Etienne shrugged. "I suppose it depends on whether the spirits doing the haunting are deemed to be benign or malevolent. But this is Ireland, Emily. I was under the impression that all the castles in Ireland were haunted to some degree. I thought it was part of the country's charm. Or a splendid marketing ploy."

Bless his unflappable Swiss logic. I was getting the picture now. "Of course. A castle doesn't have to be haunted for someone to claim claim it's haunted. Saying a place it's haunted. Saying a place is is simply makes it more intriguing to tourists." For the first time in five minutes I was able to draw a calm breath, which allowed me time to bristle at how effortlessly Ashley had teased a negative reaction out of me. Boy, had she yanked my chain. Well, from now on, she could tell me the sky was falling and I'd take it in stride. Haunted castle. Right. simply makes it more intriguing to tourists." For the first time in five minutes I was able to draw a calm breath, which allowed me time to bristle at how effortlessly Ashley had teased a negative reaction out of me. Boy, had she yanked my chain. Well, from now on, she could tell me the sky was falling and I'd take it in stride. Haunted castle. Right.

"We have castles in Switzerland too," Etienne continued, "and it's the haunted ones that cater to the most tourists. For whatever reason, people delight in the prospect of being frightened."

"Not me." I loosened the belt of my robe and gave him a suggestive peek of my bare shoulder. "I'm more delighted at the prospect of being ravished. Now, where were we?"

The l.u.s.ty smile on his face was accompanied by a familiar chirruping in his trousers. I rolled my eyes, then drilled him with a look of pure exasperation.

"Forgive me, Emily. I'll only be a moment." He dug his cell phone out of his pocket and flipped it open. "Miceli," he said in his police inspector's voice.

Wasn't this just typical? A handsome man in my bedroom and the only thing he can whip out of his trousers is his cell phone. I plucked his b.u.t.tons off the rug and placed them in the ashtray on the desk as he made a string of comments like "I see" and "Yes," ending with a definitive "I'll need to get back to you."

"Bad news?" I asked, antic.i.p.ating the worst.

He stood up, his palms open in apology. "I can leave the job, but apparently I can't escape the job. There's been a break in the case I've been investigating. I have a raft of phone calls to make, and it will probably take me the rest of the night, which means..."

No s.e.x. Great. This was all my mother's fault. She maintained that having my marriage annulled returned me to "virgin" status, so she was offering up a monthly novena that I'd remain in that state until I walked down the aisle again. I tried to explain that an annulment altered a woman's marital status, not not her anatomy, but she was having none of my argument. "If the marriage never happened, Emily, you never went to bed with Jack. That makes you a virgin. I'm mother to a twenty-nine-year-old virgin. Imagine." The awe in her voice attested to the fact that, in this day and age, she considered this circ.u.mstance to be far more extraordinary than either the Immaculate Conception or the Virgin Birth. her anatomy, but she was having none of my argument. "If the marriage never happened, Emily, you never went to bed with Jack. That makes you a virgin. I'm mother to a twenty-nine-year-old virgin. Imagine." The awe in her voice attested to the fact that, in this day and age, she considered this circ.u.mstance to be far more extraordinary than either the Immaculate Conception or the Virgin Birth.

"I'm sorry, Emily. I signed up for this tour of yours and I intend to enjoy it. I promise that, after tonight, I'm all yours."

Sure, I thought. If my mother will stop praying long enough for it to happen.

Facing the rest of the afternoon on my own, I decided to take care of some necessary escort duties before venturing out to find the nearest ATM. I dried and styled my hair, slipped into a long almond suede skirt and a short-sleeve ivory turtleneck sweater, pulled on short leather boots with decorative front lacings and side zippers, scooped up the file folders Ashley had given me, and began knocking on doors. "Maps, itineraries, and timetables," I said as I made my deliveries. "The bus leaves at seven o'clock tomorrow morning, so be sure to have your luggage outside your door by five."

I saved Nana's room for last. She answered the door on the first knock and stepped into the hall so as not to waken Tilly, who was stretched out on the bed and snoring like a Boeing 747. "I hope she quiets down tonight," Nana said with some concern. "Your grampa used to snore loud like that until I did somethin' about it."

"Did you sign him up for one of those sleep disorder studies?"

"I moved into the guest bedroom. Worked real good. What's this folder for?"

I explained the contents of the folder and reiterated the information about the luggage and bus departure time for tomorrow morning. "So how are you and Tilly getting along?"

"Would you believe she didn't realize the man who won all the money on the first Survivor Survivor program is like your ex-husband?" program is like your ex-husband?"

