We are already sitting at our table in one of our favorite restaurants in Zagreb when a group of five people takes a neighboring table. There are two elderly couples and a man in his early thirties. It does not take us long to figure out the couples. They all speak in the unmistakable accent of the Croatian capital, but the younger of the two elderly men is talking most of the time. Actually, he is unstoppable. When the waiter appears, he mentions that he and his wife next to him are coming from the “west,” whatever that means. As he orders lamb on a spit and red wine from Dalmatia, he also mentions “nostalgia.” Everyone at the table chuckles knowingly, and the waiter joins them. My beloved and I look at each other. “A loudmouth,” she raises her eyebrows. Indeed, he talks all the time. “Interestingly,” I notice after a while, “they’re all listening to him much of the time.” This includes the young man, who appears to be the other couple’s son. “They must be living in Switzerland,” my beloved answers with some conviction, “and he must be a businessman of sorts.” All the others cannot but be closely related. Why would they listen to the loudmouth so avidly if there were no money behind? Of course, we are none the wiser by the time we finish our meal and get up from our table. What is more, we could not care less. And the sleuths walk out of the restaurant without even looking at the neighboring table. By the way, my beloved was quite a fan of Sherlock Holmes when she was a kid.