Nana looked at Dick. She looked at his mask. She looked back at Dick. "Hmm," she said.

"What?" I dangled the mask from two fingers and gave it the once-over. Some mask. It looked more like a jock strap to me, which made me wonder where else it had been. Yuck. I flicked it off my fingers.

"You remember me sayin' Dick Stolee has sleep apnea?"

I searched my memory banks. "Yeah. Kind of. You read it on his medical form."

"You s'pose that mask could be the sleep apnea mask he has to wear at night so's he won't stop breathin'?"

I looked at Dick. I looked at the mask. I looked back at Dick. Unh-oh. "But Grace was screaming. She yelled at him to get away. He had a deadly weapon in his hand. He was going to attack us!"

"What kinda deadly weapon?"

I did a visual search of the floor and plucked it out of the feathers. I held it up as evidence. "A curling iron. Looks like one of those travel models."

"Where's the cord?"

"This one's cordless."

"No kiddin'?" She lifted it out of my hand for a better look. "I could use one a these."

Doors finally started to fly open up and down the corridor. Heads popped out. Slippered feet wandered into the hallway.

I scratched my head. "This makes no sense. Why was Grace screaming if Dick wasn't attacking her? What was she so afraid of?" I caught sudden movement from the corner of my eye and ducked as something whooshed out of the Stolee's room straight past my head. "EHHH!" I screamed, swatting my hands through the air.

Nana watched the thing wing its way down the corridor. "Well, would you look at that. It's a little bat. You s'pose that's what was causin' all the ruckus next door?"

A bat? I looked at Dick lying unconscious on the floor, a welt already starting to form on the bridge of his nose.

Oops.

Chapter 9

"Mr. Stolee says if you'll agree to move to a room that isn't adjacent to his, he won't press charges."

The next morning, I was seated in the now-familiar office of the Grand Palais Hotel, wiping fingerprint ink from my hands. Ever the fashion plate, today I was wearing Nana's best Sunday sweatshirt--a lemon yellow pile pullover with lace at the collar and cuffs. Lace. Oh God. Etienne leaned against the office desk with the grace and elegance of a leopard. He looked very Swiss in his black suit and black turtleneck, but with his black hair falling rakishly onto his brow, he reminded me of one of my childhood fantasies. Zorro. I'm not sure if I'd been more enamored with Zorro's mask, cape, or sword, but the result was that to this day, men in black still make my hormones jump.

"I'm not sure why he doesn't appreciate my efforts," I objected. "I was only trying to help." I wadded the paper towel into a ball and tossed it into the wastebasket.