Photo: Early draft of upcoming new cover for Emerald's Secret. What do you think?

A massive white limousine glided under the Emerald C's Resort entrance portico. The resort's uniformed doorman promptly appeared and, with white-gloved hands, opened the rear passenger door of the limo.

Like royalty, Stefan emerged with great dignity, then stepped aside to offer his helping hand to his elegantly clad "wife," Irene. The couple strode arm-in-arm up the plush red carpet toward the resort's main entrance doors.

Even though the doors swished open automatically, two liveried assistant doormen stood at attention on either side of the entryway. With no actual door-operating required, the purpose of these two ornaments was apparently to nod smartly and click their heels as part of the welcome ritual for high-paying guests.

Any guest at Emerald C's would be a high-paying guest. They were not called "high rollers," of course, since there was no gambling at Emerald C's. Gambling, even without its sinister mob connections, was illegal in this state.

That is not to imply that Emerald C's was mob-connected. Although, the uniforms of doormen, bellhops, porters, and even maintenance men were carefully and cleverly designed to conceal handguns. Only the guests were forbidden to bring firearms onto the premises.

Back at the white limousine, "daughter" Teresa allowed a respectful few seconds for her "parents" to move away from the vehicle, then the young woman rose like a swan from the car's leather interior. The doorman held the vehicle door with one hand, and extended his other white-gloved appendage to the lady.

No princess ever entered a palace with more grace and poise than Teresa, in a dress that fit her so closely there could be no question she was unarmed. She was not hiding anything in that garment.

Teresa released the doorman's hand (the hand of a commoner) as soon as she was safely standing on the red carpet, balanced perfectly on her fabulous shoes with what looked like 13-inch heels.

She waited while her "brother," Gregory, exited the limo like Liberace taking center stage. Gregory reached for the doorman's hand, when the man did not extend it as he had done for the lady.

Gregory held onto the white-gloved hand and gazed into the doorman's eyes, smiling, until Teresa made a (slightly unladylike) noise indicating Gregory should stop fooling around and escort her into the building. Greg mouthed "Later" at the doorman, then turned to parade alongside his "sister" up the red carpet.

Décor was serious business at Emerald C's Resort, but security was vital as well. Every guest passed through metal detectors, and every piece of luggage was thoroughly scanned. Emerald C's did not look like an airport, however.

Guests did not recognize the metal detectors disguised inside the floral arbors under which they strolled. Only the bellman piloting the luggage cart knew about the scanners hidden inside the fine furniture lining the red carpet across the lobby.

The "Dupree family" of four passed the metal detectors without a hitch, even with the scads of earrings, bracelets, rings, and necklaces they (especially Gregory) wore. Emerald C's security was carefully designed to differentiate between weapons and jewelry.

The bellman, following them with their bags, stopped abruptly when Gregory's bag set off an alarm. He quickly located the offending suitcase and removed it from the cart, setting it on the lobby carpet.

The four Duprees kept all expression from their faces as they remained frozen in place, watching what happened next.

A burly desk clerk, whose all-concealing uniform must have been size 90 Long, marched from the registration desk to the red carpet and lifted the suspect bag. He looked, stone-faced, at the Dupree family.

"That's mine, dear," said Gregory, and gave the cave-bear clerk a finger wave.

The clerk, with a jerk of his head, instructed Gregory to follow. The clerk led Greg to a tastefully draped table in a corner, sequestered by potted palms standing in magnificent glazed urns.

Every palm frond or stem was wrapped in twinkly tiny white lights, like fairies were dancing among the palms. In Greg's case, the clerk probably thought fairy lights were definitely appropriate.

It looked more like a table for a wedding reception than a table for searching luggage, but, of course, searching was soon in progress.

Greg's smile was not as bright as the one he had bestowed on the cute doorman, but, to his credit, he did not fidget.

"I'm sure you understand, sir," the desk clerk was saying, "for the safety of our guests and the integrity of the hotel's state-of-the-art electronics, we do not permit weapons, two-way radios, or cellular telephones in the rooms. We will, of course, place such items in safekeeping for you in our vault."

