"While you was with that nice policeman, Wally announced to the dinin' room that we're gonna have a group meetin' in the lobby after breakfast," Nana said. "He probably wants to tell us about Andy."

I wondered how the Windsor City group would react to the news of Andy's death. I was particularly curious to see if anyone would respond with more than casual sorrow. I was no detective, but if one of the ladies in the group burst into uncontrollable fits of weeping when she heard the news, she'd win my vote as the person most likely to be Andy's secret lover.

The lobby was buzzing with conversation when we arrived. Thinking I might be able to shed new light on the case within the next few minutes, I sat down on one of the velvet sofas, butterflies in my stomach. Or maybe it was hunger pangs. Nana joined me after exchanging a few words with Bernice Zwerg.

"Poor Bernice says she didn't sleep a wink after two o'clock. She's still operatin' on Iowa time. You should see the bags under her eyes."

"I have concealer." I rummaged in my shoulder bag.

"Concealer won't cut it. She's gonna need a face-lift."

Wally hurried into the lobby, then stood for a moment with a stunned expression on his face. The room grew quiet. He looked very patriotic this morning, dressed in his khaki pants, navy blazer, and perfectly knotted red necktie. "You're all so prompt, I can hardly believe it. This doesn't usually happen until day four. Is everyone here?"

"Andy Simon's not here," yelled Dick Rassmuson. "Maybe you oughta phone his room."

The expression on Wally's face became grim. "Mr. Simon is the reason I've called this meeting. I'm afraid I have some tragic news, people. Sometime last night Mr. Simon passed away in his room. He's no longer with us."

A moment of shocked silence ensued before a terrible wailing sound filled the room. "Nooo!" cried Dick Rassmuson. "Not Andy!"

My eyeballs froze wide-open. Dick Rassmuson and Andy? But Dick wasn't Andy's type. Not only wasn't he blond, he didn't have hair at all. And Dick didn't have an E-mail address. As far as I knew, he didn't even own a home computer.

"I bought him a frozen custard in the airport yesterday," Dick whined. "He never paid me back!"

Lucille elbowed him in the ribs to shut him up, but he continued to grumble. I breathed a sigh of relief. If anyone else had made that wailing sound, I'd accuse them of being the secret lover. But since Dick Rassmuson was reputed to be Windsor City's biggest tightwad, I concluded he truly was more upset about the loss of his money than the loss of Andy. I erased the picture of Dick and Andy locked in a lovers' embrace. Whew. I wouldn't have wanted the job of explaining the term "bisexual" to Lucille.

"Has anyone told Andy's wife yet?" Jane Hanson asked.

"I talked to Mr. Erickson, the Windsor City Bank president this morning, and since he's Mrs. Simon's brother, he said he thought it would be more appropriate if he broke the news in person."