I rubbed my temples in thought. "Exactly how much time do you need to savor your new parts, Jack?"

"Do you suppose her skirt could possibly be any shorter? I have headbands that are bigger than that. And she's wearing my sweater set! The same style. The same material. The same color. color. The b.i.t.c.h." The b.i.t.c.h."

I glanced over my shoulder. "It looks better on you."

"You think so? You're not just saying that?"

I watched as Ashley sashayed across the room to an unoccupied table by the buffet. "Okay, listen to me, Jack. You need to make a date with yourself to lose your virginity. Savor the newness for another couple of weeks, then on the appointed day, lose it. Write it in your day planner if you have to. The trick is, you need to give yourself permission to be indulgent with yourself, and then you need to do your thing with Tom. That way, you both get what you want. Trust me. It'll work."

"Like the Nike commercial, right? 'Just do it.'" She exhaled an anxious breath. "What if Tom doesn't go along with it?"

"You have the rest of your lives together. Will two weeks matter that much?"

"I guess in the scheme of things, two weeks isn't so very long." She gnawed thoughtfully on her bottom lip until she worked her plum lip liner right off. "Will you still talk to Tom?"

"No! He has no reason to be jealous of us because there is is no us. You told him the truth. He's simply going to have to believe you." no us. You told him the truth. He's simply going to have to believe you."

Jackie nodded. "You're right. That's a trust thing. We'll have to work that out ourselves. But I love love the idea of s.e.x by appointment! It even sounds a little naughty. I think Tom will go for it. I the idea of s.e.x by appointment! It even sounds a little naughty. I think Tom will go for it. I knew knew you'd find the solution, Emily. I'm so excited!" Grabbing my shoulders and pulling me toward her, she gave me a loud, mushy kiss on my lips. "There! That's for being so nice." She scrutinized my mouth as she pulled away. "I like that lipstick. Do you suppose I could borrow it sometime?" you'd find the solution, Emily. I'm so excited!" Grabbing my shoulders and pulling me toward her, she gave me a loud, mushy kiss on my lips. "There! That's for being so nice." She scrutinized my mouth as she pulled away. "I like that lipstick. Do you suppose I could borrow it sometime?"

From across the room I noticed Ashley looking our way with the oddest smile on her face. Lovely.

A half hour later I stood outside Etienne's door, feeling pretty good about myself. Maybe advice-giving would turn out to be my greatest strength in the escort business. People would seek me out for my wisdom and counsel. For my levelheadedness and logic. Emily Andrew: Adviser to newlyweds, seniors, and transs.e.xuals. There was no situation I couldn't handle. No problem I couldn't solve. Was I pumped or what? My hives didn't even itch anymore.

"You're looking immensely pleased with yourself this morning," Etienne said as he opened the door. He wore a bath towel knotted around his waist and a silky slate gray shirt that he'd probably bought in some expensive little boutique in Zurich. I gave his bare legs the once-over. They were long and lean and muscled, as if they'd been chiseled by some famous Italian sculptor. Unh. Unh.

"No trousers today?" I licked my lips in appreciation. "I like this look on you." He yanked me into the room and shut the door behind him.

"Please tell me you still have the b.u.t.tons you popped off my trousers."

"b.u.t.tons? I...I..." I replayed the incident in my head. Ping ping ping. Ping ping ping. Off flew the b.u.t.tons. Off flew the b.u.t.tons. Tap tap tap. Tap tap tap. George Farkas at the door. George Farkas at the door. Chirp chirp chirp. Chirp chirp chirp. Etienne's cell phone. That's when I'd picked up the b.u.t.tons, walked across the room, and dropped them into..."Oops." Etienne's cell phone. That's when I'd picked up the b.u.t.tons, walked across the room, and dropped them into..."Oops."

"Why do I always cringe when I hear you say that?"

"They're--uh--they're in the ashtray that's sitting on top of the writing desk, that's in my room...back in Dublin. I'm sorry! I'll call the hotel. I'll have them overnighted to you."

