G'Day to Die: A Passport to Peril Mystery - By Maddy Hunter Page 0,48
room, passing envelopes back and forth between tables.
“What’s up with the envelopes?” I asked Nana.
She craned her neck for a look-see. “Must be the photos they got back from the one-hour developin’ place this afternoon.”
“They’re having film developed already? But we’re only four days into the trip.”
Tilly smiled archly. “Your grandmother’s success with her photography has sparked the competitive spirit in everyone else.”
“They’re all lookin’ for a piece a my action,” Nana quipped.
“If any of you would like a dish that won’t burn the skin off your tonsils, you might want to try the yogurt chicken,” Duncan suggested.
“Or the Tandoori chicken with a side dish of cucumber raita,” said Etienne.
“What if you don’t got no tonsils?” asked Nana.
While the boys filled Nana and Tilly in on the particulars of Indian spices, I watched Dick Teig swagger over to Conrad and hand him a stack of photographs. He was soon joined by Alice Tjarks and Osmond, who fell into an orderly queue behind him, and Margi Swanson, who studied her menu while she waited, probably looking for the Indian equivalent of a burger and fries.
Not to be outdone, Dick Stolee presented a handful of photos to Guy, who studied them politely while Helen Teig, Lucille Rassmuson, and Grace jumped in line and began to fuss about who had cut in front of whom.
Oh, God. Just what a posh Indian restaurant needed. Conga lines. What would be next? The Hokey-Pokey?
“What looks good to you, bella?”
“Huh? Oh—” I turned back to my menu. Eenie, meenie, meinie…“How about this?”
“A gutsy choice,” Etienne whispered, caressing my knee beneath the table. “You never cease to surprise me.”
Nana tapped my other knee. “Incoming.”
“I’m sorry to bother you.” Diana Squires was all smiles as she greeted us. “We’re in the middle of a discussion at our table, and I need some backup. Marion, dear, have you thought any more about the Perfecta treatment for your hands?”
“Yup. I’m thinkin’ I’ll keep the age spots.”
Horror filled Diana’s eyes. “A whole new you is there for the asking, and you’re choosing the old you?”
“I’m pretty fond a the old me. A new me would only confuse George.”
“Really? That’s disappointing.” She glanced back to her table. “Look, I really need you to say something terrific about Perfecta to Heath and Nora. She’s in desperate need of this product, Marion, and he’s being a twit about the whole thing. The treatment will be free, for God’s sakes. What more could he ask for?”
“Maybe he don’t want you folks exploitin’ her.”
“Who’s talking about exploiting her? I’m merely trying to improve her quality of life.”
“Perhaps the quality of her life doesn’t need improvement,” Etienne said in a tight voice.
Her eyes lengthened to mean little slits. “Did Roger tell you to say that? He’s gotten to you, hasn’t he? The pinheaded little twerp. Let me give you some advice: never listen to a man whose face resembles an auto-inflating mattress.”
“Do you think he’s suffering from a glandular problem?” asked Tilly, glancing toward him.
“What he’s suffering from is the effects of one too many GenerX nutritional shakes. His company has a dirty little secret that they refuse to make public: a steady diet of their crappy product will kill you.”
“Maybe they oughta think about warnin’ labels,” said Nana.
“Speaking of labels,” I leaped in a little awkwardly, “would I be terribly rude if I asked how much you paid to mail your package this morning?”
Diana’s face twitched with movement that might have been a scowl, a frown, a smile, or all three. It was hard to tell beneath the makeup. “Why do you want to know?” she asked coolly.
“I have to mail a truckload of purchases that won’t fit in my suitcase. It’s a chronic problem. I always pack too much and don’t leave any room for souvenirs and gifts.”
“That’s too bad, because you’ll be forking out big bucks for postage.”
I winced. “I was afraid of that. My stuff is really light—balsa wood and paper—but I suppose it’ll still cost me an arm and a leg to mail.”
Diana eyed me curiously. “What did you buy? Chinese lanterns?”
“Kites,” I lied. “For my nephews. What did you buy?”
“Sovereign Hill T-shirts,” she said after a slight hesitation. “For the guys in the lab. I really stocked up. I always send them back something to let them know I’m thinking about them. I’ve learned that a little kindness directed at the grunts can result in huge dividends when I need samples tested ASAP.” She rapped her knuckles on the armrest of Nana’s