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Nana piped up. "And she's not married. She used to be, but it didn't work out."
    "Ah, yes," the inspector commiserated. "In Switzerland first marriages often don't work out either."
    "She got an annulment though," Nana continued. "The Church will do that anytime when a couple has serious issues involvin' closets."
    Nana was a whiz with E-Trade over the Internet, but she'd never been able to understand the gay thing about coming out of the closet. I blamed it on underexposure. In all of recorded history, only two gays had ever lived in Minnesota. Then she moved to Iowa, where there were none.
    "In my day we didn't even have closets," said Nana. "We had wardrobes."
    Inspector Miceli leaned back in his chair, trying unsuccessfully not to grin. "Please allow me a few questions, Mrs. Sippel, then you'll be free to go."
    "It was the asthma what killed Andy, wasn't it?"
    "We don't know what killed him. We'll know more after the autopsy is performed. Can you tell me anything unusual you remember about last night, Mrs. Sippel?"
    Nana shrugged. "I ate dinner. Went to bed. Fell asleep. Dreamed about the Ponderosa."
    "The steakhouse in America?"
    "No. Ben Cartwright's spread in Nevada."
    Miceli made a quick notation. "Ben Cartwright?"
    "He's a make-believe cowboy," Nana explained. "He was head of the Cartwright clan in Bonanza. You ever see Bonanza? It was on for fourteen seasons back in the sixties. I wonder what you'd have to do to get Westerns here in Switzerland?"
    "Razing the Alps would be a good first step," said Miceli, scribbling out what he'd written, "but it would kill the tourist industry. Go on with your dream, Mrs. Sippel."
    "Ben was havin' a reunion at the Ponderosa for a bunch of gunslingers I recognized from the old Westerns."
    Miceli leaned forward and narrowed his eyes as if he were definitely on to something. "Sometimes, external stimuli can incorporate itself quite seamlessly into a person's dream. For instance, gunfire in an adjacent room could become gunfire in your dream. Were the gunslingers in your dream having a shoot-out, Mrs. Sippel?"
    "They were at a buffet table eatin' Oscar Mayer weiners."
    I slunk down several inches in my chair.
    "And then I woke up and heard that Angowski woman screamin'."
    Miceli nodded and penciled something onto his notepad again. "Is there anything else you can think to tell me that might be of significance?"
    "Are you sure Andy's really dead?" Nana asked. "He fancied himself an actor, so's he might be fakin' it to get attention."
    "I assure you, Mrs. Sippel, Mr. Simon would have to be an extraordinary actor to fake death this well."
    "He must be dead then because he wasn't a very good actor. Just ask Emily. He chewed his words and spoke too fast. The only reason he got to play Ebenezer Scrooge in Christmas Carol was because his wife donated five thousand dollars to finance the production. He'd a made a better Tiny Tim, but I'm not sure he was tall enough."
    Miceli made another notation, then stood up and escorted Nana to the door. "Thank you for your time, Mrs. Sippel. They'll be serving breakfast in the dining room about now. I'll send your granddaughter in to join you when I'm through with her." He returned to the desk and riveted his eyes on me. "I apologize for interrupting your holiday, Miss Andrew, but I promise to be as quick as possible with my questions. These interviews often end up being a waste of everyone's time, but it's procedure."
    "Nana must have said something important. You were taking notes."
    He held up the notepad for me to see. At the top of the page was written a word in a foreign language. Beneath it appeared two more equally mysterious words. "I don't know what those words mean," I said.
    "My grocery list." He shrugged. "Power of suggestion. I just remembered that my refrigerator's empty."
    My refrigerator was empty most of the time, too. We already had something in common.
    In the next instant he was back in detective mode. "How well did you know the