I hopped out of the tub, slid into the thirsty terry cloth bathrobe that was hanging on the door, and scurried into the bedroom. "Who is it?" I called as I crossed the floor.

"It's the police, Madame. Please open the door."

Chapter 13

The police?

My knees liquefied. So much for life taking an upswing. Wait until I saw that turncoat Wally again. Not going to drag my name into the investigation, was he? He set me up! He stuck me with the dead body all the way home, and now he was going to feed me to the police. My list of possible offenses flashed before my eyes in big neon letters: OBSTRUCTION OF JUSTICE. PERJURY. FLEEING THE SCENE OF A CRIME. LITTERING. I was hoping they might overlook the littering charge though since I hadn't intended to leave my bag of postcards behind on the spa bench.

But wait a minute. The police? Maybe it was Etienne.

I raced to the door and glued my eye to the peephole. Not Etienne. But he was wearing a police uniform, so it looked pretty official. Unh-oh. I opened the door.

"Ms. Andrew? Ms. Emily Andrew?"

"Yes." He was carrying a small pewter vase that he thrust at me. Unprepared for the handoff, I bobbled it for a moment before cradling it like a football in the crook of my elbow. "What's this?" I asked.

"Inspector Miceli instructed me to deliver this to you."

A gift? For me? From Etienne? I took back all the spiteful thoughts I'd just had about Wally. "Why, it's beautiful," I said, smoothing my fingertips over the brushed satin sheen of its deep curves. Oh yes, life was definitely looking up. I imagined setting this on the mantel of our first house and filling it with tulips. "Is he at work? I should call him and thank him for it."

"I'm afraid you won't catch him at the station this evening. He's at the Forensics Lab." He removed a paper from his breast pocket. "You'll need this certificate to expedite the parcel through Customs."

I blushed at Etienne's extravagance. The vase was so expensive, it needed separate papers. "Tell him he shouldn't have."

"It's a requirement, Madame. All bodily remains passing through Customs need to be documented."

My hand froze on the vase. "Excuse me?"

He regarded the paper. "According to the documentation, the urn bears the remains of Mr. Andrew Simon, late of Windsor City, Iowa."

I plucked it from the crook of my elbow and held it at arm's length away from my body. "THIS IS ANDY?"

"Yes, Madame. What's left of him."

"What happened to the idea of a coffin? What happened to the idea about one of his former wives flying over here to escort the body back?"

The officer shrugged. "He was cremated, Madame, and Inspector Miceli indicated you would be the one to take responsibility for the urn. You are the escort for the tour group, aren't you?" He looked suddenly concerned. "Should I tell the Inspector you'd prefer to pass the responsibility on to someone else?"