G'Day to Die (18 page)

“You can’t do that! It’s d-discriminatory. Ageism! Ageism!”

“—until you learn the metric system.”

“Oh.” She glanced back down the beach. “That wave t-took my camera. The b-best camera I ever owned! Digital. All the b-bells and whistles. Every picture I’ve shot of this t-trip was on that camera. How am I supposed to c-compete with your grandmother if every freaking p-picture I’ve taken is gone! I need that photography job m-more than she does. She’s got her m-millions. Now it’s my turn! It’s not f-fair. Everything she touches turns to gold. Everything I touch turns to c-crap.”

My
Escort’s Manual
stresses that in times of crisis, the creative escort will always provide options to a distraught guest. “I have a disposable in my shoulder bag. Say the word. It’s yours.”

She regarded me dourly. “All the p-people on this island, and I get stuck with P-Pollyanna.” She wrestled her boot off her foot. “It was all that p-park ranger’s fault. Four meters. How am I supposed to know how m-much that is? Who uses the m-metric system anyway?”

“The entire world—excluding US citizens and a few headhunters in New Guinea whose system of weights and measures revolves around the human skull. We’re definitely in the minority here, Bernice.”

“Yeah, well, it’s not my fault that the r-rest of the world is wrong.” She peeked inside her boot, then tilted it sideways, pouring out seawater as if from a teapot. Her face crumpled with disappointment so obvious, I felt a little tug on my heartstrings.

“I’m sorry about your boots.”

“Guess I won’t be wearing these again anytime s-soon.” She yanked off the other one and dropped it to the ground. “If the job th-thing didn’t work out, I thought I could make my photographic c-comeback in these boots. Get a few magazine g-gigs like in the old days. Branch out with geriatric calendars and s-some online stuff. I could have gone far.” She kicked the nearest one with her bare toe. “Now l-look at them. Ruined and useless. Just like m-me.”

Uh-oh. She was taking this really badly. It was almost as if she were mourning the death of a family pet. I wasn’t trained to handle clinical depression, but my
Escort’s Manual
did suggest shopping as a possible remedy for occasional blue moods among female and gay guests.

“Maybe that boutique where you bought them has a branch in Adelaide. Let’s check the phone book when we get back. You might be able to buy another pair exactly like them. I’ll hire a cab and take you there personally.”

She heaved her shoulders in a pathetic sigh.

“You could take them home with you and have them bronzed. Mom did that to my baby shoes. Nana was going to do it to Grampa Sippel’s L. L. Bean hat with the earflaps, but she buried him in it instead.”

She shook her head glumly. “I’ll just take ’em home and s-sell ’em on eBay.”

“Sell them? You’re going to
sell
them? How can you sell them? Look at them. They’re ruined!”

“You are
sooo
out of touch. How do you m-manage to get along in life? You ever heard the saying, ‘One m-man’s trash is another man’s t-treasure’?”

I gave her a hard look. “Don’t you think that’s a little unethical?”

“Have you heard, ‘Sticks and stones may break my bones, but names will never hurt me?’”

“Are you ladies all right?” a park ranger called, as he and Etienne trudged toward us.

I flashed him a tentative thumbs-up. Bernice flashed him a boot.

“What am I supposed to do for sh-shoes now? I can’t walk around barefoot. And l-look at me. I’m so c-cold, my knees are knocking together. That water was freezing. I p-probably have hypothermia. I could die at any m-moment!”

Etienne pulled off his shirt and wrapped it around Bernice’s shoulders. “Is that better, Mrs. Zwerg?”

She eyed his naked torso and batted her soggy lashes. “Actually, I’ve heard that body heat is the b-best cure for hypothermia.”

He pressed her hands together and rubbed them like a Boy Scout kindling fire. “How’s that?”

“Not exactly what I had in m-mind, hon, but it’ll do for now.”

I choked back a laugh. Yup. He was destined to be a big hit in the travel industry.

“I’m sorry I didn’t arrive quickeh,” the ranger apologized, as I sluiced water off my goose bumps. “Had some official police business that couldn’t wait, but it looks to be oveh now.”

