G'Day To Die Read online

  “I bet they could hardly contain their delight.” I scrolled down the page.

  “He’s sure got a good eye for findin’ stuff.”

  “You have the eye for finding it,” Tilly corrected. “He has the eye for identifying it.”

  “Ellie asked if she could hang out with me and Til’ while Conrad run off to the potty, and she really let loose when he was gone. She didn’t take kindly to him gettin’ cross at her this mornin’, so she had lots to vent about.”

  “Like what?”

  Tilly hovered by my elbow. “Like the decision he made to buy chicken feed futures in China. When the avian flu hit, the commodity price tanked, and so did his investment. Ellie said it ruined them financially.”

  “It really depressed her that she didn’t have no money to buy one a them gaudy bonnets at David Jones,” said Nana. “If you was to ask me, there’s times when financial ruin can be a real blessin’.”

  Words leaped off the web page at me: epiphytes, synapomorphies, Amborella trichopoda. Oh, yeah, this was helpful. “How could they afford a trip to Australia if they’re in such dire straits?”

  “It was a gift from their children for their fiftieth wedding anniversary,” said Tilly. “But I take it they don’t have much spending money.”

  “All flowering plants are classified as angiosperms,” I said, referencing the screen. “But what if the team from the university wasn’t looking for the right one?” I scrutinized Nana’s photo. “What if Conrad had them deliberately looking for a plant that wasn’t there?”

  “That don’t make no sense, dear. Why would he do that?”

  Puffed up with excitement, I grabbed the Polaroid. “Because—”

  I gawked at Nana…and blinked. “Out of curiosity, why do you have a latex glove hanging from your ear?”

  “It’s on account a the girl what pierced my ears was doin’ it for the first time. She was usin’ one a them guns, and she had an oops. Missed her finger, but she got the tip a the glove real good. At least there wasn’t no blood. I expect she’ll get a mite better with practice.” Nana waggled her earlobe. “What do you think? Genuine opal.”

  “The poor girl grew so hysterical, we had to sit her down and put her head between her knees,” said Tilly. “The store manager finally had to escort her off the floor, which is when your grandmother and I decided to leave.”

  “With the glove still hanging from your ear?” She looked as if she had a small udder attached to her head.

  “The manager said someone was gonna have to cut the thing off with surgical scissors, and he didn’t have none, so we’re s’posed to go back tomorrow night. His wife’s a nurse, so she’ll be able to do it. But never mind about me. Finish what you was sayin’, dear.”

  What had I been saying? Oh, yeah. “Remember the night when Conrad discovered Nana’s photo? He threw lots of botany speak at us, but I was the person who suggested we report the find to a higher authority.”

  “I remember that, dear. That’s when he said he’d call the University a Melbourne.”

  “He’d call them before I called them. Think about it. Do you see what I’m getting at?”

  “I do,” said Tilly. “If you called them, they’d need to see Marion’s photo to identify the plant, but if Conrad called them, he could tell them anything. He could even tell them to search for another family of plant altogether, and no one would be any the wiser.”

  Nana sucked in her breath. “Tell ’em to search for the wrong plant. Dang. That’d be real smart a him. Then he could go back to find the real plant and keep that million-dollar award all to hisself. You s’pose he’s the one what took my other two snapshots?”

  “Now there’s a thought,” I said, warming to the idea. “Maybe he’s playing a shell game with us. While our eyes are locked on one photo, he’s playing fast and loose with the other two.”

  “What if Marion’s missing photos show something even more incredible than an extinct plant?” ventured Tilly. “What if she photographed a rare butterfly, or…or…”

  “Or an extinct bird!” I chimed in. “Conrad is an avid bird-watcher.”

  Nana gave us a hard look. “If he’s got them other two snapshots a mine, I aim to get ’em back; I just gotta figure out how.”

  “And speaking of figuring things out”—I gave Nana and Tilly a puzzled look—“if the box Diana Squires sent to her laboratory didn’t contain our extinct plant, what did it contain?”

  We decided to try something daring in order to find out.

  We decided to ask her.

