"My ex-husband was pretty good with makeup," I said, recalling the two short years of my marriage to Jack Potter.

"Was he a makeup artist?"

"He was a gay stage actor."

"Wow." I could hear the respect in her voice. "They have a real gift for cosmetology."

"Yeah. He could apply eyeliner thin as a dime, and in a single stroke. And I won't even begin to tell you the miracles he could work with lip liner."

"Is he still acting?"

"He called me last year and said he was installing kitchen countertops and tile for a company in upstate New York."

"That's nice you've stayed in touch, but what a waste of talent."

"Not really. I guess he's dynamite with a caulking gun. And it's a really big one, too."

"Well." Shirley patted the camera bag that hung from her shoulder. "If we only have four hours, I'd better start snapping some pictures. I bought a new five-hundred-millimeter zoom lens, a kaleidoscope attachment, and a fish-eye lens, and I'm dying to try them out. If I can catch the right light, I might even be able to use my sand grain and split-field filters."

I'd brought along a disposable Kodak FunSaver Outdoor camera with twenty-seven exposures. I'd thought about splurging and buying the panoramic version, but I didn't want to be too showy. "You know how to use all those filters and things?"

"Oh sure. I used to be a photographer for National Geographic years ago."

I tried to mask my shock as I imagined Shirley Angowski traveling around the world on photo shoots for National Geographic. I wondered why she quit. Probably ended up in the wrong country too many times.

"If I'm not back when it's time to leave, will you come look for me, Emily?"

"You bet."

She headed off on a trail that circled behind the hotel. I wouldn't have any trouble finding her if she was late. She was wearing a raincoat that was Tweety Bird yellow and hung down to her ankles. It'd be pretty hard to lose her in the crowd.

I longed to grab a table on the hotel terrace, order a fattening pastry and cup of coffee, and relax in the sun a while, but since every table was occupied, I decided to do some exploring on my own.

I skirted around the sun worshipers in their bikini tops and shorts in the front of the hotel and ended up on a narrow pathway that hugged the craggy rock face of Pilatus's summit. The trail was surprisingly isolated and overlooked a deep valley where evergreen forest, brown gorse, avalanched rock, and fractured sandstone sloped downward into a vast sea of cloud. In the distance, range upon range of saw-toothed mountain peaks punctured the cloud cover, while closer in, a jagged island of rock rose from the snow-white sea like a great spiny-backed reptile.

I removed my camera from my shoulder bag and looked through the viewfinder. The valley. CLICK. The mountain ranges. CLICK. The spiny-backed reptile. CLICK. I walked farther along the trail, snapping more photos of fractured rock, zigzagging trails, alpine huts nestled on tiny triangles of grass between impossibly steep inclines. The vista was so spectacular, I wished I had sprung for the panoramic camera, no matter how showy. But I kept well back from the guardrail because I found the view rather dizzying. Understandable, considering the highest point in Iowa is probably the top of Lars Bakke's grain elevator, and I'd never even climbed that.