G'Day to Die: A Passport to Peril Mystery - By Maddy Hunter Page 0,20
melodically. “I was lookin’ for gum rubber, but it was the funniest thing, Emily, all’s we could find was black leather. Guess they don’t cater to the fishin’ crowd. We got some real good bargains though. Lotsa styles was on close-out.”
“Mostly in large sizes, I take it.”
She gazed at her feet. “They didn’t have no fives left, so I had to get nines. But I stuffed the toe box with toilet paper, so they’re real comfy. I’d a rather bought the ones Bernice got, but I didn’t think I could manage them skinny heels.” She nodded toward Bernice, who was scuttling toward the entrance gate in the kind of knee-high stiletto boots made popular by lady wrestlers and French streetwalkers. “She wouldn’t be strut-tin’ around like that if she didn’t have them bunions out last year. Lookit her. She thinks she’s Octopussy.”
“Missed you at breakfast,” said Duncan, massaging my shoulders as he came up behind me.
“My fault. I was awake so much last night that I slept through my alarm. I’ve bypassed bags under my eyes and gone directly to steamer trunks.”
“I have a tried-and-true cure for sleeplessness.” He trailed a knuckle down my cheek. “Lazarus family secret. You should have phoned me.”
Nana handed him a pencil and notepad. “You mind writin’ down your room number? I couldn’t sleep last night neither.”
“The guided tour begins in fifteen minutes,” Henry shouted from the entrance gate, “so that gives you time to use the comfort facilities and buy yourself a cold drink. Most of the wildlife in the park roams free, so be aware that there are surprises on the ground that you’ll want to avoid.”
Nana elbowed me as Jake and Lola walked past us, hips bumping and arms snaked around each other’s backs as if they’d been Velcroed together. “I’ll be. Looks like they patched things up.”
“Let’s see how long it lasts,” said Duncan as he ushered us toward the gate. “Henry told us at breakfast that they kissed and made up at the police station last night, but I’m not buying it. Those two have major issues. We’ll be lucky if they don’t end up killing each other before the tour is over.”
My stomach performed an involuntary somersault. Just what we needed. More dead bodies.
The entrance gate funneled us through a gift and coffee shop where patrons could buy cuddly koala backpacks, rubber snakes, Tasmanian devil key chains, and crocodile caps with toothy visors.
“You s’pose the grandkids would enjoy it if I brung ’em back a few snakes?” Nana asked as she approached the bin.
“They’d enjoy them more if they were real,” I said, stopping to finger the wombat hand puppets. “But then you’d have that whole quarantine mess at Customs.” I slid a puppet onto my hand and brandished it before Duncan’s face. “You were between the ages of five and twelve once. What tacky souvenir appealed to you back then?”
“I love you, babe, but how about you do your thing with the puppets, and I’ll meet you outside?”
“Ten four,” I said, as Diana Squires paused in the aisle opposite me to look over the merchandise. Gee, how handy was that? I meandered in her direction, poking unobtrusively through baskets of change purses and stuffed animals along the way.
“What do you think?” she asked, holding two coffee mugs. “Should I go kangaroo or crocodile?”
“Is it for you or someone else?” Everything about her reminded me of Veronica in the old Archie comic books: the long black hair pulled into a ponytail, the fine features masked beneath a half-inch layer of pancake makeup, the heavily lip-lined mouth and penciled brows, the athletically fit body clad in designer coordinates. Her age was a big question mark, but I went out on a limb and narrowed it down to somewhere in her thirties, forties, or fifties. Go fish.
“It’s for a colleague. I never buy junk like this for myself.”
“What do you buy for yourself?”
She smiled with the kind of self-satisfied delight a cat would display after polishing off a bowl of cream. “Anything I want. So which mug is it?”
“I’d go with the kangaroo. Nothing says Australia like kangaroos.”
“Good point.” She set the crocodile mug back on the shelf. “You made that easy enough. Thanks.”
“I’m Emily,” I said, extending my hand.
“Diana Squires.” She gripped my hand with the kind of strength pythons use to crush their prey before devouring them whole. “I guess we would have gotten introductions out of the way last night if it hadn’t been for the Silverthorns’ theatrical