“We’re not leaving ‘til six. Tessa told me to tell everybody.”
“I know. I stopped by Beth and Meg’s room. Meg told me.” Wilma looked past me toward the lobby door. “Why the change?”
“She had some sort of emergency . . . had to run downtown for a few minutes, she said.”
“I just came from the parking lot. Achille told me,” I said. I had cut my time pretty close. After lunch, I had walked to the Museo Archeologico by myself and lost track of time. At five o’clock, Achille was supposein drive us to the Piazzale Michelangelo, the hilltop that offers the view of Florence seen on thousands of postcards, and I had dashed straight to the hotel parking lot only to learn that we weren’t leaving for another hour. Actually, I was glad for the chance to run back to my room for a new supply of Wet Ones. It was a hot afternoon, and I’d been using them like napkins at a toddler’s birthday party.
Lettie had found a pleasant little nook across from the elevator. It had two armchairs and a table with a house phone on it, centered on a pleasantly worn oriental-type carpet. I took the empty chair.
“Tessa asked me to wait here for a few minutes so I could tell whoever gets off the elevator that we’re not leaving ‘til six—save them a trip out to the parking lot.” Lettie tapped her fingers lightly on the arm of her chair.
Now that I had settled down, I could hear “Funiculi, Funicula” wafting through from the restaurant behind us.
“It’s fun to watch people get on and off the elevator,” Lettie continued. “So colorful. It’s almost like a parade.”
“What do you mean, colorful?” I asked. As if to answer my question, the elevator doors opened, and two men in bright swirling dashikis got off. A family, all wearing green Tyrolean hats, got on. “I see. How did Wilma know already about the change in time?”
“Didn’t she say she’d just dropped by Beth and Meg’s room? I talked to Meg on the house phone a few minutes ago. Tessa asked me to call them as she was running out . . . said she wanted them to bring her sunglasses when they came down later. She left her glasses in their room last night.”
The elevator opened again, and a tear-stained Crystal Hostetter raced out. Her black eye liner ran down from the inner corner of both eyes; she resembled an ocelot. She stumbled out the lobby door, colliding blindly with the Reese-Burtons who were coming in. I popped up and held the elevator door open for them. Geoffrey mopped his brow and muttered, “Muddoes in glitchmun.” Victoria smiled and thanked me as the door closed on them.
“‘Mad dogs and Englishmen,’ maybe?” I guessed. “Good Lord, I think I’m starting to understand him.”
The next opening of the doors revealed a harried-looking Shirley Hostetter. “Have you seen my daughter?” she asked.
“She went that-a-way,” Lettie said, jerking her thumb toward the lobby door. “Did you know we’re not leaving until six?”
“I’ll be with you if I can. That is, if I can find Crystal before then.” Shirley dashed out in hot pursuit of her daughter.
I was so glad of the nice cool spot Lettie had found, I was reluctant to leave. Lettie was right. It was fun to just sit here and watch the human parade. A couple in matching plaid shorts and clashing T-shirts breezed by in a swirl of English Lavender.
“Americans,” I said. “What did Meg say about Beth getting her money stolen?”
Lettie threw up both hands. “It was not a pretty sight. Let’s see . . . Beth is worse than a six-year-old . . . she deserves to go for the rest of the trip with no money . . . only a fool would put her money in a fanny pack . . .” She ticked these items off on her fingers. “I don’t know how she stands it. Meg treats her like a kid.”
“And they live together?”
“I told her the other night. I said, ‘Beth, honey, you need to get out of Meg’s house.’ I know it’s been hard on her, though, with Harvey leaving her