had probably punched out for the day, I went with choice number two. "Trying on your underwear?"

"No! He was talking on his cell phone. Long distance. To his high school girlfriend!"

"I thought he had a migraine."

"He gave himself one of those expensive injections and it went away."

I peeked into the hall. No Etienne. Good thing. I closed the door on the music and foot-pounding and eyed the pocketbook Jackie had tossed onto the bed. Actually, it was a little bigger than a pocketbook. It looked more like--Uh-oh. "What's that?" I said, nodding toward the bag.

"My overnight bag. I'm spending the night."

"WHAT?".

"I can't stay with Tom! He's cheating on me! Where else am I going to go?"

"Well, you can't stay here! I'm about to have s.e.x!"

Jackie flung herself into one of the boudoir chairs by the fireplace and made a sweeping gesture with her hand. "Have at it. It won't be anything I haven't seen before."

"I am not about to have s.e.x in front of you!"

"There was a time when all you could think think of was having s.e.x in front of me." She flopped her hand back and forth at the wrist as she elucidated. "In front of me, behind me, on top of me, beneath me." She c.o.c.ked her head toward the bathroom. "What's that noise? It sounds like an outboard motor." of was having s.e.x in front of me." She flopped her hand back and forth at the wrist as she elucidated. "In front of me, behind me, on top of me, beneath me." She c.o.c.ked her head toward the bathroom. "What's that noise? It sounds like an outboard motor."

"It's the whirlpool. I've planned the perfect evening, and much as I adore you, Jack, YOU'RE NOT PART OF IT!"

She regarded me despairingly. "You're kicking me out? After all we've meant to each other?"

"Yes! You need to go back into that room and talk to Tom. You'll probably discover the call was really innocuous, like the woman is his best friend or something."

"I'm supposed to be his best friend!" She folded her arms across her chest and set her mouth stubbornly. "I have nothing to say to Tom. The two-timer. You should have heard the conversation he was having. It was disgusting!" She paused. "At least...I'm pretty sure it was disgusting. I couldn't hear all the words with that music blaring in the hall." supposed to be his best friend!" She folded her arms across her chest and set her mouth stubbornly. "I have nothing to say to Tom. The two-timer. You should have heard the conversation he was having. It was disgusting!" She paused. "At least...I'm pretty sure it was disgusting. I couldn't hear all the words with that music blaring in the hall."

I scratched a sudden itch at the back of my neck. "Talking on the phone to an old girlfriend is not what I'd call cheating."

"It is when you're on your honeymoon."

"Well, you're not exactly filling up his dance card!"

She gasped. Her eyes narrowed with reproach. "Are you implying that by postponing our wedding night, I'm driving him into the arms of other women?"

"Their arms, no. Their ears? Maybe."

"I can't believe you said that! He's cheating and you're blaming me? me? You know who you sound like? You sound like a guy!" You know who you sound like? You sound like a guy!"

I startled at the accusation. Oh, my G.o.d. She was right. The threat of s.e.xual deprivation was causing a major malfunction in my hormonal levels. I did sound like a guy. Next thing out of my mouth would probably be "He started it!"

I tried to make amends. "Look, Jack, some husbands have short attention spans, so if a wife doesn't keep them occupied, they'll find other ways to entertain themselves. Ask Nana. They've probably done studies!"

She slumped lower in her chair, her expression despairing. "Did we have problems like this when we were married?"

"Nah. You were easy to entertain. If you ever got bored, I'd take you shopping."

"Tom doesn't like to shop. Come to think of it, he doesn't enjoy any of the things I like. Chick flicks. Pedicures. ESPN SportsCenter."

"Why did you marry him?"

"Because he's gorgeous! And he drives this great little red Porsche. I mean, those are the important things, right?"

"Right. IF YOU'RE IN HIGH SCHOOL! Geez, Jack, what happens when he gets old and wrinkled?"

"He could go on that diet the Kuppelmans are on. They're not wrinkled. But I wonder if all those fruits and vegetables would give him gas."

"What if he loses his hair?"

"Rogaine, hair plugs, hair transplants. Scientists have made great strides with male-pattern baldness."

"What if his Porsche rusts out?"

She grew deathly still. "That could be a problem. You wouldn't believe how much salt they use on the roads in Binghamton during the winter. I wonder how Tom would feel about Florida?" She nibbled the nail of her pinky with worry. "Do you think I made a mistake by marrying him?"

You bet I thought she made a mistake, but I couldn't exactly tell her that. "I think you need to give it a chance," I counseled. "It's only been three days. Give yourself some time to work the kinks out."

