She strained the corners of her mouth and looked bland.

"Are you sure that's bewildered?" questioned Nana. "I think it looks more like happy."

"I think it bears a rather strong likeness to frightened," said Tilly.

"Can we cut the million-dollar-makeover c.r.a.p?" griped Ernie. "I wanna know who was doing all the crying in the hall last night."

"The ghost," said Jackie.

A beat pa.s.sed before all eyes riveted to the end of the table. "What ghost?" Ernie asked her.

"The one who's haunting the castle. Emily and I tried to find her last night, without any success, I might add."

Uh! I gave her "the look." She furrowed her brow at me. "What? Is the ghost a secret? You didn't tell me it was a secret!" I gave her "the look." She furrowed her brow at me. "What? Is the ghost a secret? You didn't tell me it was a secret!"

"What the young lady is referring to," Etienne interjected, diffusing the situation, "is the fanciful legend ofa...friendly ghost who was purported to have roamed the halls of Ballybantry in centuries past."

"Like Casper?" asked Ethel. "Ernie junior used to read all those Casper comic books when he was growing up. I wouldn't mind seeing a little ghost like Casper. You think the image would show up on Fujifilm? Maybe I should have bought Kodak. The grandkids would like that a lot better than a picture of some fake rocks."

"It's Ireland," Etienne explained in his beautiful French/German/Italian accent. "Ghosts are part of the country's charm. But I a.s.sure you, you're all quite safe."

I could feel the tension level decrease with Etienne's a.s.surances. He really did have a wonderful knack for handling potentially volatile situations. I squeezed his knee under the table, beside myself with pride.

"Say, doll," Ernie called down to Jackie, "what was your husband doing while you and Emily were out ghostbusting last night?"

Jackie looked at Tom askance. "He inflicted his choppy cut on some unsuspecting victims, hid my fuzzy pink slippers on me, and then he probably continued his conversation over the phone with the woman who's trying to break up our marriage!"

Tom threw his napkin down on the table. "That does it! You want to know who I was talking to? I'll tell you. It was the president of your cla.s.s reunion committee. They voted to surprise you with a special award at your high school reunion, but I didn't have a chance to talk to her before we left, so I called last night, and I haven't heard the end end of it since!" of it since!"

Jackie's eyebrows inched higher on her face. "An award? What kind of award?"

"Are you sure you want me to tell you?"

"Tell me, already!"

"It's an award presented to the person who's changed the most in the last twelve years. It's going to be crystal and gold with before and after photos. A real masterpiece."

"Really? That's so...so touching." Her expression changed suddenly. She gave Tom's shoulder a thwack. "Dammit! Why did you tell me? You spoiled the surprise."

"How have you changed?" asked Gladys. "Were you a porker like Ira? What system did you go on to lose weight? Weight Watchers? Jenny Craig?"

"Old news," said Ira. "I want to know how the three of you manage to work out that thing you're doing. I thought I was liberal, but you three take the cake."

"Thing?" Jackie frowned. "What 'thing'?"

Ira twisted his fingers in the air to signify the "thing." "You know. The thing with your hubby and Emily."

Uh-oh. I didn't like the sound of this.

Tom leaned forward to eyeball Ira. "Would you care to be more specific?"

"You want me to be specific? I can be specific. We're all adults here. Ashley spilled the beans when we got back from the causeway about the--uh--special relationship the two girls have there. I just wanted to say, it takes a real prince to share his wife with another woman, especially on his honeymoon."

Tom nodded thanks to Ira before swinging around to face Jackie. "You swore it was all over between you and Emily!"

"It is!" Jackie cried. "I was only with her last night because I was mad at you! Ashley has it all wrong. Tell him, Emily."

Etienne braced his elbow on the table and angled his head in my direction. "Yes, darling. Tell him."

s.h.i.t.

"I had a hard time believing Ashley when she told us," said Gladys. "Sometimes it's pretty obvious when a man's gay, but I never would have guessed it of you, Emily. You hide it so well. Don't you think she hides it well, Ethel?"

"I am not not gay," I protested. gay," I protested.

"Of course you're not." Ira smiled.

"You people are gettin' everythin' confused," Nana corrected. "Emily's not gay. It's her ex-husband who's gay."