"Of course," agreed Greg, sounding only vaguely concerned.

As the clerk opened and searched Greg's bag, Greg looked increasingly nervous. He was about to well and truly fidget, when the clerk took an interest in something he had found.

Greg lunged forward as the clerk pulled something out of the suitcase. "Please! Don't let anybody see that!" Greg whispered.

The clerk looked down at what he held between his body and Greg's. It was a long, thin, black leather case.

"I'm a closet flautist, all right!" Greg whispered. "It's for my own enjoyment. It's not dangerous to anybody. Please."

The clerk released the latch and cracked open the long, black case a fraction of an inch. He closed and latched it quickly. He replaced the case under the clothes in Greg's suitcase.

Greg backed off and expelled a long breath.

The clerk waved the bellman forward to take the case and place it again on the family's luggage cart.

"False alarm," the clerk announced. "I do beg your pardon, sir. Enjoy your stay at Emerald C's Resort."

Greg nodded and rejoined the family. They moved onward, following the red strip of carpet across the lobby to where a different registration clerk stood waiting for them, holding an orchid for each of the ladies.

The bellman held back after putting Greg's bag onto his cart. The desk clerk came close to him on his way back to his desk.

"You see it all in this business," the clerk told the bellman, "but the pervs keep coming up with new words for it. This one calls himself a 'flautist.'"

"Disgusting," the bellman said.

"Yeah. Well, as long as he does it in the privacy of his room and keeps quiet, he can call it whatever he wants."

The two men exchanged a look of superior understanding, and the bellman moved to follow the family.

Minutes later, the Dupree family strode down a long corridor toward their hotel rooms for the weekend. The bellman trailed them by some distance.

Stefan, taking his role as patriarch seriously, told the family, "We have three adjoining rooms. Your mother and I will share one, naturally."

"We'll work out a signal if one of us wants to entertain company," said Irene.

"Mom!" Terry said.

Stefan said, "It's all right, dear. We've agreed on an open marriage."

Terry spoke as softly as she could. "I suggest we search in shifts, one at a time, while the other three stay visible and divert attention." She looked at Greg, "What do you say?"

Greg looked around and saw the bellman gaining on them. "When's dinner?" he said, so that the bellman – and probably low-flying airplanes – could hear him.

Later that evening, all four undercover cops dined among the resort guests in the Emerald C's five-star restaurant and dance club. A small orchestra played big-band versions of old and new popular songs, ideal for dancing on the restaurant's stunning parquet dance floor.

Big C and Emerald made a regal entrance. The maître d' greeted them promptly and respectfully, and escorted them to their regular table.

When the maître d' had assisted Emerald into her chair and left the table, an "executive" rose from the next table, came to Big C's elbow, and bowed to Emerald.

"Good evening, Mrs. Ciano."

"Good evening, Gino."

Big C did not look at the man, but leaned slightly to hear him better. "What's new today, Gino?"

"Three couples, one single, and one family of four. We're keeping an eye on them."

Big C looked around the large room. "Executives" Marco and Irving were covering opposite corners, observing every diner and dancer carefully. Big C exchanged nods with each of the men.

"Look sharp," he told Gino.

Gino nodded and stepped away. He returned to monitoring his sector of the dining room.

Emerald looked at her husband. "You think some of the guests are cops?"

"I expect so, yes."

A respectful waiter brought them menus and spread their napkins on their laps with practiced flourish.

When they were alone again, Emerald lifted her menu and appeared to read it, but she closed it again and grasped her husband's wrist. She leaned toward him and softly said, "You told me you want to go back to Italy someday. Let's go now. Before something goes terribly wrong here."

"Emerald, you're upset over nothing. Business is good. We're together. Nothing will go wrong."

"Unless you find a policeman here tonight."

"That won't be a problem for us; that will be a problem for him. Now, what do you think of the grilled swordfish?" He lifted her hand from his wrist, kissed it, and placed it back onto her folded menu.