"Slim to none, Madame."

"That's what I figured."

By the time all the shopping sacks were piled on the floor, the room looked like the town dump. The only thing missing was seagulls. And the stench. Nana stood at the foot of the bed, observing it from all angles. "This won't be so bad, Emily. I'm pretty sure it's a double. See, it has two pillows."

Yeah. But they were stacked on top of each other.

Nana reached for her pocketbook and removed a small plastic bag. "You wanna see what I bought in that hotel gift shop to bring home to the boys?" 'The boys' were my brother Steve's five sons, ranging in age from two to eight. I baby-sat for them sometimes when I needed positive reinforcement that my life as a single female wasn't so bad.

"Watches," she said, lining them up on the bed. All five watches were identical--a vivid blue-and-green background with the head of a black-and-white cartoon-character cow in the foreground. "I got 'em all the same so's there wouldn't be any fightin'. Swatch. That's a good brand, isn't it?"

"It's a great brand," I said, blinded by the screaming wristbands stamped with psychedelic flowers and more cartoon characters. They looked like something that belonged in a toddler's playpen, but there was one thing that made them enviable.

They were ticking.

"The boys should love them, Nana." And they might have them a while, too, if they could refrain from feeding them to the dog.

"You wanna borrow one 'til you get your watch repaired? I don't think the boys would mind."

I regarded the Swatch with its hands keeping perfect time around the cow's little misshapen head. I eyed my gold-plated Gucci with its elegant hands stuck on 10:13. "Okay." Did I need to have my arm twisted or what?

I set my Gucci on the desk and strapped the Swatch onto my wrist. Okay, so the cow made me look like a dork, but at least I'd be a punctual dork.

Nana removed her toiletry bag from her suitcase and dug out her plastic soap container. "That fingerprint ink left an awful mess on everyone's hands. Lookit mine." She held them up for me to see. "They're still black."

I smacked the heel of my palm against my forehead. "Oh my God. I forgot to tell you about Andy. They know what killed him." I paused for dramatic effect. "Dimethyl sulfate."

"Die what?"

"Dimethyl sulfate. Poison."

"No."

"Yes. But it wasn't in his inhaler. The police don't know how it got into his system, but you have to figure it was deliberate. They're treating his death as a definite homicide. And they're doubtful Mr. Nunzio is the perpetrator because poison suggests a close emotional bond with the victim, and Andy and Nunzio had a three-minute relationship, tops."

"What kind a poison is dimethyl sulfate?"

"I guess it's the kind that if it gets into your system, you die."

Nana rolled her eyes. "Where do you get it?"