G'Day to Die: A Passport to Peril Mystery - By Maddy Hunter Page 0,21

debut. That guy reminds me so much of my old boyfriend. All that swagger and macho bull. If I were his wife, I wouldn’t have pushed him into the artwork: I would have pushed him out the window. Did you notice how lovey-dovey they are today? Classic passive-aggressive tendencies. If they don’t get help, it’s going to get really ugly. And believe me, I know, because I’ve lived it. How is it that women can be so smart in the business world and so stupid when it comes to men?”

Eh! Was that the reason for all the makeup? Was she disguising physical scars from an abusive boyfriend? I cleared my throat self-consciously. “Is that a rhetorical question or do you really want an answer?”

“Are you married?”

“I used to be.”

“Divorced?”

“Annulled.”

“See what I’m talking about? Bright girl, bad decision. It’s epidemic.”

Okay. Maybe. But at least I knew which coffee mug to choose!

“I need help.” Nana appeared with an armful of rubber snakes. “I can’t decide between the death adder and the king brown for David. All’s I know is, it’s gotta be creepy enough so’s he’ll wanna keep it instead a feedin’ it to the dog.” She dropped her load on the display table and pulled out two remarkably realistic-looking specimens. “Which one looks like it’d be more likely to cause you an agonizin’ death?”

Diana regarded the back of Nana’s hand. “Do you realize my company has developed a topical cream that can vanish age spots like this? Age spots. Liver spots. Unsightly discolorations.”

“No kiddin’?”

“Trust me. It’s my life’s work.” She examined Nana’s hand more closely. “Are you allergic to bee stings, peanuts, shellfish, or latex?”

“Latex. You mean like paint?”

“She means like condoms,” I whispered.

Nana grinned. “Big negatory on that.”

“Then you’re a perfect candidate. I can guarantee younger-looking hands in three months or your money back. And there’s a bonus. Our cream is a biological rather than chemical product, so you’re not required to have blood tests to keep track of liver function, and there are no side effects other than flawless skin. We call it Perfecta.”

“Is it a new product?” I asked. “I haven’t seen it advertised.”

“It’s so new that we haven’t even finalized our marketing campaign. But it works. I’m living proof. I used to have a port wine birthmark the size of an Idaho potato on my face.” She angled her right cheek toward us as if it were Exhibit A in a criminal trial. “Look closely. Do you see anything? Of course, you don’t. It’s not there anymore. Do you know why?”

I wondered if observing that it was buried beneath six tons of modeling clay would be too candid.

“It’s because Perfecta caused it to fade away. This product performs miracles, and in doing so, it changes lives by inspiring confidence and building self-esteem.” She smiled at her own words. “We’re going to try to work that angle into our advertising campaign.”

Nana scrutinized the backs of her hands as if she hadn’t seen them in years. “I s’pose George could take a notion to bein’ seen with a woman with younger-lookin’ hands, but I hope it don’t make him too frisky. He’s still got them lower back problems.”

“Is George your husband?” asked Diana.

“He’s my gentleman companion, and the only reason he’s not here is ’cause his grandson’s gettin’ married next week back home. But he’s gonna sign up for our next trip in June. He give me his word.”

“By June you could have the hands of a twenty-year-old,” Diana enthused. “What would you say to that?”

“I guess I’d wanna know how much it was gonna cost me.”

“Miracles don’t come cheaply, Marion. We’re presently looking at a price point of twenty-five hundred dollars.”

Nana’s three chins pancaked onto her chest. “For what? A lifetime supply?”

“A quarter-ounce tube. But that should last you a good two weeks, and you’d probably only need six tubes to get the job done.”

I gave Nana a resuscitative slap on her back. When her respirations began again, she stared at Diana, speechless. “If I watch the sales real close, I can get me a nice pair a gloves at Wal-Mart for three ninety-nine. Three-sixty if it’s a Tuesday, on account a that’s when they give us seniors a ten percent discount ’cause we’re old.”

“EEEEEEEEEEHHHHHHHHHHH!”

I spun toward the terrified shriek.

“I bet that’s a cockatoo,” Diana said excitedly. “I’ve heard they sound almost human. Excuse me, would you?” Dropping her kangaroo mug back on the shelf, she rushed through the doorway into the park proper. Nana looked up at