Dick Teig elbowed him in the ribs. "Probably the scenery that has you so worked up. Hubba hubba."

I gave them my sternest schoolmarm look. "Okay, you guys, if you leave right now, I won't tell your wives. If you don't, all bets are off."

"Party poop," said Dick Teig.

"Might as well go," groused Dick Stolee. "My camcorder's not working right anyway."

Dick Rassmuson urged the two along. "Go on without me. I'll catch up as soon as I catch my breath." He placed his hand over his heart. "My chest's really pounding, Emily."

"You suppose it's the big one?"

"I need to sit down. Maybe I need a cigar."

The man never gave up. "You do that. But you better not stay long because I'll be back to make sure you're not doing any more snooping."

He sat down on a nearby bench and massaged his abdomen. "I don't feel so good. I could use some serious mouth-to-mouth."

How gullible did he think I was? Did he think I'd been born yesterday? "Nice try, Dick. You might want to consider some daily aerobic exercise though. It might help with the shortness of breath thing."

I spent the next forty-five minutes in a ladies' boutique named Toni Heim, trying to convince myself not to buy a cute little boiled wool jacket that cost more than the national debt. In the end I bought it anyway. The exchange rate made it cheaper than it would be back in the States, so I reasoned it was more like the national debt of Liechtenstein than the United States. Liechtenstein was a small country. I could afford Liechtenstein.

I practically had a head-on collision with Nana when I walked out the door of the boutique. I grabbed hold of her so as not to knock her down. "You're going someplace in a hurry," I laughed.

"I'm headin' back to the bus for a nap. I'm all used up. But I can't figure what did me in--sittin' in the hospital waiting room 'til the wee hours a the mornin', or those three Shirley Temples I knocked back at the chateau last night. Don't tell your mother about the cocktails. She don't think a woman a my advanced years should be drinkin' ardent spirits."

I made a gesture of buttoning my lip. "It'll be our secret. But, Nana, a Shirley Temple is nonalcoholic. It's not that potent."

"At seventy-eight, strawberry Ovaltine can be potent."

"I'm not sure the bus will be open if you head back to the parking lot." I yanked my Swiss Army knife out of my coat pocket to check the time. "We still have another hour before we leave. I'm going to head over to the spa grounds, sit on a bench, and write out a few postcards. You're welcome to come with me and take a nap on the bench."

"Lead the way."

"Where's Bernice?"

"She's staked a claim on a table at a little outdoor cafe where she says she's gonna stay 'til just before the bus leaves. She's been doin' too much walkin'. Her bunions are killin' her."