Jackie shook her head and rolled her eyes. "Now, see? That is just sooo sooo inaccurate. I've been biting my tongue, but I can't bite it any longer. Now hear this! I'm not gay! I never was. I had gender issues. I underwent s.e.x rea.s.signment surgery. Now I'm straight. Get it? I'm straight! Emily was my past. Tom's my future. The end." inaccurate. I've been biting my tongue, but I can't bite it any longer. Now hear this! I'm not gay! I never was. I had gender issues. I underwent s.e.x rea.s.signment surgery. Now I'm straight. Get it? I'm straight! Emily was my past. Tom's my future. The end."

Heads turned. Mouths hung open. Eyelids flapped upward like jet-powered window shades. I hung my head and expelled a breath. Ooh, boy.

Nana stared at Jackie with much the same expression Gladys wore when she was looking happy, sad, frightened, and bewildered. "s.e.x rea.s.signment surgery? I don't s'pose that has anything to do with landscaping, does it?"

"The doll used to be a guy!" hooted Ernie. "I'll be d.a.m.ned! I never would've guessed. And the two of you used to be married?" He howled and slapped his hand on the table. "I love it! This is better than Ripley's Believe It or Not." Ripley's Believe It or Not." He stopped laughing suddenly to eye the ceiling and walls. "Hey, we're not on He stopped laughing suddenly to eye the ceiling and walls. "Hey, we're not on Candid Camera, Candid Camera, are we?" are we?"

Jackie speared Ernie to his chair with an angry look and stabbed her finger at him. "Okay, buster, listen up. I do not wear size eighteen shoes! I wear a size fourteen, so let's cut the seven-foot-giant c.r.a.p, okay? My feet are not proportionally out of line with the rest of my body, although if you happen to be carrying any catalogs that advertise plus-size footwear, I'd really really appreciate looking at them." appreciate looking at them."

"So Ashley lied to us?" asked Ethel. "You and Emily aren't an item?"

"How can we be an item?" Jackie pleaded. "I'm married! Emily and I are just girlfriends--the kind who have sleep-overs and borrow each other's lipstick. Isn't that right, Emily?"

"Someone should put that Ashley in her place," Ethel said, thumping her fist on the table for emphasis. "Spreading vicious gossip like that. I think she was jealous of all the attention the two of you were getting today. She's put out that you girls are so competent. All she can do is break her leg."

"Her foot," I corrected, though, in hindsight, I kinda wished it had been her neck.

Nana stared quizzically at Jackie. "Do you mind if I ask you a question, dear?"

"Go right ahead, Mrs. S."

"Who are you?"

"Jack Potter. Remember? Jack Potter? Emily's ex-husband. Now I'm Jackie Thum."

"And you've got b.r.e.a.s.t.s."

"Real perky ones," Jackie gushed. "You want to feel them?"

"No thank you, dear. And you're not gay anymore. I'm sorry to hear that."

She sounded so despondent, I reached across the table and patted her hand. "You should be happy for Jack," I soothed. "He's finally found his niche."

"Oh, I'm happy for him...her...him. But the thing is, I'm the only member of the Legion a Mary who could say she'd ever met a gay person. It kinda gave me special status. Now I don't know no one."

"On the contrary, Marion," Tilly said, sounding thrilled to be of help. "You know me!"

Chapter 14.

"A re you sure they're hives?" Etienne asked as he hovered over me an hour later. "They look more virulent than hives. Can you breathe?" re you sure they're hives?" Etienne asked as he hovered over me an hour later. "They look more virulent than hives. Can you breathe?"

"It's nothing really," I said as I clawed at my face and neck and scratched my arms. "I've had them before. It's just a nervous reaction. They'll go away pretty soon."

"Do you have medication?"

"Oh, sure. But you know us Midwesterners. We like to tough things out before we give in to drugs." Which, translated, meant I'd rather suffer than smell like camel dung for the rest of the night. I guess it was a girl thing.

I was nestled in a chair before the fireplace in my room. Etienne was sitting on the armrest, smoothing his hand with a tender motion over the crown of my head. "What are you nervous about, darling?"

I shook my head and forced a laugh. "How much time do you have?"

He feathered two fingers along the curve of my ear. "I have all night."