  Henry had made dinner arrangements for the whole group at an Indian restaurant a half block away from the hotel, so at eight o’clock that evening, we were enjoying the ambience created by dark wood veneers, Indian prints, dimmed lights, high-gloss tabletops, sparkling crystal, and wonderfully evocative classical music. I guessed Adelaide hadn’t yet discovered Doris Day and Burl Ives.

  “It sure didn’t look this fancy from the outside,” Nana said in a funeral parlor whisper. I’d snipped her glove down to a single finger and pinned it beneath her hair, so she was looking less like fodder for Pablo Picasso.

  “Tell me, Mrs. S.,” Duncan asked as he opened his menu, “will this be your first encounter with Indian cuisine?”

  “Pffffft. Indian food’s some a my favorite.”

  I leaned back in my chair, astounded. “It is? Has the Windsor City Perkins started serving Indian food?”

  “Nope, but I can’t get enough a them foot-longs at the casino. Don’t that count?”

  “This restaurant specializes in Punjabi cooking, Mrs. Sippel,” Etienne explained. “It’s the cuisine of northern India. You might find the flavors a bit more exotic than an American hot dog.”

  “How exotic?” she asked.

  “Think hot dog with chili sauce,” said Tilly.

  Nana nodded. “I can handle it.”

  We were seated at a round table for five; most of the group were split up in groups of four and six. Diana Squires and Roger Piccolo had managed to wrangle places at the table with Heath and his mother, so I knew what the two scientists would be harping about for the next couple of hours. I hoped Guy Madelyn and Bernice, who were sitting with them, could divert the conversation to less controversial subjects, like maybe the death penalty or same-sex unions.

  Jake and Lola sat at a corner table with Conrad and Ellie, whose body language indicated they were still miffed at each other. The rest of my Iowa contingent were scattered in foursomes throughout the room, passing envelopes back and forth between tables.

  “What’s up with the envelopes?” I asked Nana.

  She craned her neck for a look-see. “Must be the photos they got back from the one-hour developin’ place this afternoon.”

  “They’re having film developed already? But we’re only four days into the trip.”

  Tilly smiled archly. “Your grandmother’s success with her photography has sparked the competitive spirit in everyone else.”

  “They’re all lookin’ for a piece a my action,” Nana quipped.

  “If any of you would like a dish that won’t burn the skin off your tonsils, you might want to try the yogurt chicken,” Duncan suggested.

  “Or the Tandoori chicken with a side dish of cucumber raita,” said Etienne.

  “What if you don’t got no tonsils?” asked Nana.

  While the boys filled Nana and Tilly in on the particulars of Indian spices, I watched Dick Teig swagger over to Conrad and hand him a stack of photographs. He was soon joined by Alice Tjarks and Osmond, who fell into an orderly queue behind him, and Margi Swanson, who studied her menu while she waited, probably looking for the Indian equivalent of a burger and fries.

  Not to be outdone, Dick Stolee presented a handful of photos to Guy, who studied them politely while Helen Teig, Lucille Rassmuson, and Grace jumped in line and began to fuss about who had cut in front of whom.

  Oh, God. Just what a posh Indian restaurant needed. Conga lines. What would be next? The Hok
ey-Pokey?

  “What looks good to you, bella?”

  “Huh? Oh—” I turned back to my menu. Eenie, meenie, meinie…“How about this?”

  “A gutsy choice,” Etienne whispered, caressing my knee beneath the table. “You never cease to surprise me.”

  Nana tapped my other knee. “Incoming.”

  “I’m sorry to bother you.” Diana Squires was all smiles as she greeted us. “We’re in the middle of a discussion at our table, and I need some backup. Marion, dear, have you thought any more about the Perfecta treatment for your hands?”

  “Yup. I’m thinkin’ I’ll keep the age spots.”

  Horror filled Diana’s eyes. “A whole new you is there for the asking, and you’re choosing the old you?”

  “I’m pretty fond a the old me. A new me would only confuse George.”