He waved off my suggestion, looking a little distracted. "I'll ring up the front desk. They might have an emergency sewing kit with a few stray b.u.t.tons for guest use."

"Can't you wear the pants you wore yesterday?"

"They're gone."

"Gone where?"

He shrugged. "I hung them up last night. Now I can't find them. They've disappeared."

"How can trousers just disappear?"

"Check the closet. If you can find them, I'll eat them."

I slid open the closet door to find one article of clothing hanging up. A black suede sportcoat. I peeked left and right and scanned the floor. No trousers in sight. "You're right. They're not here. Did you try the dresser drawer?"

"I never put trousers in a drawer." He sighed his disgust. "I suppose this means I'll need to find a men's clothing store."

Clothing store? The gravity of the situation hit me like a twenty-ton brick. "Are you saying you packed only two pairs of trousers?"

"I packed one pair. I was wearing the other."

This was such a guy thing. Pack light. Antic.i.p.ate no fashion emergency. End up wearing a towel. To avoid this problem, women packed everything in sight, had stickers labeled HEAVY HEAVY slapped onto their suitcases at check-in, and developed rotator cuff problems lugging the things around. Women usually ended up having to undergo months of physical therapy when they arrived home, but at least they had the satisfaction of knowing they'd looked really good on vacation. It was purely a matter of priorities. slapped onto their suitcases at check-in, and developed rotator cuff problems lugging the things around. Women usually ended up having to undergo months of physical therapy when they arrived home, but at least they had the satisfaction of knowing they'd looked really good on vacation. It was purely a matter of priorities.

I looked Etienne up and down. "Do men wear kilts in Ireland? A little fringe, a fancy pin, you'd be right in fashion. But you'd better decide what you're going to wear pretty quickly because the bus will be leaving before long."

"I need to investigate some things here at the castle today, darling, so I'm afraid I'll have to miss today's outing."

My good humor spiraled downward into my shoes. "You're kidding, aren't you?" His mouth was set in his police inspector's mode, however, so I knew he was serious. "But why?"

"Did you sleep well last night, Emily?"

"Like a log."

"You weren't disturbed by noises?"

"Snoring." I emptied the contents of my jacket pocket into my hand. "But I stuck these in my ears."

He peered into my open palm. "Erasers?"

"Earplugs. They really work. I didn't hear a thing the rest of the night."

"No moaning? No crying?"

"You heard moaning and crying? Someone else heard the moaning, but she thought it was a couple of the guests high on v.i.a.g.r.a." I paused as reality set in. I wheezed in panic. "Moaning and crying? I told told you this place is haunted! The ghosts must have been crying out to each other last night. You heard it with your own ears! This is you this place is haunted! The ghosts must have been crying out to each other last night. You heard it with your own ears! This is so so creepy." creepy."

"There are any number of explanations for what I heard last night, Emily. The wind. Faulty pipes."

"Ghosts."

"I'm not willing to admit that yet." But I saw a glimmer of unease in his eyes that indicated everything he knew of the world was being severely tested. "That's why I'm staying behind to snoop around the castle today. Something caused those noises last night. I intend to find out what." He shivered suddenly, then strode across the room to check the setting on the thermostat. "One thing is definite. The management needs to check the heating system. It was so cold in here last night, I could see my breath."

I frowned. "That's funny. The person I ate breakfast with complained about the cold too. I'll stop at the front desk on my way out to see what the problem is." I sighed with resignation and gave him a puppy dog look. "I'm going to miss you today, but we're on for dinner tonight, right?"

He opened his arms and gathered me tightly against his chest. "I wouldn't miss it." He buried his lips in my hair, then worked his way lower, kissing my face with soft touches of his mouth. But despite his show of affection, he still seemed distracted.

"What's bothering you?" I asked gently.

"I think you'd be better served by being left in the dark about this one, Emily."

"I hate the dark. Please tell me. I'm not a wuss. I lived through the reformulation of the old Coca-Cola to the New c.o.ke. I can handle anything."

