"I intend to make a run for it"--she took another step closer--"after I finish you off."

"Don't come any closer," I warned. I whipped my Swiss Army knife out of my pocket. "I'm armed and dangerous."

Jane laughed. "What's that? A pocketknife?"

"It's not just any pocketknife. It performs twenty-nine different functions." I plucked one of the gizmos out of the housing. A retractable ballpoint pen fell onto the floor.

"An inkpen? What are you going to do? Write me a letter?"

Considering the size of the pen and the probable ink supply, a letter was out of the question. A postcard, maybe. I popped out another gadget. Jane squinted at the thing. "Is that a can opener?"

"I don't think so." My can opener back home had an electrical cord and plugged into the wall. This thing was a flat piece of metal that was curved into a hook. "I think it's some kind of primitive cuticle remover."

"It's a can opener. But I don't understand why it's blunt on the end instead of pointed."

"Maybe that's the cuticle remover."

"You're so stupid, Emily. You don't even know how to use your knife."

"Me, stupid? I'm not the one who's killed three people! If you ask me, that's pretty stupid!"

She gave me an evil look and snapped the belt again. When she did, the front of her bathrobe parted to reveal a dark navy coatdress beneath. I sucked in my breath. "That was you on the stairs with the velvet heels and platinum hair! You were in disguise." I didn't know why she was in disguise, but the good news was, at least she'd finally bought herself a decent pair of shoes.

"You didn't recognize me in my wig," she said smugly. "I bought it at the same salon where Dick Stolee bought his, only I paid a lot more. It's made of real hair instead of that synthetic crap."

"You paid more than three thousand dollars for that wig?"

"Try twice as much."

"Six thousand dollars?" I hope she avoided the River Reuss on windy days. "Boy, am I in the wrong profession."

"I didn't know you had a profession."

"Well, I don't at the moment, but maybe it's my hair color that's holding me back. You look good as a blonde. Maybe I'd be more dynamic as a blonde, too. What do you think? Here's an idea! Maybe I could try on your wig."

She cocked her head and gave me an assessing look. "You might make it as a blonde. But if you want to try on my--" She narrowed her eyes suddenly. "Oh no. You're not going to divert my attention, and your flattery will get you nowhere."

"It's not flattery! Really. You're a knockout as a blonde. And with those shoes and the dress. I thought you were one of the natives." I could say something about her makeup job, but I wasn't completely stupid. No wonder she'd needed the remover, but I'm surprised one bottle had been enough.