Read Alpine for You for Free Online

having three minutes of sunlight per day in the month of October. We might have decided to visit the Congo instead."
    "I'm not sure the Congo's still a country, dear."
    Too bad Shirley Angowski wasn't here. She'd probably know.
    "Why do the police need to interview us?" Nana wanted to know when I returned to my seat. "All the action happened while we were asleep."
    "The police are interviewing everyone in the rooms adjoining Andy's. According to the night manager, they usually conduct the interviews one individual at a time, but they think you might be more comfortable with a relative in the room, so they're letting me stay."
    "That's very considerate. They must suspect that my bein' grilled in isolation by the police might give me a coronary. I suppose that's a concern when you cater to the senior set. You were real nice to that Angowski woman, Emily. Too bad about her peignoir moltin' all over the place though. They'll never get all those boa feathers off the hall carpet."
    Management had whisked Shirley off to calm her down before the police arrived. I didn't know where she was now, but her feather trail had terminated at the third-floor freight elevator. I'd felt a twinge of indignation as I'd passed by the shaft, and a twinge of guilt for my reaction, but it seemed the only way to get prompt elevator service in this building was to find a dead body in one of the rooms.
    "What do you s'pose this policeman is gonna look like?" Nana asked. "I hope he looks like Columbo. I know I won't have a coronary if he's wearin' an old trench coat and has a glass eye. Or he could look like Kojak. I like bald men. Did you know bald men have more testosterone than men who have full heads a hair? I seen it on Tom Brokaw. They done a study." She paused thoughtfully. "I wonder what would happen if a bald fella started wearin' a toupee? You think the fake hair would make his testosterone level drop? Maybe they should do a study on the testosterone levels of bald guys who wear rugs."
    The door opened behind us and I peeked over my shoulder to see the most gorgeous man I'd ever set eyes on enter the room. No trench coat. No glass eye. No bald head. More like Italian suit. Piercing blue eyes. Hair like liquid coal. "Ladies." He strode across the floor and sat down at the desk, referring to a small notepad before looking up. I knew his type immediately. One percent body fat. Reflexes like a panther. Testosterone level off the chart. I wanted to have his children.
    "I'm Inspector Etienne Miceli." His voice was deep and resonant and started at his knees. He had the most beautiful French accent I'd ever heard. Or German. Or maybe Italian. "I'm told you ladies are visiting from America."
    "Windsor City, Iowa," I said, reeling my tongue back into my mouth.
    "Iowa," he repeated. "That's close to Chicago, isn't it?"
    I was impressed with his geographical acuity. He could probably even point to Rhode Island on a map and be fairly close. "It's west of Chicago."
    "I visited Chicago only last year. My sister is married to a man who works at the Art Institute there. I assume you've been to the Art Institute?"
    "I've-uh, I've been to the Marshall Field's flagship store. That's within ten to twenty blocks of the Institute."
    "You must be Emily. Emily what?" His mouth curved into a soft, dazzling smile that revealed teeth too perfect not to be capped and dimples in both his cheeks. Unh.
    "Emily Andrew. How did you know my first name?" Was it possible we were so mentally connected that he could simply look at me and know my name?
    "The night clerk told me that Emily and Marion were waiting for me. Since I'm reading 'Marion Sippel' on this lady's name tag, that makes you Emily."
    Deductive reasoning. I hated deductive reasoning.
    "I assume from the family likeness that you ladies are related?"
    That was kind of scary. Nana had two chins, a bulbous nose, and ears like Alfred E. Newman. If he was seeing a likeness, I was in big trouble. "Emily's my granddaughter,"