I stiffened. The less Nana remembered about Jack, the better. "You mean, he's an aspiring actor?"

"Nope. I mean, he walked outta a closet too."

I made an empty gesture with my hand. Okay. So her terminology was a little off. Why quibble over a verb. "Really?"

"Yup. Tilly calls it 'gender imbalance,' and she wrote a big anthropology paper once theorizin' it happens 'cause a body chemistry. Caused a big stir. She says there's gender imbalance in every culture, which means the root cause is biological 'stead a behavioral. And, listen to this, Emily, in one culture, folks with gender imbalance are given elevated status 'cause they're recognized as havin' superior social sensitivity and special knowledge. Isn't that a nice att.i.tude to have?"

My curiosity was piqued. "Did she say which culture that was?"

"Some 'Islanders.'"

"'Long'?" New Yorkers had always elevated gay actors, dress designers, and artists to celebrity status.

"I'm pretty sure it was 'Trobriand,' but 'Long' was a good guess." She smiled at me in the same way she used to when we'd share tea and cookies together when I was a little girl. "Tilly and me are goin' out for a bite to eat after she wakes up. You wanna join us, dear? I don't want you to think I'm ignorin' you when you're all alone."

"Thanks anyway, but I'll probably splurge on something from the minibar a little later. And, actually..." I paused for dramatic effect. "I'm not alone. You'll never guess who signed up for the tour."

"Inspector Miceli."

There were times when my grandmother's mental powers were absolutely scary. "You guessed. How did you guess?"

"He spoke to me in the lobby while I was waitin' for my key. Such a nice young man. A real hottie. That Ashley person thinks so too, 'cause she was all over him."

Heat sizzled up my neck and scalded my cheeks. If this was a precursor to hot flashes, I wanted nothing to do with the real thing. "What do you mean,'all over him'?"

"Well, dear, she wanted to know his name, where he was from, what he did for a livin', if he was married. Battin' her eyelashes and attachin' herself to his arm like static cling. I'd watch out for her if I was you, Emily."

I returned to my room feeling like a juggler with one too many b.a.l.l.s to keep in the air. I composed a mental "To Do" list. One: Keep Nana away from Jack. Even though I could trust Nana with the information about Jack's operation, there was no telling how a group of conservative Midwesterners would react if word leaked out that their esteemed escort was once married to another "female" on the tour. It wouldn't exactly be a selling point on my resume.

Two: Keep Ashley away from Jack. Considering how well their first encounter had gone, they could very well come to blows. It would be a tragedy if they ended up killing each other, especially after all the surgery Jack had recently undergone.

Three: Keep Etienne away from Jack. I wasn't real sure how this introduction would play out. Jack probably wouldn't have any problem handling it, but I was less sure about Etienne. I was breaking new ground here. My guess was, this topic hadn't even been covered in "Dear Abby" yet.

I ma.s.saged a sudden throbbing in my temples as I contemplated my three tasks. Was it my imagination, or did most of my problems revolve around Jack? Just like when we were married. Everything always always revolved around Jack. Maybe I couldn't juggle all the b.a.l.l.s myself. Maybe I needed help. Maybe I should simply break down and talk to Jack. revolved around Jack. Maybe I couldn't juggle all the b.a.l.l.s myself. Maybe I needed help. Maybe I should simply break down and talk to Jack. Hmm. Hmm. I liked that idea. Simple. Efficient. It sounded like something Nana would suggest. I liked that idea. Simple. Efficient. It sounded like something Nana would suggest.

I marched into the hall and knocked on Jack's door. No answer. I knocked again. Still no answer. I returned to my room and downed two ExcedrinPM. Maybe it was jet lag. Maybe it was stress. Whatever the reason, my head suddenly felt as if it had a little man inside who was hacking his way out with a really big hammer. I unzipped my boots, slipped them off, and curled up on the bed, rehearsing how I could ask Jack to pretend not to know me without hurting his feelings. Maybe it was a good thing he wasn't in his room. This gave me more time to figure out what to say and how to say it.

I scratched an itchy spot at the back of my neck where my turtleneck was irritating my skin. Felt as if the tag was poking into me. I should get up and cut it off, but at the moment, I was too sluggish to even think about it. I heard a door slam in the hall and a faint echo of conversation in the room next to mine. Jack was back. Excellent. But I needed more time. Ten more minutes. Just ten more minutes and I'd have everything all figured out.

Brrrng brrrng! Brrrng brrrng!

