G'Day To Die Page 16

  Poor Nora. She’d seemed such a sad, lost soul. She’d probably never hurt a thing in her life, other than Jake’s leaping spider. Why was it that people who were quiet and unassuming ended up dead while the obnoxious ones always managed to survive? It didn’t seem fair. God obviously knew what He was doing, but on occasion, I wish He’d err on the side of the obnoxious ones.

  But He was God. God didn’t make mistakes. Only people made mistakes.

  Turning to leave, I glanced at the shelves of sparkling stemware behind the counter and felt my pulse quicken as an absurd thought hit me.

  Only people made mistakes.

  Damn. What if—

  Whoa! Was it possible that—

  Holy crap. If what I was thinking proved true, Claire Bellows’s killer had struck again, but he might have killed the wrong person.

  “You don’t think it was a heart attack?” asked Nana, when we were back at the hotel. “What about a ruptured gallbladder, or kidney stones? I don’t think you die from stones, though. You just wish you could.”

  We’d finished our day of wine tasting, despite what had happened to Nora. Henry had suggested we return to Adelaide, but the seventy-and-over crowd had voted to continue with the schedule. Few people had bonded with Nora. The majority didn’t even know what she looked like. So the loudest voices had convinced Henry to press on. As one man had articulated so eloquently, “I paid an arm and a leg for this tour, so I damned well better see what the brochure promised. I’m sorry about the old girl dying, but life goes on, and so should the tour.”

  I slid open our patio door to let in the cool evening air. “I think Nora was poisoned. We’ve seen this kind of thing before. You know how easy it is.”

  “Why would anyone want to poison Mrs. Acres?” asked Tilly.

  “I don’t think anyone wanted to.” I sat down on the sofa while the ladies yanked off their boots. “I think the poison was intended for someone else. You saw all the confusion with the glasses in the tasting room. I’ll bet you anything Nora drank from the wrong glass and died because of it.”

  Tilly leaned back in her chair, rubbing her feet. “So if Nora wasn’t the killer’s target, who was?”

  “I’ll give you my short list: either Heath, Roger, Jake, or Diana. And did I tell you that Conrad changed his plane reservations? He’s going to be staying on after the tour ends.”

  “Long enough to return to Port Campbell and look for your grandmother’s plant?” asked Tilly.

  “Ellie didn’t say how long they’d be staying. She was more upset about where the money was going to come from to foot the bill.”

  “Are you thinkin’ the same person what killed Claire Bellows killed Nora?” asked Nana.

  “That’s my current theory. Why, do you think it sounds stupid?”

  “Nope, but there’s somethin’ I don’t get, dear. Makes sense to me that Roger, Diana, or Conrad might a killed Claire ’cause a the plant business. Even makes sense why they’d wanna kill each other. But what’s got me stumped is why Jake or Heath woulda killed Claire when they got no connection to her.”

  “Perhaps they didn’t need a connection,” said Tilly. “Have you considered the possibility that we might be dealing with a sociopath who kills for no reason at all?”

  Nana gave that careful thought. “Where would you write ‘Sociopath’ on them medical forms we filled out? Under ‘Pre-existing Conditions’ or ‘Other?’”

  Unh-oh. I felt an acid indigestion moment coming on. “Umm, I never mentioned this before because I didn’t want to scare you, but Jake could have had a hand in Claire’s death. He didn’t do anything deliberately, but there’s a chance he might have killed her.” I dropped my voice to a raspy whisper. “Accidentally.”

  “With poison?” asked Nana.

  The words shot from my mouth like speeding bullets. “When he let his redback spider escape on the bus the other day.” I held my breath, waiting for their reaction.

  Nana looked at Tilly. Tilly looked at Nana. They both looked at me, Nana’s eyes rounding to the size of half-dollars. “He let one a them poison spiders loose?”

  “Accidentally.”

  “And he didn’t tell no one?”

  “He told Lola. That’s who told me.”

  “Are you thinking the spider could have hidden in Claire’s hair or clothing and bitten her right before she died?” asked Tilly.

  “It’s possible, isn’t it?”

  “Any chance the critter could still be on the bus?” Nana asked, dry-mouthed.

