G'Day to Die: A Passport to Peril Mystery - By Maddy Hunter Page 0,43
past midnight,” said Etienne, as we stood outside my door. “We have the whole night ahead of us.”
“I think you should invite us in for a nightcap,” Duncan urged.
“The only thing in my room that’s even marginally alcoholic is mouthwash. I’m going to bed. Six o’clock comes early, and I still have to pack.” I unlocked my door and blew each of them a kiss. “Night, night. Thanks for a fun evening.”
“But, Emily,” they pleaded, doing the unison thing again.
I closed the door and slumped against it, my attention drawn immediately to a red light that was blinking rapidly in the darkness. I flipped on the light switch and walked to the phone, feeling a moment’s dread as I regarded the indicator light signaling a message on voice mail. I hated unexpected phone calls when I was traveling. They always made me fear the worst. I picked up the phone and punched a button.
“Imily, hi, this is Peter Blunt from the coroner’s office. Wanted to git back to you about your grandmother’s photographs. We didn’t find any Polaroid snapshots among Ms. Bellows’s belongings, just the postcards, so I hope they turn up for you someplace ilse. Sorry I don’t have bitter news for you. My apologies to your grandmother.”
I replaced the phone on its cradle, this new information causing my brain to grow even more fuzzy than it was before. So if Claire Bellows didn’t have Nana’s photos, who did?
“I thought for sure they was gonna pull her over to search her backpack,” Nana said in a conspiratorial tone the next morning, “but she cleared security slick as a whistle. Didn’t matter, you gettin’ stuck at the back a the line, dear. There wasn’t nothin’ to see.”
I’d been waylaid helping Bernice drag her luggage to the check-in counter after one of the wheels fell off her pullman, so I went through the security line last rather than first. “The plant can’t be in her knapsack, then.”
“And she wouldn’t a packed it in her grip ’cause it’d get her clothes all full a dirt and prickles,” said Nana.
Tilly leaned heavily on her cane. “If she didn’t pack it in either her knapsack or her suitcase, should we assume she didn’t take it at all?”
We were huddled behind a self-serve display case in an airport candy shop, surrounded by chocolate penguins, koalas, kangaroos, and wombats that produced an aroma like Hershey-bar-scented room deodorizer. Inhaling too deeply would probably cause serious weight gain.
“The only thing I’m gonna assume is that them chocolates taste so good, I need to get me a box,” Nana said, grabbing a serving tray and tongs. “I’d buy some for the boys, but I’m afraid they’d melt before we got home.”
“Our hotel rooms should be equipped with mini-refrigerators,” I reminded her, “so you’d probably be safe.”
“The place they’d melt would be in my mouth, dear. When it comes to chocolate, I got no self-control.”
“Ladies,” Tilly interrupted, “we’re getting off topic. If Diana Squires doesn’t have the plant, should we delete her from our list of suspects who might be responsible for Claire’s death?”
“I wish we could go back to Port Campbell,” I said in frustration. “If the plant is still there, we wouldn’t have to—”
“S’cuse me, dear.” Nana nodded toward the main concourse. “What do you s’pose that’s all about?”
Just outside the candy shop, Duncan stood mutely while Diana circled her arms around him in an affectionate bear hug. She cooed and laughed while he nodded; squeezed his arm while he smiled.
“Looks like she’s hittin’ on ’im,” said Nana.
“I find that rather surprising considering the age gap between them,” said Tilly.
“How old do you s’pose she is? I can’t tell for all the makeup.”
I watched the encounter with curiosity. Duncan was always open and friendly with people, but I wondered what he’d done to merit all the extra attention. Diana stood on her tiptoes to give him a peck on his cheek, then trundled off with her knapsack strapped to her back like an iron lung.
“I have no idea what prompted that,” I said, “but I know we’re all itching to find out.”
I caught up to him halfway to our gate. “You walk too fast,” I teased as I took up stride beside him.
He took my hand and smiled. “Hey, Em, what’s the good word?”
“Mmmm”—I cocked my head as I regarded his cheek—“lipstick.”
He paused for a nanosecond before swiping his hand down his face. “Is it gone?”
“Almost.” I rubbed his cheekbone with my fingertips. “For future reference? Deep burgundy