The Wishing Chair hadn't failed me. I was getting my romantic evening alone with Etienne. I should be ecstatic! I should be entertaining lascivious thoughts about s.e.x. But I couldn't. I was too distraught, too preoccupied. "Could anything else have gone wrong at dinner?" I asked glumly.

"Ah. The cause of your nervous reaction. Dinner. What seems to have distressed you the most? Having to introduce me to the woman who used to be your husband, or learning that your grandmother is rooming with a woman who bats for the other team?"

"Actually, I think that's great about Tilly. Nana was delighted too. She gets to maintain her exalted status with the Legion of Mary, and it knocks Tilly out of the running with George, so the coast is clear for Nana to make her move. Couldn't have worked out better. And you sounded as if you really enjoyed talking to Jackie and Tom."

Etienne laughed. "Your ex-husband does have a certain amount of charm about her...him...her. Very affable. Though you might want to mention to her that asking strangers if they'd like to feel her b.r.e.a.s.t.s isn't such a good idea these days. And her husband offered to give me a complimentary trim." He patted his hair. "Just a little off the top. He's supposed to be something of a master stylist. The bottom line is, darling, everything resolved itself. You've nothing to be nervous about any longer."

I cranked my head around to look up at him. "Nothing has resolved itself! What about the dead bodies, and the crying, and my furniture being rearranged, and personal items going missing, and the Kuppelmans?"

"What about the Kuppelmans?"

"Think about it. They've run out of money to perform any more plastic surgery. They need more. What would happen if they were partners with a man who stood to inherit a castle?"

"They'd suffer a lot of headaches, I imagine. The upkeep on these places is enough to throw you into bankruptcy." He eased off the armrest, removed the crystal paperweight and porcelain Westie from his jacket, and set them on a side table. "I thought you were concerned that Kuppelman was conspiring to eliminate his wife."

I gnawed the corner of my lip while Etienne slipped out of his jacket and folded it neatly over a chair. "That was my theory before dinner. Now that I know about all the reconstructive surgery, I've changed my mind. I didn't understand their motive before. Now I do."

Etienne sat down on the chair opposite me and untied his shoes. "Are you going to share?"

I scratched my chest and forearms as I watched him pull off his socks. "Okay. Here's the way I see it. The original owner of the castle was an English lord by the name of Ticklepenny." I thrust my hand toward the painting over the mantel. "Please note the feet of the children in the portrait. The toes are webbed in the same manner as the b.l.o.o.d.y footprints you found beneath the maid's body, meaning that our purported ghost is no doubt related to the guy sitting on the horse there. However, all Lord Ticklepenny's children died in their youth, so who was left to pa.s.s on the congenital anomaly from generation to generation?"

"If the bloodline was wiped out, no one."

"Exactly, which means, the bloodline wasn't wiped out. Someone survived. My money says Ticklepenny got frisky with one of the Irish serving girls while he was living here and fathered an illegitimate child who should should have inherited the castle after Ticklepenny's legal heirs died, but since the Irish weren't allowed to own land, that didn't happen." have inherited the castle after Ticklepenny's legal heirs died, but since the Irish weren't allowed to own land, that didn't happen." Scratch scratch scratch. Scratch scratch scratch. "When Ticklepenny returned to England, the castle fell into disuse, the government probably took it over for delinquent taxes, and it pa.s.sed from one owner to another until some long-lost relative of the b.a.s.t.a.r.d child did his homework and realized "When Ticklepenny returned to England, the castle fell into disuse, the government probably took it over for delinquent taxes, and it pa.s.sed from one owner to another until some long-lost relative of the b.a.s.t.a.r.d child did his homework and realized he he was a direct descendant of Ticklepenny and was ent.i.tled to the castle." was a direct descendant of Ticklepenny and was ent.i.tled to the castle."

"And you think Kuppelman is the relative?"

I buzzed him wrong. "Michael Malooley is the relative. You said yourself the key to the problem is in the dungeon. I think Michael is directing some kind of operation from one of the chambers down there. Forty-eight people have died since the castle was renovated two years ago, which tells you that someone is doing something. I bet you anything Michael was involved in the renovation project--as a carpenter, or a plumber, or an electrician. He refuses to say what he did before he became a bus driver, which has me very suspicious. But if he worked on the castle, he installed a lot more than light fixtures. He wired the place for sound, and cold, and who knows what else. He wants the castle back and he's willing to kill innocent people to get it."