He smiled at that and hesitated long enough to make a decision. "I suppose you have a right to know, but I'd prefer you keep the information to yourself."

"Okay." Considering what I knew already, what was one more secret?

"I suspect you may be right about what killed the maid yesterday."

I gasped at his words. "You do? You saw the look on her face? The fear in her eyes? I knew it. She had to have died of fright. Did the coroner agree?"

"The coroner suspected she died from a heart condition...until he moved her body."

I gasped alarm. "Did he find evidence of foul play? A stab wound to the back? A pool of blood we didn't see?"

"There was blood, but not from a stab wound. On the carpet beneath the maid's body we found a set of footprints. b.l.o.o.d.y footprints."

A tingling sensation slithered down my spine. My mouth went dry. "What kind of footprints?"

"They show bare feet that manifest an unusual physical anomaly. There are no separations between the toes. They're all conjoined. In essence, the footprints belong to someone with webbed feet."

This was a real shocker. "You think the maid was frightened to death by a duck?"

"I think the maid was frightened by something in that room, Emily, but I doubt it was either fowl or beast. From the configuration of the footprints, I'd say she was frightened to death by a woman."

"Were either one of you cold last night?" I was back in my room, pitching odds and ends into my shoulder bag for our day trip to the Carrick-a-rede Rope Bridge and the Old Bushmills Distillery in North Antrim. Nana and Tilly had finished breakfast and were making up the beds, but my question caused each of them to straighten up and stare at me.

"People at breakfast were complaining about the cold," Tilly volunteered, "but I didn't offer an explanation. I didn't want to upset anyone."

Uh-oh. "Don't tell me. You checked at the front desk and they told you the furnace is broken and they don't expect the new spare parts to arrive until next week." Like we really needed heating problems in addition to a dead maid, eerie cries, and a ghost with feet like a duck. I gave my jaw a vigorous scratch.

"The cold air in the castle has nothing to do with the heating system," Tilly announced. "It indicates the presence of malevolent spirits."

Great. Not only was the ghost saddled with foot problems, it had a bad disposition as well. I lowered my gaze to my own feet, wondering what it would be like to have webbed toes. It couldn't be much fun. It would really limit your choice of stylish summer sandals. And you could forget about toe socks altogether.

But that led me to another thought. What if the ghost was in a bad mood because because of the foot problem? Hmm. Maybe Ballybantry Castle didn't need an exorcist. Maybe what it needed was a podiatrist. of the foot problem? Hmm. Maybe Ballybantry Castle didn't need an exorcist. Maybe what it needed was a podiatrist.

Tilly continued. "Paranormalists have doc.u.mented that rooms haunted by hostile ghosts are subject to temperature shifts, cold spots, and icy breezes."

"That can't be good for people with circulatory problems," I said.

"Bernice has poor circulation," said Nana. "And I bet you anything she forgot to pack her support hose."

"Wait'll I get my hands on that Ashley," I seethed, mindlessly scratching my neck and jaw. "This is some great place she booked us into. If the ghost doesn't get us, the frostbite will."

"Are the police suspicious the maid might have died from a ghost-related incident?" asked Tilly. "She did have a frightful expression on her face."

"I bet she ate one a them black puddin' things they served us at breakfast," Nana said. "The taste probably killed her. It nearly killed me."

"It's pretty early in the investigation. I don't think the police have drawn any conclusions yet." The ladies didn't need to know about the b.l.o.o.d.y footprints under the maid's body. At least, not yet. I zipped up my bag and threw it over my shoulder. "Is there any chance you could search the Net for more information about Ballybantry Castle and its ghosts, Nana? I could use more details about sightings through the centuries, attempted exorcisms, related deaths. Anything you can find would be helpful." Nana was second to none when it came to Internet searches on her laptop, so I knew she'd be able to shed further light on the subject. I had to be prepared, but I needed to know what to be prepared for.

"You want I should do that right now?" Nana asked.

"No-no. You and Tilly get ready to board the bus. Tonight will be soon enough."