I froze in place. “Police business? You mean, the police were here? Just now?”

“All the way from Milbourne.”

“Did they arrest someone?”

“Don’t know. Whin the lady cried for hilp, I had to abandon thim.” He slanted a long look toward the boardwalk. “That’s thim leaving agin.”

I craned my neck to see, but glimpsed nothing more than a couple of heads that disappeared beyond the vanishing point.

“One of the blokes had his handcuffs out and looked like he intinded to use thim, so I’m thinking whin you hid back to Adelaide tonight, you’ll be minus one tour gist.”

Yeah, but which one?

“D
iana? Really?” My voice echoed inside the restroom stall as I stuffed my wet tank top and walking shorts into a plastic bag.

“I was shootin’ a picture a Tilly when I seen two men slap cuffs on her and escort her back up the beach,” said Nana. “I was pretty sure that must be the weird thing you warned us about, until Bernice started screamin’, then I was torn.”

“That wasn’t weird,” Tilly scoffed. “That was typical.”

“It was real odd, dear. Diana didn’t put up no fuss at all. Almost seemed like she was expectin’ someone to drag her off.”

I broke out the Seal Bay T-shirt and running shorts I’d just purchased in the gift shop. “Diana,” I repeated. “I
knew
it was Diana.” Or Roger. Or Conrad. Or Jake. “The police must have discovered evidence that connected her with Claire Bellows’s death. I just wish I knew what. Henry told me yesterday that the police were coming, but he made me swear to keep it under my hat.”

“Do you think Diana was the person who took Marion’s other two Polaroids at Port Campbell?” asked Tilly.

“Took Nana’s Polaroids. Murdered Claire. Performed a cover-up with the angiosperms. Slipped Nora an overdose of drugs. For being on holiday, Diana Squires has been one busy botanist.”

“You s’pose Henry’s gonna explain to everyone why Diana’s went away?”

“He’d better! He owes us some details.” I stepped out of the stall and struck a supermodel pose. “Ta da! Dry again, except for my underwear.”

“I got extra, dear.” Nana opened her pocketbook and unfurled a pair of bloomers the size of a hot-air balloon. “They’re real good ones. Fruit a the Loom. You wanna borrow ’em?”

“Mmm, you might want to offer them to Bernice. I think they’re more her style.”

“She won’t want ’em. She says she’s gonna stay in her wet clothes.”

“Why? I told her the bank would foot the bill if she wanted to buy some dry clothing.”

“If she’s dry, she’d have nothing to complain about,” said Tilly, “which would mean the Apocalypse is here.”

“She talked Henry into lettin’ her switch buses, though,” said Nana. “She’s sayin’ she has to sit next to your young man so he can keep her warm. I don’t wanna be an alarmist, dear, but you better watch out for her. I seen on
Access Hollywood
where December/May flings are all the rage, and with her bunions gone, she can wear them hot shoes that drive men wild.”

I smiled indulgently. “I’m not worried.” I glanced in the wall mirror and screamed at the spike-haired freak who stared back.
Ehh!
That couldn’t be me.

I ran to the sink and yanked on my hair.

It
was
me! Okay, now I was worried. “I can’t go out looking like this!”

“Hollywood celebrities do all the time,” said Tilly. “They think they’re glam.”

“Hollywood celebrities don’t look like
Bride of Chucky
!”

Nana held up her bloomers. “I bet you could twist these into a real nice turban, dear. I got safety pins.”

A knock on the outer door. “Ladies, I have to ask you to shake a leg. The buses are about to leave.”

Panic filled Nana’s eyes. She tossed me her bloomers and hit the door a half step ahead of Tilly. “See you out there, dear.”

I looked in the mirror again, realized the hopelessness of the situation, then turned on the water full force and stuck my head under the faucet. When your short, sassy, Italian hairdo was having an off day, there was only one solution: improvise.

The buses were still loading when I ran out to the parking lot. Henry flagged me down and took me aside. “The excitement’s over, Imily. Thanks for keeping mum. I’ll make an announcement about Diana, but I’m going to wait until we’re all togither at the airport this evening so everyone will git the news at the same time. You wouldn’t believe how put out some blokes git whin they think they haven’t received news first.”

