hand to her mouth. “He looks like public enemy number one.”
“You should see mine,” I said, digging it out of my shoulder bag and flipping it open. “How bad is this?”
Helen regarded it dismissively. “That’s actually quite nice, considering what your hair normally looks like.”
“You want to see bad?” Guy fished his neck wallet out of his polo shirt and handed Helen his passport. “I look like a character out of Deliverance. All I’m missing is the banjo.”
“You’re right,” Helen agreed. “This is much worse than Emily’s.”
“It can’t be worse than mine!” I objected. “I have to show two forms of photo ID when I pass through Customs. The last time I renewed my driver’s license, the woman who took my picture suffered a nervous breakdown.” Helen flashed me Guy’s photo, causing me to gasp. “Euw, that’s much worse than mine.”
Dick stomped toward us. “What in tarnation is so all-fired important that—”
“Show Emily your passport photo,” she said, poking his stomach.
“Are we supposed to show passports here?” asked Osmond, as he came up behind us.
Dick wrestled his shirt out of his pants to access his waist wallet.
“Why is Dick undressing?” asked Margi.
“Everyone get your passports out!” said Osmond. “This is a checkpoint.”
Hissing. Groans. Foot shuffling.
Alice tapped me on the shoulder. “Excuse me, Emily, are we being strip-searched?”
“I don’t have the stomach to watch Dick get naked,” whined Bernice. “YOU GOT ANY FITTING ROOMS IN THIS PLACE?”
“Who’s supposed to get these?” yelled Lucille Rassmuson, waving her passport in the air.
“Emily wants ’em,” said Dick.
I staggered against the display counter as passports came at me from every direction. “Hold it! I don’t want—”
“G’day, folks,” a voice blared over a loudspeaker. “Our oil-distilling dimonstration begins in one minute by the big vat outside. One minute. Git there early for the bist views.”
The group cleared the area in a half second, hitting the door like stampeding cattle. “Come back here!” I bellowed. “You forgot your passports!”
“Give ’em back later,” Dick Stolee called out as he pushed through the exit.
Great. This was just great. I regarded the armload of passports I’d just accumulated. What was I supposed to do with them in the meantime?
Guy focused his camera on me and clicked. “This one should be priceless. You can call it, ‘Ever-cheerful tour escort just doing her job.’” He nodded toward the passports. “Do you have mine in there someplace or does the lady with the disappearing eyebrows still have it?”
I sighed. “I have no idea.”
“Not a problem. If you have any trouble sorting them out, mine will be the one with the scary photo. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I might need to take a few shots of this eucalyptus-distilling process. What are the chances Diana will be out there?” He gave me a devilish wink. “One can hope.”
I shook my head as I watched him leave. Men.
Laden with two bags full of Aussie souvenirs, I exited the shop twenty minutes later. The live demonstration had ended, so guests were scattered around the compound, either lined up at the comfort station, where I spied Etienne and Duncan, or taking pictures of each other in front of the rusted machinery. Henry leaned against our bus, nodding to me when I approached. “You’ve done some damage, Imily.”
“It’s what I do best.” Well, one of the things I do best.
When his phone started chiming, he apologized and picked up. “This is Hinry.”
Since Emily Post had written her book of etiquette before cell phones were invented, I found myself in a gray area, unsure what would be more rude—eavesdropping on his conversation or climbing aboard the bus.
“Drug overdose? Bloody hill.”
That clinched it. I was eavesdropping.
“Could your mum have mistakenly gotten into something she shouldn’t have? Did she have any midications with her that she didn’t list on her midical form?”
Oh, my God. He was talking to Heath.
“All right. Lit me known as soon as you hear.” He rang off, looking at me, stunned. “That was Heath. Preliminary postmortem tists on his mum indicate she might have died from a drug overdose.”
“Did he say what kind of drug?”
“The lab people have to run more tists before they can determine that, but here’s the tricky part. Nora wasn’t taking drugs. As odd as her behavior was, she wasn’t being treated for any kind of mintal illness or condition. Heath said she didn’t even take aspirin.”
“So, in all probability, the drug was given to her by someone else?”
Henry nodded in slow motion. “Bloody hill. Someone murdered the old girl.”
I knew it! I