G'Day to Die: A Passport to Peril Mystery - By Maddy Hunter Page 0,26
who stood arm in arm, studying something behind the chain-link fence. The pen was the size of a one-car garage—an ecologically engineered jungle of trees, shrubs, rocks, hollowed-out logs, and a nifty cave built into a mountainous pile of dirt. I didn’t see any furry creatures running around, but I slowed my steps when I heard a loud and unsettling CRRRRRUNNNCH crunchcrunch. Euw. It sounded like a garbage disposal grinding up chicken bones.
But it wasn’t.
It was a Tasmanian devil devouring its lunch.
“He came out of hiding,” I rasped, transfixed by the sight of this broad-headed, small-eyed, piglike marsupial gnawing through the skeleton of a creature who’d been lower in the feed chain. He was black with fur, had pink vampire bat ears, and sported pointy teeth that smacked of the “Big Bad Wolf.” I swallowed with difficulty. “What do you suppose he’s eating?”
“Another exhibit,” said the crone.
I stashed my camera back in my shoulder bag. Stuffed toy was looking like a really good idea for David.
“They look ferocious,” said Heath, “but they’re inept killers. If not for roadkill, the Tasmanian divil would probably go the way of the Tasmanian tiger. Total extinction.” Looking my way, he doffed his Akubra hat and smiled. “I’m Heath. This is Nora.”
“Emily.” I returned his smile. “You probably see animals like this all the time.”
“I live inland, so what I mostly see are desert rats and scorpions.”
Inland? “You live in the Outback?”
“I live in South Australia—a little place called Coober Pedy. Have you seen Mel Gibson’s Mad Max movies? The third flick was filmed near Coober Pedy, so if you remimber the desolate scenery with its scrubby saltbushes and dried-up watercourses, you git a fair picture of the town.”
What I remembered about Mad Max was how well the terrain conformed to the apocalyptic images of a post-nuclear war landscape. The featureless desert. The unbearable heat. Kinda like Las Vegas without the casinos. “Why do you live there?”
His smile broadened. “Opals.”
“Rabbits,” said Nora, conversing with the Tasmanian devil through the chain-link fencing. “I’ve eaten rabbits. But you’ve gotta skin’ ’em first, else the fur gets stuck in yer teeth.”
Heath placed a cautionary hand on her shoulder. “Not too close, luvy.”
Nora’s behavior suddenly seemed as unnerving as Jake Silverthorn’s. I shifted my attention back to Heath. “Coober Pedy is a big mecca for opals?”
“The biggest. It’s the richest opal field in Australia. If a man can brave the heat, tolerate a skyline of brick and corrugated iron, and doesn’t mind living like a mole most of the time, he can earn a decent crust.”
“Ferrets,” said Nora, wagging her finger at the animal. “I’ve eaten ferrets. But I didn’t like ’em much. Too stringy.”
“Tell you what, luvy.” Heath coaxed her gently away from the pen. “We should catch up to the other gists and let the Tazzy finish his meal in peace. Does that sound like a good idea? You don’t want to miss the saltie, do you?”
She twisted around, confusion clouding her brilliant blue eyes. “Where’d everyone go?”
“They’ve gone on to the nixt exhibit. Come on. Maybe Imily will walk with us.”
She tossed me a dismissive look before clutching Heath’s forearm. “I don’t know that girl. Who is she?” Then in a more animated voice, “Is she from the orphanage?”
“Imily’s a gist on our tour. A Yank. You like Yanks.”
She nodded docilely. “My da might have been a Yank.”
“You coming?” Heath asked me, looking as if he’d appreciate the company.
“So how hot does it get in Coober Pedy?” I asked, as we strolled down the path with Nora between us.
“Midsummah will average a hundred eighteen degrees Farenheit. Hotter on some days. Not much greenery survives back home. The sun cooks everything.”
Including skin. No wonder Nora’s face was so wrinkled. I’d probably look the same way under similar circumstances, then be forced to squander so much of my savings on miracle creams that I’d have to declare bankruptcy. Wow. Who’d have guessed that overexposure to the sun had the potential of being as disastrous to a person’s finances as investing in survival equipment for Y2K?
“You wanna see my picture?” Nora asked, thrusting her well-handled photo at me.
I angled it into the light, picking out details I’d been unable to see in the visitor center yesterday. A field-stone wall. An ornamental bench. A young woman with bobbed hair smiling shyly into the camera. She wore a plain housedress and against her bosom hugged two toddlers in frilled pinafores, their heads a riot of pipe curls.