“What did the police tell you about her?”

“Nothing, other than she’d be traveling back to the mainland with thim, and they’d arrange for her bags to be picked up at the hotel.”

“That’s it? They didn’t tell you what she’s being charged with?”

“Are they supposed to? I thought they were being very informative tilling me what they did.”

“You didn’t hear them say something like, ‘Book her, Dano, murder one?’”

“Murder! Diana killed someone?”

“I think she killed two someones. Claire Bellows and Nora Acres.”

“Codswallop.” He blinked numbly. “I’ve been in this business for eighteen years, and niveh once had dealings with the police. Bloody hill, if she’s a killer, they should have grabbed her a hill of a lot sooner!”

“I guess it took them a while to travel from Melbourne.”

“Milbourne?” He released his cell phone. “This is Hinry. You could have
told
me the police were traveling from Milbourne. I had a killer on my hands! What if—”

Click.

He stared at the phone. “A killer on my tour. This really takes the air out of my tires.”

I patted his arm. “It always does the first time.”

When a bus horn tooted, Henry straightened his cap and escorted me briskly across the lot. “There’s been some shuffling of passengers between buses because of that Zwerg woman, so I’m afraid you might have lost your seat on the first bus. Lit me chick.”

Nana pressed her nose against her window and waved as I waited. Henry returned in moments. “They’re full up. Looks like you’ll have to ride bus number two with me.”

“I’m easy.” With Diana Squires in custody and the other guests no longer in jeopardy, I didn’t care where I sat or with whom.

Duncan nabbed me as I climbed the stairs. “Gotcha now.” He took my hand. “The backseat has our name on it.”

“But—”

Etienne occupied the front seat with Bernice, who was snugged into a silver survival blanket like a stick of gum in its wrapper, her head resting on his shoulder.

“Harold and I weren’t married many years before he passed on, so I’m practically a virgin,” she said. “And in the best shape of my life. Did I happen to mention that I’m an Olympic sprinter?”

The muscle in Etienne’s jaw twitched as I passed. Poor guy. He was too new at this to know about the benefits of earplugs.

We arrived at the back and sat down behind Jake and Lola, which would have creeped me out an hour ago, but with our killer in custody, Jake and his bugs no longer seemed so scary. Nothing in the
world
seemed scary anymore!

I exhaled a relieved breath, feeling as if a tremendous weight had been lifted off my shoulders. The situation had resolved itself almost too quietly. I guess I’d gotten too used to fire alarms, police sirens, guns, mace, and chokeholds. Having someone else take down the bad guy felt a little anticlimactic, but I welcomed the change. Now maybe I could relax and enjoy the rest of the trip.

I settled back and stretched my legs.
Ahhhhh
. No more worries. None. Not a single one.

“I was under the impression the only creatures allowed to swim at Seal Bay were the sea lions,” said Duncan. “So what’s with the wet hair?”

I gave it a ruffle. “Do you like it?”

He trailed his fingers through my wet locks and gave me a look that burned halfway through my skull. “It’s hot.” His voice dipped to a husky whisper. “You’re sexy when you’re wet.”

Okay, I might still have one small worry.

“I hope you enjoyed Seal Bay,” the driver announced. “Our nixt stop will be Stokes Bay on the north shore, where there’s a spictacular beach and a ripper café where you can pick up lunch. Won’t be so windy there. It’s a fifty-five-minute drive, much of it on unsealed roads, so the going could git a bit bumpy. We’ll drive through a nice patch of gums near the Cygnet Riveh, but the landscape won’t git dramatic until we reach the coast. The bist part of the island is around the idges. If you have quistions at any time, just call ’im out.”

As we rolled out of the parking lot, Duncan removed a sack from the overhead rack and dropped it on my lap.

“What’s this?”

“Open it.”

I stuck my hand inside and pulled out a furry toy sea lion pup with huge eyes and a droopy, ill-tied bow around its neck. “Oh, Duncan, he’s adorable! Thank you. Does he have a name?”

“I’m not sure. It might say on the tag.”