"I suppose that makes sense. Bad publicity will dry up the tourist trade and force the present owners to dump the castle. Michael buys it back for a song, he makes a show of having the place exorcized, the deaths suddenly stop, and he's in business again. A brilliant plan, actually. But how does Kuppelman fit into the picture?"

He unb.u.t.toned his shirt, stood up, and yanked the tails from his waistband. My eyes lingered on his naked torso as he slid the shirt down his arms. Scratch scratch. Scratch scratch. "I--uh--I think Ira might have bankrolled Michael's project. Sound systems are pricey, and Michael doesn't look as if he was born with a silver spoon in his mouth. I don't know how they met, or how they ended up involved with each other--that's a big unanswered question--but the Kuppelmans might have looked at this as an investment. They pay initial cash up front, and they receive dividends later to pay for more surgery. It's probably a lot less risky than the stock market these days." "I--uh--I think Ira might have bankrolled Michael's project. Sound systems are pricey, and Michael doesn't look as if he was born with a silver spoon in his mouth. I don't know how they met, or how they ended up involved with each other--that's a big unanswered question--but the Kuppelmans might have looked at this as an investment. They pay initial cash up front, and they receive dividends later to pay for more surgery. It's probably a lot less risky than the stock market these days."

He pondered this as he stroked his long fingers through the dark hairs of his chest. His skin was the most beautiful color--like warm mocha and cream. His shoulders were wide. His stomach flat. His arms lean and muscled. My brain numbed and my eyes burned at the sight of him. "So do you have authority to arrest Michael and Ira?"

"I have no authority in Ireland, Emily. But even if I did, I'd need more evidence than what we have to make an arrest. Your theory is entirely plausible, but at the moment, it remains just that. A theory."

"But if we wait to check out the details, someone else might get frightened to death. Me, for instance. Or Nana!"

Etienne shook his head as he unzipped the fly front of his trousers. "Not to make light of the situation, darling, but it's more likely your grandmother would frighten the ghost to death. Whatever happened to her hair?"

"Tom gave her a complimentary haircut. Just a little off the top, I think."

"That's Tom's handiwork?" Some of the mocha color drained from his face. "Well, then...since the man is on his honeymoon...I probably shouldn't bother him with that trim."

"So what are we going to do?" I persisted. "We need to take the bull by the horns. We can't wait for our boat to come in. We have to row out and get it." Scratch scratch scratch. Scratch scratch scratch. "I say we camp out in front of Michael's room tonight and catch him red-handed when he starts his monkey business." "I say we camp out in front of Michael's room tonight and catch him red-handed when he starts his monkey business." Scratch scratch. Scratch scratch.

Etienne dropped his pants. "All right. He can't very well cause any trouble tonight if we're following him. Tomorrow we can look deeper into his background and see if we can make a case for his guilt. Is that agreeable with you?"

I nodded. I thought about being more verbal, but my tongue was pretty preoccupied licking my lips. I'd always considered Etienne a boxer shorts kind of guy, but he was standing before me wearing a plain black thong, and nothing else. The pouch hung halfway down his thigh and was so full, it was bulging at the seams. Not to state the obvious or anything, but my aristocratic Swiss police inspector was hung like a horse. Unh! Unh!

He removed his watch after checking the time, then sauntered toward me, all sooty-eyed and hard-limbed. He braced his hands on the armrests on either side of me, then bent down and kissed my mouth.

Scratch scratch. Scratch scratch. "I never pictured you in a thong," I whispered numbly against his lips. "I never pictured you in a thong," I whispered numbly against his lips.

"What did you picture me in, darling? Boxers? You Americans would have everyone in boxers."

"Boxers can be quite attractive. Especially the fitted kind. Calvin Klein makes--"

"They're too confining." His voice grew low, husky. "A thong makes me feel as if I'm wearing nothing at all."

"You don't think it's a wee bit...showy?" I tried not to hyperventilate as he pressed his mouth against my throat.

"It's a decidedly European vice," he whispered.

"But you're not like other Europeans. You're Swiss."

He looked me square in the face, an earthy glint smoldering in his eyes. "You forget, darling. I'm half Italian."