Alpine for You

Maddy Hunter

Contents ( 20)

A cheesy affair...

I found Shirley Angowski, attired in a pink nylon peignoir edged with a profusion of pink boa feathers at the hem and cuffs. She was shaking with hysteria and clawing her cheeks with her Baby Flamingo fingernails. "He's dead. Look at him. He's dead. He's dead."

"Who's dead?" I asked as more doors were flung open.

She pointed toward the spill of light in the room next to mine. I followed her gaze.

Supine on the floor lay Andrew Simon, his mouth contorted into a hideous rictus, his skin pasty even beneath his tube tan, eyes wide and bulging, hair disheveled, dressed in a handsome black satin smoking jacket with matching ascot that was pulled dreadfully askew. I thought the ascot was a bit over the top, especially since it looked as though Andy hadn't a clue how to knot the thing. Now he'd never know.

Shirley Angowski was right. Andrew Simon was dead.

Not a good way to begin your Golden Swiss Triangle Tour.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

An Original Publication of POCKET BOOKS

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ISBN: 0-7434-6388-9

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Interior design by Davina Mock

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Dedication

To my dear friend and traveling companion,
Elaine Snyder, who suggested the adventure.

To Brian, who gave us his blessing.

To Jack and Lavonne Frandsen, whose unexpected friendship made the trip so special.

To all of you with love [?]
mmh

Chapter 1

"I am NOT sleeping with Andrew Simon for the next nine days!" My voice hovered at a pitch that could cause spontaneous insanity in dogs. I was squeezing the tour guide's forearm so tightly, his fingers had turned purple. "Major mix-up in the room assignments. MAJOR mix-up." I might have added that had I wanted to sleep with Andy Simon, I wouldn't have had to fly all the way to Switzerland to do it. I would have done it back in Iowa, like everyone else. But why ruin a man's reputation when he was doing such a good job of it himself?

The tour guide, who'd introduced himself at the Zurich airport as Wally, slid his attention from the hand I'd manacled around his arm, to my chest. A stunned look appeared in his eye. And why not? Thanks to the genius of Victoria's Secret, those of us who were modestly endowed could now flaunt awe-inspiring bosom beneath our turtlenecks. I had to watch myself though. My Click Miracle bra was set on maximum cleavage, so if I stood any closer, I'd poke his eye out.