  “Really? That’s disappointing.” She glanced back to her table. “Look, I really need you to say something terrific about Perfecta to Heath and Nora. She’s in desperate need of this product, Marion, and he’s being a twit about the whole thing. The treatment will be free, for God’s sakes. What more could he ask for?”

  “Maybe he don’t want you folks exploitin’ her.”

  “Who’s talking about exploiting her? I’m merely trying to improve her quality of life.”

  “Perhaps the quality of her life doesn’t need improvement,” Etienne said in a tight voice.

  Her eyes lengthened to mean little slits. “Did Roger tell you to say that? He’s gotten to you, hasn’t he? The pinheaded little twerp. Let me give you some advice: never listen to a man whose face resembles an auto-inflating mattress.”

  “Do you think he’s suffering from a glandular problem?” asked Tilly, glancing toward him.

  “What he’s suffering from is the effects of one too many GenerX nutritional shakes. His company has a dirty little secret that they refuse to make public: a steady diet of their crappy product will kill you.”

  “Maybe they oughta think about warnin’ labels,” said Nana.

  “Speaking of labels,” I leaped in a little awkwardly, “would I be terribly rude if I asked how much you paid to mail your package this morning?”

  Diana’s face twitched with movement that might have been a scowl, a frown, a smile, or all three. It was hard to tell beneath the makeup. “Why do you want to know?” she asked coolly.

  “I have to mail a truckload of purchases that won’t fit in my suitcase. It’s a chronic problem. I always pack too much and don’t leave any room for souvenirs and gifts.”

  “That’s too bad, because you’ll be forking out big bucks for postage.”

  I winced. “I was afraid of that. My stuff is really light—balsa wood and paper—but I suppose it’ll still cost me an arm and a leg to mail.”

  Diana eyed me curiously. “What did you buy? Chinese lanterns?”

  “Kites,” I lied. “For my nephews. What did you buy?”

  “Sovereign Hill T-shirts,” she said after a slight hesitation. “For the guys in the lab. I really stocked up. I always send them back something to let them know I’m thinking about them. I’ve learned that a little kindness directed at the grunts can result in huge dividends when I need samples tested ASAP.” She rapped her knuckles on the armrest of Nana’s chair. “Marion, dear, we’ll talk later.”

  Etienne bowed his head toward me. “She’s lying.”

  “You don’t think she’ll talk to Nana later?”

  “She’s lying about what she bought.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “I’ve spent a dozen years interrogating people, Emily. I know when they’re lying. Although I’m not sure why anyone would feel compelled to lie about something as trivial as shopping purchases.”

  I watched as she returned to her chair. Why indeed?

  Our waiter arrived—a tall, angular gentleman dressed in pajama-like pants and a white chef’s coat with a mandarin collar. “Good evening.” He bowed with practiced elegance. “Welcome to Jasmin. Would you care to order anything from the bar?”

  “You bet,” said Nana, unable to contain her enthusiasm. “I’d like to have one a them Screamin’ Orgasms.”

  The waiter affected a droll smile as he looked down his aristocratic nose. “Honey, wouldn’t we all.”

  Chapter 11

  “The Barossa Valley was sittled around eighteen-thirty-six by Lutheran farmers from Germany and Poland who were fleeing religious persecution,” Henry informed us over the bus’s loudspeaker the next morning.

  We were traveling northeast from Adelaide, through gorges of raging river water, hills forested with leafy gum trees, and grassy meadows in shades of green that Sherwin Williams could never duplicate. Vineyards dotted the landscape. Towns gave off an Oktoberfest air. In culinary terms, if Australia’s interior was desiccated flat bread, the Barossa Valley was Bavarian cream pie.

  “The sittlers built their towns, then planted vineyards that have produced the finest wine ever to tease the human palate. And you needn’t take my word for it. You’ll be able to judge for yoursilves whin we visit two of the valley’s most renowned wineries later today.”

  “If we have to pay for it, you can count me out,” Bernice shouted from the back.

  “You don’t have to pay to taste wine,” Dick Teig mocked. “Everyone knows that.”

  “Max Schubert’s Grange Hermitage is called the bist rid wine in the world,” Henry continued. “Australia has mini distinctions like that. For instance, did you know we’re home to the world’s largest monolith? Anyone know what it is?”