"Are you plannin' to touch up your face before you go out, dear?"

"I hadn't planned on it. Why?"

"Remember that problem you was fussin' over yesterday?"

I fingered my jaw to feel a fresh crop of welts snaking across my skin.

"From the looks a things, it's back."

After spending ten minutes in the bathroom with my anti-itch cream, I headed for the front desk. The morning desk clerk was a big-boned brunette in her thirties with a broad face, a warm smile, and hands the size of catcher's mitts. Her name tag identified her as Nessa O'Conor.

"Excuse me," I said by way of greeting, "but I've had several complaints about the temperature in the rooms last night."

"Too cold for them, is it?" she inquired. "We're always fielding complaints about the cold spots in the rooms at this time of year."

Aha! I leaned over the desk and lowered my voice to a no-nonsense whisper. "And we all know why that is, don't we? But I'd like to hear it straight from the horse's mouth."

The clerk leaned close to me and replied in an equally no-nonsense whisper, "We shut the furnace down in May and don't turn it on again until September."

Right. Like I was going to believe such a logical explanation. "How convenient. Blaming the cold on the furnace."

"It's hotel policy, miss."

Enough p.u.s.s.yfooting around. "What about the ghosts?"

"If it's ghosts you're after, miss, you might want to ring up Castle Leslie in County Monaghan. They have a popular ghost who appears in the Red Room. Quite friendly, he is. They've even doc.u.mented it on the Travel Channel."

"What about the malevolent ghosts in Ballybantry Castle?" I demanded.

"Ghosts? In Ballybantry?" Her laughter trilled outward. "Ballybantry is famous for its moat, not its ghosts. Someone's been pulling your leg, miss. Ballybantry's not haunted. I wouldn't be working here if it was. Excuse me for a moment."

She left to answer the phone, leaving me more confused than enlightened. If she was telling the truth about the furnace, that would explain the cold, but it did nothing to explain the cries in the hall or the b.l.o.o.d.y footprints under the maid's body. And how could she miss the rumors about the castle being haunted? Tilly and Ashley lived an ocean away and they knew. Were the employees in denial? Or was someone paying them to play dumb?

Figuring I wouldn't be getting any more answers out of the desk clerk, I wandered into the lobby and made the rounds to greet some of the Iowans who had gathered to await the commencement of the day's activities. We were scheduled to depart at eight o'clock, so I wasn't surprised when, at seven-thirty on the dot, my group moved en ma.s.se to form a sudden line at the door. Same old thing. By Iowa standards, with only a half hour left before departure, we were already late.

"You don't have to stand there," I called to Nana from the comfort of a plush velvet chair. "The bus is right outside the door. It's not going to leave without you."

"What did she say?" asked Osmond Chelsvig, who was eight-eight and wore hearing aids in both ears.

A ripple of panic. A scuffle of feet. "She said the bus is leaving without us," Bernice yelled.

"The bus is leaving," confirmed Alice Tjarks from the back of the line. Alice had been the voice of radio station KORN's early morning farm report for years, so she was used to announcing things. "Okay, folks! Let's move it!"

I shook my head as they shuffled out the door on each other's heels. No sense trying to reason with them. Once they were in motion, there was no turning them back. I waved to the last person out the door, then reviewed the pa.s.senger list and the day's itinerary while I waited for everyone else to show up.

I waited five minutes. Ten minutes. I watched a custodian maneuver a carpet sweeper like an unwilling dance partner around the furniture in the lobby. He was a tall, gangly limbed man who probably fancied himself as Fred Astaire with all the rapid quicksteps he was executing. He wore his thick salt-and-pepper hair tied back in a short ponytail, and I could see the sparkle of a rhinestone stud in his ear. He was dressed in forest green coveralls that were etched, front and back, with what must have been the castle's coat of arms: two really big fish emblazoned on a white background with the head of a warthog sandwiched between them. Kind of like a seventeenth-century advertis.e.m.e.nt for surf and turf.

I heard them before I saw them.