She hung her head and sighed with resignation. "Yeah, yeah. I suppose you're right...but I'm still not going back in there tonight!" She popped out of her chair, s.n.a.t.c.hed her overnight bag off the bed, and headed toward the door. "If you won't let me stay with you, I'll have to find someplace else to go. Mrs. S. is a sport. I bet she'd put me up."

"No!" I chased after her. "Five minutes with Nana and you'd blab everything; then she'd be at my door wanting to know why my former husband has b.r.e.a.s.t.s. There aren't enough days on this vacation for me to explain the process to her, and I'm not going to start tonight because, as I told you...I HAVE PLANS!"

She folded her arms across her chest and gave me a dour look. "I would not blab everything."

"You would so. You almost gave it away at dinner!"

"A slip of the tongue. I got lost in the moment. So what's it going to be? Your room or your grandmother's? Frankly, I think Mrs. S. and her roommate would love to have me. Tilly asked me all kinds of inquiring questions on the way to the rope bridge today. We had what you would call a wonderful bonding event. In all my years as a man, I never experienced anything like it. It's so emotionally fulfilling." She gave her nails a quick buff on the sleeve of her sweater, then regarded them admiringly. "I think Tilly is rather taken with me." She looked up suddenly. "She's not gay, is she?"

"No, she's not gay. She's an anthropologist."

Jackie's face froze. "An anthropologist? Oh, Jeez. She probably noticed how big my feet and hands are in comparison to the rest of me. And you know what that means? It means she was only being nice to me so she could study me like a bug under a microscope!" She sucked in her breath. "She wasn't trying to bond with me at all! She was being dishonest, and...and conniving. I hate that about women! A guy would never sink that low. The only time a guy is going to bond with you is when he wants to get you into bed, and that's not really dishonest. It's just shallow." She seized my arm. "Are you going to send me in there to be scrutinized by that woman? What if I can't handle it? What if I crack under the pressure? You have have to let me stay here, Emily. If you don't, I refuse to be held responsible for what might happen." to let me stay here, Emily. If you don't, I refuse to be held responsible for what might happen."

She was right, of course. Sending her off to spend the night with Nana and Tilly would be like sending her into a minefield. If I was serious about wanting to keep our former relationship under wraps, there was only one safe place for her to sleep.

Disappointment weighted my limbs. Despair flooded through me. Nuts! Nuts! Sometimes I hated my life. "All right," I said glumly, disbelieving that I was agreeing to this. "You can stay here. But only for one night! Tomorrow night you're back with Tom." Sometimes I hated my life. "All right," I said glumly, disbelieving that I was agreeing to this. "You can stay here. But only for one night! Tomorrow night you're back with Tom."

She wrapped her arms around me and lifted me off the floor, covering my face with a flurry of kisses. "Oh, thank you! We can pretend it's a sleepover! This is going to be so much fun. I've never been involved in a sleepover before, except in college at the frat house, and that was more like a drunken orgy, so it probably doesn't count." She set me back on my feet and made a beeline for the bathroom. "I'll just go slip into my pj's. It's always been a mystery to me what girls do do at a pajama party, but I'm really excited to find out." She paused at the bathroom door. "You won't kick me out if I don't have standard-issue pajamas, will you? See you in a sec." at a pajama party, but I'm really excited to find out." She paused at the bathroom door. "You won't kick me out if I don't have standard-issue pajamas, will you? See you in a sec."

I stared at the door, numbed. How had this happened? My perfect evening. Gone. Kaput. I walked to the telephone in a daze, convinced that in her own inimitable way my mother had something to do with this. I punched up Etienne's room.

"Hi," I said when he answered. "I don't know how to tell you this, but something's come up."

"Something has been up since the moment I kissed you," he confessed in his beautiful French/German/Italian accent. "I'm anxious to ease the strain."

Unh! Have I mentioned before that I hate my life? "What I'm trying to say is"--I choked out the words--"we have to postpone until tomorrow night." Have I mentioned before that I hate my life? "What I'm trying to say is"--I choked out the words--"we have to postpone until tomorrow night."

Silence, punctuated by intermittent bouts of heavy breathing.

"Etienne?"

"The missile is ready to fire."

"Can you freeze the countdown?"

"It can be severely damaging to a missile when the launch sequence is interrupted."

Especially when the missile was the size of Rhode Island. "I'm so sorry. I can't tell tell you how sorry. But I have to spend the night with one of the female guests who's having a problem with her husband. I tried to get out of it, but I can't. I'm stuck." you how sorry. But I have to spend the night with one of the female guests who's having a problem with her husband. I tried to get out of it, but I can't. I'm stuck."

A pause. "Is there physical violence involved, Emily? Do you need my a.s.sistance?"

"No, no. It's just a misunderstanding."

Another pause. "What about my room? Can the woman stay here tonight?"