Helen Teig? Oh. My. God. Had Louise and Helen joined forces in some kind of twisted triangle to give Andy his due? Did they both have a hand in killing him, like in Agatha Christie's tale of murder on the Orient Express? I hadn't read the book, but I'd seen the movie a really long time ago.

"I would have brought you the medications the bank gave Andy to take along with him, but the police confiscated all the drugs in his room. So if someone comes to you with a headache now, they're on their own, unless you brought extra aspirin and cold medication along with you. And I guess you'd know enough not to give appetite suppressants to someone on heart medication."

Appetite suppressants? Right. Like someone would actually need a pill to help them resist eating the food in this place. "I'll be sure to check out the medical forms before I dispense aspirin to anyone. And there's one more thing you need to look into. My luggage is missing."

Wally gave me one of those "Aw, go on" hand gestures. "They probably delivered it to someone else's room by accident. Not to worry. It'll show up. There's no crime in Switzerland, so you know wherever it is, it's safe."

When he'd gone, I threw the manila envelope onto my bed and returned to the task of unpacking Nana's suitcase.

"I wouldn't mind takin' a cruise to Alaska," Nana said as she gathered up some of her toiletries. "But I saw on one of them late-night shows on the Fox Channel how a woman flushed while she was still sittin' on the potty on one of them luxury liners, and the vacuum sucked her insides right out of her. They had a devil of a time stuffin' everything back into the right place again. That was a pretty good night for TV. Did you catch that one, Emily?"

BAM BAM BAM. Nana and I looked at the door, then at each other. It sounded as if someone was trying to kick our door down. "Maybe it's the bellman with your suitcase," Nana said.

I peeked through the peephole then opened the door.

Bernice. She'd kicked rather than knocked because she was hugging a dozen plastic shopping bags against her chest, all imprinted with the Bucherer name. My eyes narrowed into a suspicious squint. If I couldn't trust that she was deaf, could I trust anything else about her? "Been on a shopping spree, have you?" I said, as she shuffled into the room.

"Cuckoo clocks." She paused in the middle of the floor. "Would you help me put these things down? I think they're pretty fragile."

We unburdened her of her load, setting the parcels carefully on my bed. "I suppose you want me to help you to your room with your packages," I said coolly.

"I'm not taking them to my room. They're staying here."

I nodded as if I was following her logic. "Why are they staying here?"