Free Death of an Obnoxious Tourist by Maria Hudgins

linen and fresh flowers on every table. The only problem was that it was separated from the busy street by a thin hedge so the street noises, banging trash cans, and motorcycles revving up at the corner stoplight, made conversation a little difficult.
    “Missing? What do you mean?” Lettie buttered her second croissant and licked her fingers.
    “Shirley said Crystal went out last night, supposedly for a few minutes, and didn’t come back. She’s absolutely beside herself. She was at the police station most of the night.”
    “Why did Crystal go out by herself? She did that a couple of times yesterday, too,” I said.
    “Well.” Wilma leaned over our table. “Crystal has been popping out every so often for a cigarette. Shirley is horrified that her daughter is smoking, so they’ve had several bouts over that the last few days. At home, Crystal can probably go out with her friends and smoke without her mother knowing about it. If she smells smoke on her, Crystal can always just say, ‘I was in a smoky room,’ but here, she goes out by herself and comes back fifteen minutes later smelling like smoke . . . well. Shirley may be dumb, but she’s not that dumb.”
    “Maybe it’s more like, at home she can pretend not to know, but here it’s too obvious to keep up the pretense,” I said.
div height="0">
    “I suspect that’s it.” Wilma started to leave, but turned back. “Did you hear about the meeting? Tessa wants us all to meet in the conference room beside the front desk at nine. Hopefully, we’ll hear more about Crystal.”
    I thanked her and checked my watch. We had twenty minutes. No sense going back to the room now, so I’d just have another cappuccino . . . and another croissant.
    “I’m so glad I’m finished raising my teenagers, aren’t you?” Lettie’s two, a boy and a girl, were grown now and out on their own.
    “Very, very glad,” I answered with feeling. “Especially the teenaged girl. Give me boys, any day.” My mind flitted quickly past my own daughter, Anne, who at that moment was sailing in the Caribbean under circumstances I refused to ruin my vacation thinking about. My four boys—I was so proud of them. My daughter—well, I still had my fingers crossed.
    Lettie asked, “Speaking of Anne, how is she?”
    Paul Vogel interrupted before I could answer.
    “Morning, ladies, morning! Mind if I join you?” He yanked a chair from a nearby table and seated himself. His ubiquitous camera with the macho lens swung from his neck as he flashed us a yellow-toothed smile.
    “Croissant?” I held out the basket to him.
    “No, thanks. I guess you ladies have a big day planned?”
    Paul Vogel’s sudden joviality seemed as contrived as a hair compliment from a used car salesman. “Just sightseeing,” I said.
    “Yeah, me, too . . . me, too.” He fiddled with his camera. “Lettie—you don’t mind if I call you Lettie, do you? I understand you were in the cat-bird seat yesterday.”
    Lettie looked confused. It surprised me that Paul knew her name; this was the first time he had spoken to either of us directly.
    Her brow furrowed. “What do you mean, cat-bird seat?”
    “Weren’t you sitting at the elevator when all the . . . you know . . . stuff hit the fan?”
    “Oh, right. Yes. Lucille must have told you. She popped in just when . . . well, as a matter of fact, we all, Dotsy and your wife and I . . . we all had to walk up the stairs because they stopped the elevator.”
    “My wife? I’m not married.”
    He said it so simply, I wondered if I had got the last names wrong. Please don’t tell me you and Lucille are having an affair. They might be brother and sister, of course. I found it mind-boggling enough to imagine either of them in the bonds of matrimony. But a passionate affair? Fly off to Europe to melt in each other’s arms? My imagination simply would not leap that far.
    “Oh, no,” Paul continued. “Lucille is my sister.”
    Now that, I could imagine. I remembered Shiry