I threw a blind hand toward the ringing phone and knocked the handset off the cradle, causing it to bungee-jump to the floor in a raucous clatter that brought me instantly awake. I stretched my neck and blinked several times. My headache had disappeared. Wow, that was a well-spent ten minutes. I reeled in the handset off the floor and spoke into the receiver in a scratchy voice. "h.e.l.lo?"

"You have five minutes. If you're not aboard the bus aboard the bus in that time, we'll leave without y'all. You're an in that time, we'll leave without y'all. You're an escort, escort, Emily. We're not supposed to have to wait for the escorts! Not only that, our bus driver was in a car accident on his way to work and broke his leg, so they sent us a replacement. A rookie. This will be his first time out. Of all the Emily. We're not supposed to have to wait for the escorts! Not only that, our bus driver was in a car accident on his way to work and broke his leg, so they sent us a replacement. A rookie. This will be his first time out. Of all the freaking freaking things to happen! Not only that, our local guide has come down with laryngitis, so she won't be joining us until she has her voice back, which could be four or five days, so the rookie will have to share his knowledge with us in the interim, if he things to happen! Not only that, our local guide has come down with laryngitis, so she won't be joining us until she has her voice back, which could be four or five days, so the rookie will have to share his knowledge with us in the interim, if he has has any knowledge. Not only that, any knowledge. Not only that, you you being late is just making my day complete!" being late is just making my day complete!"

I paused. "Ashley?"

"Just get down here!"

I peered at the digital readout on the clock radio. "What do you mean I'm late? It's only seven oh five. Did you have something planned this evening that I didn't know about?"

"Evening? It's seven oh five A A.M.! You have five minutes!" Click. Click.

A.M.? I pivoted toward the curtained window. Uh-oh. That sure looked like cool morning light rather than warm evening light streaming in. Uff da. Uff da. I'd slept the night away. I'd slept the night away. Uff da Uff da is a pseudoreligious Norwegian saying commonly used in Iowa. Its most popular translations are, "holy smoke," "holy cow," and "holy c.r.a.p!" is a pseudoreligious Norwegian saying commonly used in Iowa. Its most popular translations are, "holy smoke," "holy cow," and "holy c.r.a.p!"

I leaped out of bed and shoved my feet into my boots. I combed my fingers through my hair as I raced toward the bathroom. No time to brush my teeth or touch up yesterday's makeup. I pitched all my toiletries into their bag, threw the bag into my pullman, flung my pocketbook over my shoulder, and ran out the door. I readjusted my sweater and smoothed the wrinkles from my skirt on the elevator ride down, thankful I'd fallen asleep with my clothes on. But how could I have slept so long? The jet lag? The Excedrin? The stress? A combination of the three? Aargh! Aargh!

My neck started itching again as I rushed into the lobby. I scratched the patch with annoyance. I hadn't cut the tag off my sweater yet, so the irritation would probably persist all day. Great. A liveried doorman held the door for me as I ran out onto the sidewalk, my pullman rattling behind me on squeaky wheels. Two tour buses were parked curbside. I figured ours was the one with Ashley pacing alongside, staring at her watch.

"I'm here!" I yelled.

She spun around and glared at me. Today, she was wearing an emerald green blazer, a white three-b.u.t.toned vest that exposed cleavage halfway to her naval, a black spandex skirt the size of a postage stamp, and square-toed black slides. I rolled my eyes. How professional. If she leaned over too far, it would take her the rest of the day to get those silicone wonders of hers under containment again.

"How good of you to join us," she said, her voice dripping sarcasm. "Michael!" She motioned for the bus driver. "There's one last piece of luggage here for y'all to load."

Michael was a florid-faced man in his late thirties with a pitted complexion and muscles like those of the Incredible Hulk. His thighs were so huge, they swished against each other when he walked, knocking him left and right. Every step seemed a struggle for balance. The only thing saving him from complete inertia was the fact that he was bow-legged. And not just a little. You could have driven a Dodge Durango through this guy's legs without having to retract the mirrors.

"Get on the bus and find your seat," Ashley said to me. "We're already behind schedule."

Michael jammed the handle of my suitcase back into the housing, hefted all fifty-two pounds one-handed, and tossed it into the luggage bay. He locked the compartment, then lumbered back onto the bus without looking up or saying a word. Chatty fellow. I guess he hadn't taken time to kiss the Blarney Stone yet.

I scooted up the stairs close behind him, my nostrils suddenly a.s.saulted by a stench more pungent than a blast of the anhydrous ammonia my father used to fertilize his fields. "My G.o.d." I crooked my finger beneath my nose. "What is is that?" that?"

