G'Day to Die: A Passport to Peril Mystery - By Maddy Hunter Page 0,3
learned long ago that postcards are the way to go. I’m Claire Bellows, and you’re obviously not part of the Aussie Adventures tour since you’re not wearing a name tag.”
I returned her smile. “Emily Andrew. I’m part of the tour, I just don’t do name tags.”
“I like that idea.” She removed her ID and stuffed it into her breast pocket before wiping beads of perspiration from her brow. “We’re not schoolkids, right? I hate name tags, and I’ll be stuck wearing one for a whole week after the tour is over.”
“Conference?”
“Yeah. Scientific meeting in Melbourne. How ’bout you?”
“I’m on the job as we speak. Official escort for a group of Iowa seniors who are in the middle of that mob over there.”
“So you’re not alone?” Claire Bellows reminded me a little of Rosie O’Donnell—dark-haired and heavy-legged, with a directness that oozed confidence. “I always travel alone. When you’re by yourself, other tourists feel sorry for you, so they adopt you. It’s a great way to meet new people. If I keep at it, I figure I’m bound to run into Mr. Right one of these days. Are you married?”
“I used to be.” I let out a sigh. “It’s a long story.”
“I’ve never been married. I’m thirty-seven years old, on a career track that has my head pressed against the original glass ceiling, and unless I can reinvent the wheel and wow my company’s CEO, that’s where I’ll be stuck until I’m ready to hang up my lab coat. So I’ve officially entered the marriage market.” She wiggled ten brightly polished nails. “I even got a manicure to kick off the event. First one in my life. I want it all—husband, two-point-three kids, dog, gas-guzzling SUV. I hit the snooze button on my biological clock when I started work and the alarm is about to go off, so I’m pulling out all the stops. Guaranteed, I’ll be walking down the aisle in the next few months.” She nodded emphatically and glanced around the room as if scouting out likely prospects. “Do you have time to date much?”
“Um…dating is a problem.”
She opened her collar wider, fanning herself with the placket. “Well, don’t be surprised by what you find when you get back into the dating scene. If you don’t have good instincts, you’re going to end up disappointed.” She bobbed her head toward Etienne and Duncan. “You see those two hunks over there by the window? Case in point. The two best-looking men on the tour, and they’re taken.”
My neck grew warm with self-conscious guilt, but in my own defense, this wasn’t my fault! I wasn’t flaunting them like trophies. I hadn’t even invited them to join me on the tour! What was I supposed to do? Send one of them home? They hadn’t even bothered to buy cancellation insurance!
Claire let out an anguished moan. “It never fails. The gorgeous guys are always gay.”
I jerked my head around to stare at her. “What?”
A gust of wind whistled through the room as our guide banged through the main entrance, his navy blue uniform putting him in danger of being mistaken for a United States Postal Service worker. His name was Henry, and in addition to narrating our travelogue, he drove the bus, prepared and served midmorning tea and cakes, directed us to the restrooms, counted heads, snapped guest photos, maintained our vehicle, treated minor injuries, exchanged currency, and could belt out a rendition of “Waltzing Matilda” that made your teeth vibrate. I was dying to see what he’d do for an encore.
“If I can trouble you for your attintion!” he called out. “I apologize to those of you waiting to board the Aussie Advintures bus, but one of our tires has blown, so I’m waiting on a mechanic from Port Campbell for assistance. No worries, though; we’ll only be delayed an hour or two. Sorry for the inconvenience.”
Groans. Hissing. “What are we supposed to do for two hours?” a disgruntled guest yelled.
“Introduce yoursilf to your mates!” Henry suggested. “You’re in this for two weeks togither. Give it a go.”
Claire gave my arm a squeeze. “I’m a little stiff, so I’m going outside to walk off the kinks and check out a minor curiosity. See you on the bus.”
“But wait—” I sputtered as she broke for the door, followed by a slew of other guests. I had to set her straight about Etienne and Duncan before her imaginings became grist for the rumor mill. If there was one thing I’d learned in Ireland, it