"I sure did. That was part of the Summer Berry collection, along with Raspberry Souffle and Boysenberry Sherbet."

"We carry Revlon products," Jane added helpfully. "Aisle one. Along the wall. Just like Walgreen's."

My impression of Shirley Angowski skyrocketed. So what if she didn't know the exact location of Iowa? Her value to womankind was unimpeachable. How else could we distinguish between subtle shades of nail polish if the Shirley Angowskis of the world didn't provide really cool names for them?

"What about you?" Shirley inquired politely of Helen. "Working or retired?"

"We're retired now, but Dick owned a professional dry-cleaning and dye business."

Shirley looked exuberant. "You dyed things? That's SO exciting. Were you able to create a lot of exotic colors?"

"You bet," Dick Teig replied. "Red. Green. Black."

I could see where this conversation was leading. Shirley was going to ask all of us what we did for a living, and I'd have to admit I was currently unemployed. I'd lost my job in phone solicitations two weeks ago when the president of Playgrounds for Tots, for whom I'd done fund-raising since returning from New York, had been hauled off to jail for fraud. Apparently, the only playgrounds he'd built had been for himself--million-dollar mansions in Palm Beach, Palm Springs, and Tahiti. The police said I'd been one damned fine fund-raiser and asked if I'd like to raise money for their Policeman's Ball. Nana pointed out later that it had been a trick question because only firemen have balls.

Andy Simon coughed again and started to wheeze.

"How about those rooms!" I said in a quick change of subject. "Anyone try the shower yet?"

Dick Rassmuson gave me a surly look. "You have a shower?"

Unh-oh. Dick and Lucille must have opted for a super-saver room with a bathroom down the hall that was shared by six other people.

"We don't have a shower," Dick grumbled in his smoker's voice. "We have a damned Jacuzzi."

"And that bed is so high off the floor, I had to stand on my suitcase to climb onto it," Lucille added. "The bedspread and canopy are pretty though. And the view of the lake will be really nice once the fog lifts."

"I didn't much care for the chocolate wafer," Helen complained. She scratched her eyebrow, accidentally smearing it across her forehead. "Too much rum in it. But I hope the weather warms up so we can use the balcony."

"You got a wafer?" I asked in a strangulated voice. Not to mention a balcony and a view. "What kind of rooms do you have? Presidential suites?"

"Standard rooms," the two Dicks said in unison, to which Dick Rassmuson added, "No sense paying deluxe rates for a room we'll be occupying only a few hours a night."

The Swiss obviously structured their hotel room rating system in the same way they structured their banking system: Don't tell 'em nothin'. But I was on to them.

Andy Simon's wheezing grew worse. If he'd paid extra for the luxury of a deluxe room, I could understand his reaction. I felt like wheezing myself. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out an inhaler.