  “Ayers Rock,” called Tilly. “Although I believe it’s now referred to as Uluru, which is the aboriginal name.”

  “Brilliant. We also boast the largest living thing on earth. Care to giss what that might be?”

  “Dick Teig’s head!” yelled Bernice.

  “The Great Barrier Reef,” Nana called out. “I seen it on a Travel Channel special.”

  We pulled into a parking lot surrounded by a forest of pine, tall red gums, and dense scrub. Beyond the trees was a lake that looked deep enough to moor a luxury liner, but I saw no yachts, no speed boats, not even a dinghy. Australia probably hadn’t been populated long enough for folks to figure out how to spoil a quiet mountain lake.

  Henry killed the engine and powered the doors open. “Wilcome to the Barossa Dam and Riservoir, which feeds water to regions in the south. The dam was completed in nineteen-oh-three and was such an engineering marvel, it was highlighted in Scientific American magazine. The retaining wall curves backward aginst the prissure of the stored water, and the resulting structure provides a doozie of a surprise. I’m not going to till you what it is, but the first person who figures it out gits a free drink.”

  That’s all he had to say to start the stampede. Out the exits they flew, practically trampling each other in their quest for a freebie. When the dust cleared, the only guests remaining on the bus were Etienne, Duncan, and a bewildered Nora.

  “Where’s Heath?” she asked, as she struggled to her feet. “I’ve gotta use the toilet.”

  “I can help you, Nora.” I scurried over to her, Etienne and Duncan close on my heels.

  “I can take care of her if you’d like to be in the running for a free drink,” offered Etienne.

  “You grab one arm, Miceli,” Duncan instructed. “I’ll take the other.”

  “It’s okay, guys.” I gave them each a grateful pat on the back. “This is girls’ work, right, Nora?”

  She crimped her eyes at me. “You’re the girl wot’s from the orphanage, aren’t you?”

  What the heck? Maybe it was time for me to live in her reality rather than expect her to live in mine. “You have a good memory, Nora. That was a long time ago.”

  “Not so long,” she said, looping her arm in mine.

  “Go on ahead,” I said to the guys. “I’ll catch up.”

  “Are you going to help me find Heath?” she asked, as I walked her to the comfort station directly opposite the bus.<
br />
  “We can both look for him after you’re done,” I promised, guiding her through the door. I suspected Diana and Roger had him cornered someplace, so he’d probably be pretty easy to find.

  While I waited, Henry jaunted down the front exit of the bus and sat down in the step well, clipboard in hand. “A tour guide’s work is niveh done,” he said, groaning when a chirpy digital tone rang out. “Cill phones. As to their benefit to society, I rank thim up there with the Spanish Inquisition and boils.” He unholstered his phone. “This is Hinry.”

  I watched his expression mutate from annoyance to concern as he listened for a full minute before uttering a word. “An arrist warrant? I’ll be damned. Nothing like this has ever happened before, has it?” He paused. “I didn’t think so. Buggeh me. No, I won’t lit on.”

  Nora shuffled out of the ladies’ room. “I wanna go back to the bus. Heath’ll know to look for me there. He’ll fret if he can’t find me.”

  “Gee, Nora, are you sure you don’t want to stretch your legs a little before—”

  “I’m tired. I couldn’t sleep last night. I wanna sit down.”

  “Okay, I’ll take you back.”

  “Did you see my mum when she brought me to the orphanage? I got a picture of her if you can’t remember wot she looked like. You wanna see?”

  “Sure,” I said softly, “I’d love to see your mum.”

  After getting Nora settled back on the bus, I stopped to speak to Henry, who hadn’t budged from the exit stairs. “I can’t pretend I didn’t hear what you just said over the phone.”

  “That’s the other problem with cill phones,” he complained. “Not only can the conniction be dodgy, the whole world hears what you’re saying.”

  “Arrest warrant?”

  “Do me a favor, Imily. Pretind you heard nothing.”

  “If arrest warrants are being issued, I think you’d better tell me what’s happening.”