"Michael," Ashley said in an acid whisper behind me. "He smells."

Whoa! Too bad the bus wasn't equipped with oxygen masks. I hoped Etienne was saving me a seat at the back back of the bus. But he wasn't. He was settled into the first window seat with the much coveted "un.o.bstructed view," which was way too close to Michael. I looked at Etienne. I looked at Michael. I wondered how long I could hold my breath. Maybe I'd turn blue and have to be resuscitated. Hmm. One could hope. I flashed Etienne my most engaging smile and slid into the seat beside him. of the bus. But he wasn't. He was settled into the first window seat with the much coveted "un.o.bstructed view," which was way too close to Michael. I looked at Etienne. I looked at Michael. I wondered how long I could hold my breath. Maybe I'd turn blue and have to be resuscitated. Hmm. One could hope. I flashed Etienne my most engaging smile and slid into the seat beside him.

"What do you think you're doing?" Ashley stood in the aisle beside me, hands braced on her hips, eyes slatted, voice pinched. She appeared to be talking to me.

"I found an open seat," I said. "I'm sitting down."

"Not there, you're not. a.s.signed seating, Emily." She pointed to a square of paper on the window that read: OVERLOCK/MICELI.

Not a.s.signed seating. I hated hated a.s.signed seating. "We had open seating in Switzerland, except for the day we visited t.i.tisee-Neustadt." a.s.signed seating. "We had open seating in Switzerland, except for the day we visited t.i.tisee-Neustadt."

"Open seating never works. The same people always try to hog the front seats. And the first aisle seat is always reserved for the tour guide. You should know that, Emily. It's my my seat, and you're in it." seat, and you're in it."

"Allow me to trade places with the person Emily is supposed to sit with," Etienne offered. "I'll be happy to give up my un.o.bstructed view to sit beside Ms. Andrew." His voice dipped to a sultry whisper. "There's something very important I've been meaning to ask her."

I shot him a look. He wanted to ask me something? Oh, my G.o.d. He looked so serious. Was he thinking about popping the question? But...but...we hadn't discussed the M M word yet. We hadn't even professed our love for each other! I was ready for s.e.x, but was I ready for marriage again? Oh, my G.o.d. Things were moving word yet. We hadn't even professed our love for each other! I was ready for s.e.x, but was I ready for marriage again? Oh, my G.o.d. Things were moving way way too quickly here. too quickly here.

"The bus is full!" Ashley sniped. "There will be no random movement. Everyone stays where I've seated them. Besides, sugar, if I break the rules for you, I'll have to break them for everyone else, and we can't have that, can we?"

Ashley Overlock was really really starting to p.i.s.s me off. But I refused to lose my temper, or make a scene, or be made to look like a whiner in front of the group. I had a position of responsibility. It was my duty to remain cool and unflappable. And with a little concentration, I knew I could force myself to do that. After all, I had a degree in theater. I'd been professionally trained to fake the h.e.l.l out of people. starting to p.i.s.s me off. But I refused to lose my temper, or make a scene, or be made to look like a whiner in front of the group. I had a position of responsibility. It was my duty to remain cool and unflappable. And with a little concentration, I knew I could force myself to do that. After all, I had a degree in theater. I'd been professionally trained to fake the h.e.l.l out of people.

"Will you please please find your seat so we can leave?" Ashley persisted. find your seat so we can leave?" Ashley persisted.

I stood up, skewering Ashley with a pinched-lip, narrow-eyed glare that said, "One wrong move with my man and I'll rip your lungs out through your nostrils." I'd developed this particular expression as a survival technique while baby-sitting my five nephews. When they saw "the look," they ran screaming for their rooms. I didn't elicit a scream out of Ashley, but she did leap back a full step in the aisle to allow me a wide berth as I pa.s.sed. I obviously hadn't perfected the adult version yet.

The bus suddenly hummed to life like a huge June bug. The engine roared. The floor vibrated. The air stank of diesel fumes. I navigated my way down the center aisle to the sound of Ashley's voice floating out to us over the loudspeaker.

"Top o' the mornin', y'all, and welcome to the Golden Irish Vacations tour of the Emerald Isle. I'm Ashley Overlock, your tour guide, and this is our driver, Michael Malooley, who'll be with us for the duration of the trip."

To the left and right I noted the Iowa contingent and the common attire and accessories for the day. For the men, plaid shirts, blue jeans, and baseball caps advertising Pioneer seed corn and John Deere tractors. For the women, elastic-waisted polyester pants, light nylon jackets, and umbrellas.