  “Uhhhhh, I’m guessing if it’s still on the bus, it’s dead. Someone probably stepped on it long ago. I mean, we didn’t notice anyone twitching abnormally, discharging all their body fluids, and dying a grisly death while we were on the bus, did we?”

  “What about Nora?” asked Tilly.

  Nora? Shoot, I was so sure she’d been poisoned, I never considered she might have died from a spider bite. “Did anyone notice Nora twitching?”

  “Could be the twitchin’ didn’t kick in ’til she was on the ambulance,” said Nana as she examined the bottom of her boots for squished spiders.

  “Or it could be that there’s no twitching, fluid discharge, or grisly death involved at all,” Tilly speculated. “Emily said that Jake is a fear monger. How do we know he was telling us the truth about a person’s reaction to a redback bite?”

  Nana sucked noisily on her dentures. “I’ll find out.” She stuffed her feet back into her boots, marched to the desk, and powered up her laptop.

  Knock, knock, knock.

  “You do your search,” I said to Nana as I stood up. “I’ll get that.”

  “I can’t come in, but I have news for your grandmother,” Conrad said when I opened the door. “The team of zoologists the university sent to Sovereign Hill are beating the bushes in search of the rat kangaroo, but they’ve asked if you could fax your grandmother’s photo to them at this number.” He handed me a slip of paper. “I know what they should be looking for, but I’m not sure they know what they should be looking for. They might be embarrassed that a creature they’d misplaced for sixty-five years might have been living right under their noses, and it took a Yank to find it.”

  I arched a brow at the number. “What about the angiosperm photo? Should I fax that to the university’s botany department? That might give them a better idea of what they’re looking for, too.”

  “No, no.” He took an awkward step back. “Sadly, the botany team has given up their search, so it would do you no good. Just the rat kangaroo, please. I must get back now. Ellie isn’t feeling so well. I think it was the last Shiraz. Much too peppery for her.”

  I hoped it was the Shiraz and not something more sinister. I wasn’t sure how much I trusted Conrad anymore.

  I returned to the room and hovered over Nana’s shoulder. “Conrad would like us to fax your photo of the rat kangaroo to the university zoologists at Sovereign Hill. Seems that after sixty-five years, no one is quite sure what the little guy looks like. Here’s the number. How’s it going?”

  “Says here the initial redback bite isn’t painful and sometimes you don’t see no puncture marks. Pain sets in after about five minutes and some common symptoms are localized swellin’, sweatin’, muscular weakness, paralysis, stiffness, loss of coordination, and tremors.”

  “Claire was sweating when she was in the visitor center,” I recalled. “And she was complaining about stiffness.”

  “Nora obviously lost coordination when she collapsed,” added Tilly.

  “Here’s the kicker,” said Nana. “‘Redback venom is slow-actin’ and serious illness shouldn’t develop for at least three hours.’ It don’t say nothin’ about anyone dyin’. It says the symptoms can sometimes clear within a week.” She snorted in disgust. “We been had. You was right, Emily. All Jake was hankerin’ to do was scare us.”

  “And make fun of our reaction.” Tilly looked down at her boots. “Do you suppose that little boutique in Melbourne accepts returns on slightly
used sale items?”

  I squinted at the tiny writing on the screen. “Does it say anything about the venom being more toxic on people whose immune systems have been compromised, or who might have preexisting medical conditions?”

  “I don’t see nothin’. I bet he even lied about them other critters he was tellin’ us about. Taipan. Funnel web.” Nana cleared her screen and Googled ‘taipan.’

  “Wait a minute. Before you do that, would you check out something for me?” I ran for my shoulder bag and dug out my memo pad. “Can you call up ‘Google Earth’ and type in these numbers? It’s Roger’s waypoint on his GPS. I got it when he was arguing with Diana. I just hope I remembered the numbers correctly.”

  “Google Earth,” said Nana as her fingers flew over the keyboard. “Is this somethin’ new?”

  “Etienne told me about it. I guess it can give you satellite images of just about anywhere on the planet. So if these numbers produce an image of the exact spot where Claire died, Roger Piccolo might have some explaining to do.”

  “To whom?” asked Tilly.