I found the manufacturer’s tag tucked behind the ribbon, dangling beside a diamond ring whose stone was the size of a gumball. “Oh, my God, Duncan.” Uh-oh.
Big
worry. “It’s beautiful. I mean, it’s incredible. I—I don’t know what to say.”

“How about, ‘Yes, Duncan, I’ll marry you.’”

I angled the stone toward the window, dazzled when it splintered with a million points of light. “Wow.”

“I hope it’s big enough. I considered a three-carat stone, but I thought your hand was too small to carry off three carats, so I settled on two. If you’d prefer three, I can exchange it. I don’t want you to feel short-changed.”

He was so excited, so boyishly enthusiastic. How was I supposed to deal with this? “Does Etienne know about the ring?”

“I don’t broadcast my every move to Miceli.”

“I thought you two were best buddies.”

“We are.” He twisted two fingers together. “Like this.”

“You can’t stand the sight of each other, can you?”

“I despise the man.”

“So
why
are you on this trip together?”

“I thought you might have figured that out.” He looked at me with the kind of yearning the world’s greatest actors couldn’t fake. “I want you; he wants you. You know what they say: ‘Keep your friends close and your enemies closer.’ I don’t want to lose you, pretty, and I’m not about to let Miceli get the upper hand. I love you too much.”

Oh, geez.
What
was
it with me and my feast-or-famine love life? Was it normal for thirty-
year-olds to have problems like this?

My heart raced. My palms grew sweaty. Of course it wasn’t normal! If it was normal,
Cosmo
would have had a quiz about it, along with lists of the ten most exciting places in a two-car garage to make love and twelve erotic uses for athletes foot powder.

“Don’t fall for it,” Lola advised over her seat back. “They say anything to git you in the sack, then they turn into aliens. ‘Specially the good-looking ones.”

Duncan leaned forward. “Excuse me, but no one invited you to take part in this conversation.”

“Piss off. I’m not talking to you. I’m talking to your girlfrind.”

“Put a sock in it, would ya?” Jake snarled at her.

“
You
put a sock in it!” She whacked his shoulder. “Don’t be tilling me to shut up whin I’m handing out important advice. If someone had given
me
the lowdown on you blokes, maybe I wouldn’t have got stuck with you!”

“I’ve got a flash for you, Mrs. Silverthorn. No one but me would put up with you. Everyone knows what you are. Trash. You driss like trash. You talk like trash.”

“And who are you? Mr. Prince Charles freaking Windsor?”

“No! I’m apparently the local trash collector!”

Heads turned. Eyebrows lifted. Just what every tour needed: two dead bodies and a fistfight in 9A and B.

“How long have the two of you been married?” I asked as a stopgap measure.

“Too long,” spat Jake.

“Bloody ratbag! You think it’s been a picnic for me living with you and all your creepy crawlies? My big sisteh reels in a dintist. My baby sisteh nabs a pilot. Who do I git? The king of pist control! Tin years of bloody—”

“Eleven.”

“Tin!”

“Eleven!” he yelled. “Oops, my mistake. Stupid people can’t count that high! Not enough fingahs!”

“You—!”

“How about a little traveling music?” our driver interrupted.

“
ROLL OUT THE BARRE-LL…”
I slapped my hands over my ears as the tune exploded through the speaker system. “
WE’LL HAVE A BARRE-LL OF FUN
…”

Lola grabbed a fistful of Jake’s tank top. “You hear that, you miserable bahstid?” She broke into a sudden smile. “That’s our song!”

We climbed off the bus at Stokes Bay dazed and punchy. I sighed with exhaustion. “Who would have guessed that
She’ll be Comin’ ’Round the Mountain
had so many stanzas?”

“It wasn’t meant to be sung in rounds,” said Duncan. “I think Henry got it confused with
Row, Row, Row Your Boat
. Damn, I could use a cold beer, or”—he smiled with roguish charm—“we could make it champagne if you’d say yes.”

Champagne wouldn’t cut it. I needed Valium. “I’m not being coy, Duncan. Honest. But
please
give me a little time to think. I feel all scattered.”