Wading Into Murder by Joan Dahr Lambert Page A

welfare. She wished, not for the first time, that she had more experience in these matters. Twenty years of marriage hadn’t equipped her to evaluate masculine attention. A great deal of knowledge about gender differences didn’t seem to help, either.
    This was not the moment, however, to dwell on her deficiencies. Moving fast, Laura scoured her suitcase for anything that would look out of character. She almost cheered out loud when she spotted a voluminous outfit she had bought at a sidewalk sale for her daughter, who loved ethnic clothes. Shoving her feet into the baggy harem pants, which looked like extra-large pajama bottoms to her, she pulled the low-cut, midriff-baring top over her head. It was a good start, but she needed to do something about her hair. That always gave her away. The huge scarf she had bought for a friend might do the trick. Laura wrapped it around her head like a turban and fastened it securely; then she applied as thick a layer of make-up as she could with her limited supply of cosmetics, and added beads and huge clunky earrings.
    A quick glance in the mirror told her that she looked like an over-dressed prostitute with terrible taste. Still, it would have to do.
    No one was in the corridor, so she went out. A movement stopped her after she had taken only a few steps. Someone had entered the hall at the other end, a tall red-head according to the gleam of russet that flashed as the woman passed one of the dim wall lights. Could it be Violet? Laura ducked into a closet full of cleaning supplies. Right now, she didn’t want even Violet to see her.
    No, it wasn’t Violet. Instead, it was another redhead, quite a gorgeous one. The woman looked around furtively; then, to Laura’s astonishment, she hurried down the row of rooms and knocked quietly but insistently at number fifteen - Alan’s room. The door opened and she slid inside. There was no exchange of words, not even a greeting.
    Laura expelled her breath with a whooshing sound. Who could the woman be? A girlfriend or wife? But why then would she come in so stealthily?
    To her horror, a sneeze threatened to emerge. The floral scent in the closet was stultifying. Holding her nose, Laura charged out of the closet, ran downstairs and erupted into the hotel’s small garden, where she muffled the sneeze in a thick bush.
    Disguises weren’t much use to people with allergies, she reflected dispiritedly as she slid from bush to bush, and finally out into the street.
    Fortunately a lot of people were out taking a late stroll, many in unusual clothes, so she wasn’t too conspicuous in her costume. Laura began to relax. If she just ambled along casually, no one would notice her - unless, of course, that person was Lady Longtree, who had just come into the street. And William, Laura saw with alarm, as he joined his grandmother.
    She ducked through the nearest door to elude them, and found herself in a smoke-filled pub. All conversation at the bar ceased at her abrupt entry and twenty or more pairs of masculine eyes turned to survey her through the smoky haze, if not with hostility, certainly without enthusiasm. The men waited.
    Laura licked her lips. This must be one of the local’s bars her landlord had warned them about. Some of them were a bit rough, he had said, and it was best to patronize the ones that catered to tourists. She couldn’t leave, though, not until she was sure Lady Longtree and William were out of sight.
    Deciding to ignore her, the men went back to their beers and cigarettes, and resumed a low-voiced conversation. Laura caught the word baby , and her ears pricked up. Maybe she would learn something if she stuck around. 
    The bartender’s voice broke in. “May I help you, Madam?” His tone wasn’t very welcoming. The men stopped talking and waited again.
    Laura squared her shoulders. “Yes,” she answered firmly, determined not to be intimidated. She had as much right to be here as anyone else. “I’ll have a beer.
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