  “To anyone who might show up to ask questions about the ever-increasing number of deaths on this tour!” I shuddered to think how many more people might die from apparent natural causes before the authorities arrived.

  “Looks like I gotta download a program before I can access the site,” said Nana. “You want I should do that, dear?”

  “Go for it.”

  We stared at the window that appeared on the screen. “Could be a slow download through the modem,” Nana predicted. She checked her watch. “This’d be a good time to hit the earring store and get Conrad taken care of. You s’pose they’d fax that photo for me downstairs at reception, Emily?”

  “It’s worth a try, but pin a note to your jersey: Remove the photo from the fax machine when you’re done.”

  Nana gave the keyboard a maternal pat. “I hope no one was plannin’ to make a phone call on account a the line’s gonna be tied up for a while.”

  “There’s one phone call we could make that would make all this fuss unnecessary,” said Tilly. “Call Peter Blunt. See if he’ll give you the result of Claire’s autopsy report.”

  Peter? Damn, things had gotten so complicated, I’d forgotten all about Peter. I gave my forehead a whack with my fist. “I should have thought of that before. What is wrong with me? Okay, I’ll just—” I regarded the download bar on the computer. “I’ll run up to the guys’ suite and use their phone. That’ll be easier.”

  “You want we should wait on you for dinner, dear? Tilly and me are gonna take a cab to some famous seafood place.”

  “Go on without me.” I grabbed my shoulder bag and headed out the door. “I’ll wing it.”

  Tap, tap, tap.

  Etienne answered the door wearing a towel slung low around his hips and nothing else. His hair was ruffled into a dark, wet tangle. His chest sparkled with errant water droplets. His skin gave off a delicious aroma of citrus, and wind, and sunshine. I sniffed appreciatively. “Oh, God, what is that? It smells wonderful.”

  He hooked his hand around the back of my neck and pulled me against him. “The hotel’s shampoo/ body wash.” He tilted my chin and pressed a soft, lingering kiss on my lips. “I’ll share. It works up into an incredibly erotic lather.”

  Eh! I kissed him back and swallowed half his tongue. He kicked the door shut and wrapped me in his arms. I flattened my palms against his naked spine. His skin was warm and moist. His body hard. His mouth deliciously hot.

  “Amore, amore,” he rasped.

  I felt suddenly unbalanced. The arches of my feet tingled. Light danced behind my eyelids. I was either having an orgasm or a stroke. My hearing grew muffled. My fingers went numb. My bones turned to san—

  My shoulder bag crashed to the floor.

  “Figlio di puttana!” Etienne hopped backward, holding his foot.

  “I’m sorry! It slipped!”

  He fell against the wall, mustering a smile as he rubbed his foot. “No harm, bella. I don’t use my left foot that much anyway.”

  “I’m sorry. Really. Are you okay?” I smoothed my hand over his ankle.

  “I’m sure I’ll be fine once the bones mend.”

  “Nooo. Seriously, do you think you broke something?”

  “Every bone in my foot.” He wiggled his toes. “Do you know the best treatment for a man who has broken every bone in his foot?”

  “Air cast?”

  “Bed rest.” He gave my lips a hungry look. “With round-the-clock nursing care.”

  Oh, my God. I hadn’t played nurse since I was nine, and I’d never played with a patient who had movable or expanding body parts. Hoochimama! I glanced down the narrow hall toward the living room. “What about Duncan?”

  He cupped his hands around my face. “He’s swimming laps. Something about working his frustration off. But I have a better method.” He drew my bottom lip into his mouth, and as he kissed me, stutter-stepped me around the corner into the first bedroom. He backed me onto the edge of the bed and followed me down onto the mattress. “Fammi l’amore, bella.”

  “What?”

  “Make love to me.”

  “Right now?”

  “I’m dressed for the occasion.”

  “Yeah, but—”

  “But what?” He made a slow, sensuous foray into my ear with his tongue.

  “Yeah, but—” Oh, God. “Okay.”

  “What?”

  “I said, okay.”

  He boosted himself onto an elbow. “You’re sure? You’re absolutely sure? You don’t need more time to—”

  I pulled his head down to mine. “Shut up and kiss me.”

