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was a much less grievous sin than discrimination.
    The only guest who wasn’t engaged in conversation or offering unsolicited hugs was Dad, who occupied a chair in the last row of seats at the back of the room, happily detached from everyone while he studied the floor.
    Wally hurried over to us, clipboard in hand. “I received a text from Astrid’s brother. He’s wondering if we could pack up Astrid’s belongings and carry them back to the States with us. I told him it wouldn’t be a problem.”
    â€œI’ll take care of it,” said Etienne.
    â€œWhat about her accordion?” I looked from one man to the other. “Did it survive the blast in one piece?”
    Wally’s expression went blank. “I didn’t see an accordion—not that I had time to look. Was her instrument case the big rolling silver thing that looked like it was on the cutting edge of spaceship technology?”
    I nodded. “It’s the last thing I remember seeing before I blacked out.”
    He jotted a note on his clipboard. “I’ll track it down. I should think her family would want that back, too, if there’s anything left of it. So where’s the best place to start an inquiry about a missing instrument case? Local authorities?”
    Etienne quickly leaped into former police inspector mode. “Why don’t you let me handle the missing accordion? I might be able to navigate the police system a little easier than you.”
    Wally nodded. “No complaints from me there.”
    â€œIn fact, while you’re calling your meeting to order, I think I’ll make a few inquiries at the front desk to get the ball rolling.” He gestured toward the orderly rows of folding chairs before us. “Can I offer you a seat, Mrs. Miceli?”
    Talk of Astrid’s accordion case caused a sluggish synapse to fire in my brain. “Where’s my shoulder bag?” I clutched my shoulder in search of the strap, startled that it had taken me this long to realize it was missing.
    â€œYour dad recovered it after you collapsed,” said Wally. “He gave it to your gramma for safekeeping.”
    â€œOhthankGod.” I blew out a long relieved breath. “My whole life is in that bag. Did you realize it was missing?” I asked Etienne.
    â€œI never gave your bag a passing thought, bella. I’m afraid worry overtook my awareness of fashion accessories.”
    Aww. I swallowed around the lump in my throat, forcing myself not to burst into tears again.
    Crisis averted, Etienne ushered me to the aisle seat in the front row, then headed out to the reception desk. Wally took up a position in the front of the room. “I apologize for the interruption, but would all of you be kind enough to find a seat?”
    Sniffling. Shuffling. Chair scraping. Mom claimed the chair beside me, beating Margi out by a nose, but Nana had obviously decided to keep a low profile because she’d grabbed a chair at the far end of my row, a location so distant, if we were in Iowa, we’d refer to it as the “back forty.”
    Wally squared his shoulders, eyes somber, voice subdued. “Speaking on behalf of Emily, Etienne, and Destinations Travel, I’d like to express my deepest sympathy to all our musicians on the loss of your colleague. I know Ms. Peterson was an esteemed member of your group. I’ve heard you compare her musical ability to the accordion virtuoso on the old Lawrence Welk Show .”
    â€œMyron Floren,” said a woman with a nasally voice.
    â€œShe was better than Myron Floren,” insisted a male guest. “Her fingers were so nimble, she could practically tie them in knots.”
    â€œIt helped that she was double jointed,” snuffled a man behind me.
    â€œAnd not only that,” agreed another man, “her motor skills were so highly developed, she could work the bellows, play the keyboard, and hit the bass buttons with a