"Sit down, Emily," Dick Teig invited. Poor Dick was half a foot shorter than his wife, with a head like a helium balloon. The upside of this was, his head was so big, no one ever noticed he was shorter than Helen. Earlier in the year he'd addressed his problem of male pattern baldness by having hair plugs implanted from his crown to his forehead. He bragged that the new growth made him look like Gregory Peck. No one had the heart to tell him it made him look more like a Chia Pet. "Hell, I don't see food on the table yet," Dick reasoned. "Late is when you come to dinner after the food is served."

That was nice of him to say. Maybe I needed to rethink the Dicks. By Iowa standards, they were far too brash and boisterous when they were together, but maybe this vacation would bring out their kinder, gentler selves.

"I like your slacks, Emily." Jane Hanson helped slide the chair back for me. "We have scarves at the drugstore in that same reptile print. You should have a look at them when you're back home. They're in aisle four, next to the exotic pet food."

Jane Hanson was five years away from retirement and devoted to her job at the pharmacy. She'd worn her limp salt-and-pepper hair in the same Dutch boy cut for the last twenty years, always wore sensible shoes, and never wore lipstick. I chalked it up to defective shoe and makeup genes. But I liked Jane. She always included a free sample of Oil of Olay Refreshing Eye Makeup Remover when I filled a prescription.

I smiled at her as I sat down. "I hardly recognize you without your lab coat."

She primped the lace collar of her sweatshirt with barely restrained excitement. "To be honest, I'm feeling a little naked without it. But we're actually in Switzerland. Can you believe it?"

"Did I hear the word 'naked'?" Andy Simon interrupted. "My favorite word. Is someone offering?" He cupped his hands over his mouth to cover a deep, bronchial cough. He wore glasses this evening--gold wire rims to blend in with his mane of surfer hair. Normally, he was too vain to wear glasses, so I figured his eyes must really be bothering him. Maybe the glasses had bifocals so that when he looked in a mirror next time, he could see his fake tan was all streaky at his hairline. He could definitely use a touch-up. When he coughed again, I leaned away from him and closer to Jane.

"What's wrong with your eyes?" Dick Rassmuson barked at him in a voice that was sandpaper harsh from too many years of booze and cigars. Dick was another of the "sixtysomething" crowd. He'd produced pesticide for most of his life and had recently turned the company over to his son. "Did you catch a bug on the way over? A bug. Get it?" Dick's company motto had been, We get rid of what's bugging you, so vermin had always played a big part in his life.