"Golden Irish Vacations is known for its unique tour packages," Ashley continued, "and that means y'all will be treated to a taste of Ireland that few other tourists experience."

I patted Nana on the shoulder on my way by and nodded at Tilly. Beyond them, I noted the attire of the New Yorkers. The men in skintight shirts opened halfway down their chests. Slicked-back hair. Lots of gold chains circling their throats. Expensive sungla.s.ses. The women with tastefully loud blouses. Pouffy platinum, blond, and ink black hair. Bangles dangling from their ears, throats, and wrists. Lots of red nail polish.

"Our destination this morning will be an area near the Inishowen Peninsula in the north of the republic, a drive of about three and a half hours. We'll have lunch at Ballybantry Castle, which will be our overnight accommodation for the next few days. And just between you and me, y'all are gonna love love this castle. It was built in the sixteen hundreds, and even though it's undergone extensive renovation in recent years, it still retains its original charm. It has a little something for everyone. A moat. A dungeon. Towers. Turrets." this castle. It was built in the sixteen hundreds, and even though it's undergone extensive renovation in recent years, it still retains its original charm. It has a little something for everyone. A moat. A dungeon. Towers. Turrets."

Ghosts, if you believed in that sort of thing. The pneumatic brakes hissed. The engine revved. We nosed into morning traffic by jumping the curb and swerving blindly across three lanes of cars. Horns blared. Tires screeched. I lunged for the back of the nearest seat and dug my fingers into the upholstery. Uff da! Uff da! I should stop worrying about the castle being haunted. If this was a sample of Michael Malooley's driving skill, he'd have us wrapped around a light pole before we ever reached the place. I should stop worrying about the castle being haunted. If this was a sample of Michael Malooley's driving skill, he'd have us wrapped around a light pole before we ever reached the place.

"Jeezuz H. Kee-reist!" protested a man from the back of the bus. "Where'd this guy get his driver's license? In a box of Cracker Jacks?"

"This is Michael's first official tour of duty," Ashley announced in a honeyed tone, "so I know y'all will make it a good experience for him by being real understanding until he works out all the kinks."

Two seats ahead, Jackie caught my eye and gave me a hesitant wave. She was sitting next to a man who was apparently sound asleep, slumped against the window, his head buried within the depths of a hooded sweatshirt. Must be the new bridegroom. Jackie must have exhausted him. "Rough night?" I teased as I zigzagged my way past her.

Her thickly mascaraed eyes welled with tears that sent her searching for a tissue. "I don't want to talk about it."

Uh-oh. Was there trouble in Paradise already? Had the wedding night not gone well? Holy smoke. What if Jackie hadn't told her husband about her s.e.x change? What if she'd only told him last night? Ooh, boy. I was glad I wasn't in her shoes today. Actually, considering the size of her feet, I was glad not to be in her shoes any day.

I looked far ahead to find the last empty seat on the bus, surrounded by a sea of faces I didn't recognize, and one that I did. I winced. Okay. This clinched it. There was no G.o.d.

"Where's my money?" Bernice Zwerg demanded as I sat down beside her.

"What money?"

"You were supposed to get money out of the ATM for me. Small bills."

I scrunched my eyes and whacked myself on the forehead. "That's right."

"I hope you got a lot because I used up almost all my cash on supper last night."

I sighed tiredly. "Here's the scoop. I fell asleep early last night and didn't wake up until"--I checked my watch--"eleven minutes ago. The upshot is, I'm sorry, but I never got to the ATM."

"Oh, boy, you're some escort. What am I supposed to do now?"

This was probably a good time to remind myself that I was being paid a lot of money to deal patiently with people like Bernice.

"There are other ATMs in Ireland, Bernice. We'll probably find one in the town near the castle. I'll get your money there."

"What am I supposed to do in the meantime?"

"I told you. The bank can wire you money. Or you could apply for a credit card. Some companies even take applications over the phone these days." I flashed her a half-smile. I was in control again, the ultraprofessional, lobbing her objections back at her like b.a.l.l.s in a tennis volley.

"What's wrong with your neck?" she asked.

"My neck? Nothing. Why?"

"It's all red."

"I've been scratching."

"There's lumps all over it."

Lumps? Lumps weren't good. I tore open the flap of my shoulder bag and rummaged around for a mirror.

"There's no toilet on this bus," whined a woman behind me in a nasally, hard-voweled New York accent. "The brochure promised us a toilet. What are we supposed to do if we have to go in the middle of nowhere?"

"Look around, Gladys," said her male companion. "The whole country's the middle of nowhere."