  His mouth came down hard on mine. His breathing quickened. His hands were everywhere. Off came my top. Off came my walking shorts. I hoped I didn’t have holes in my underwear. This was it. This was really it!

  He boosted himself up again, his breath ragged. “I need—We need—You know. In my shaving kit.” He crawled off the bed.

  I reached for his towel and gave it a playful yank. “You won’t be needing this anymore, will you?”

  He turned to face me.

  JESUS, MARY, AND JOSEPH! HOLY MOTHER OF GOD!

  Scalding warmth swept up my throat. Struck dumb, I stared in wonder.

  “I hope this means you’re not disappointed. Don’t move. I’ll only be a second.”

  I fell back into the pillows. Disappointed? Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. Holy Mother of God. I stared at the ceiling, eyes wide and mouth agape.

  The hall door clicked open. “Hey, Miceli, you left your purse in the hall. You want it?”

  Duncan? Eh! I shot under the covers like Alice down the rabbit hole. I heard footsteps, then—

  “Say, Em, a guy at the pool told me about a great restaurant where they do a killer roast squab with parsley ravioli in truffle-scented sauce. Sound good to you? I could be ready to go in twenty minutes. Will that give you enough time to get ready?”

  I snaked my hand out through the covers and flashed a thumbs-up.

  “Good. I’m psyched. Where’s Miceli?”

  I aimed my finger at the inner wall.

  “Bathroom? Hey, Miceli!” He pounded once on the wall. “Make it quick! I’ve gotta shower! And, Em, this restaurant apparently makes a passionfruit tart that’ll knock your socks off.”

  I poked my head out just enough to send Duncan a withering glare.

  “What? You’re not a big fan of passionfruit?” He braced his shoulder against the doorjamb and smiled innocently. “I’m not interrupting anything, am I?”

  Chapter 14

  At 7:16 the next morning, I was still waiting for the computer to finish downloading the Google Earth database.

  “Sorry it’s takin’ so long, dear,” Nana apologized when she got back from breakfast, “but maybe it’ll be done by the time we get back this evenin’. And to think that when modems first come out, we thought they was so fast.”

  “What if tonight isn’t soon enou
gh?” I fretted. “What happens if the killer strikes again before we have our answer? Wouldn’t we have a much better time today if we knew there was no killer? Or if the killer had been taken into custody?” Hmm. “How was breakfast? Anything noteworthy to report? Runny eggs? Limp bacon? Unexpected police activity?”

  “The group was blissfully subdued this morning,” said Tilly. “Jake and Lola sat by themselves, staring out the window. Diana and Roger were at opposite ends of the room, and Conrad and Ellie ate with Henry. Your grandmother and I spent a relaxing hour drinking tea and reading the Adelaide paper.”

  So the police still hadn’t arrived? Uff da. What was the hold up?

  “The obituary section took my breath away,” said Nana. “It went on for pages.”

  I regarded her oddly. “Why are you reading the obituaries in a place where you don’t know anyone?”

  She shrugged. “Habit.”

  “Were you able to learn anything when you called Peter Blunt last night?” asked Tilly.

  “I got sidetracked last night,” I confessed guiltily, “so I, uh, never made the call.”

  Nana beamed at me. “’Bout time you seen some action, dear.”

  “Nooo! I didn’t see any action. I was about to see some, then Duncan showed up, so I spent the rest of the night sipping wine and eating parsley ravioli while the guys threw epithets at each other in Italian.”

  “Are you sure they were cursing?” asked Tilly. “They seem to have become such good friends.”

  “It wasn’t so much the words, as how they said them. On a brighter note, the parsley ravioli was surprisingly good.”

  Nana tapped her watch. “If you wanna try Peter, I seen public phones downstairs. Maybe you can call before we board the bus. But we better move it ’cause we only got twenty-eight minutes to catch the elevator and make it out the front door.”

  After spending ten minutes analyzing how to make a long-distance call on a pay phone and another five minutes gathering change, I got Peter Blunt’s voice mail and left a message for him to call me at the hotel at his earliest possible convenience. “It’s a matter of life or death.” Which was probably a slight exaggeration, but I figured it might grab his attention.