G'Day to Die: A Passport to Peril Mystery - By Maddy Hunter Page 0,8

Em,” Duncan interrupted, “is that a bug on your foot?”

“BUG?” I shot out of Etienne’s arms. “Where? Which foot?” I thrashed around and swatted blindly, pausing after a few panicky moments to look down. “Is it gone?”

Duncan gave me a serious once-over. “Yup. Looks like you got it.” He braced an elbow on Etienne’s shoulder. “What do you say, Miceli? Time to climb aboard?” He gave me a flirtatious wink, the twinkle in his eye making me wonder if there’d been a bug there in the first place. I looked suspiciously from one to the other. Fast friends, were they?

I fixed Etienne with a questioning look. “I’m surprised you didn’t flash your credentials at the coroner so you could get in on the investigation.”

A moment’s uncertainty flickered in his eyes before he remembered to smile. “They seemed to have things well in hand. No sense making a nuisance of myself.”

But he always wanted to be in on the action. What was up with that?

“Twinty-nine, thirty, thirty-one,” said Henry as he included the three of us in his head count. “That leaves eleven gists missing.” He glanced around the parking lot. “Always a few stragglers who muck up the works.”

I imagined it was only coincidence that my Iowa contingent had exactly eleven members, but they couldn’t possibly be the culprits. Without exception they were always first for everything—to arrive at breakfast, to be out the door, to board the bus so they could claim the good seats by the restroom. They might be old, but in any given footrace, they always smoked the competition.

I scanned the windows at the rear of the bus to do a quick head count, aghast when I saw there were no heads, only rows of empty seats.

EH! They were the culprits! Oh, my God. Where were they?

I gave Henry’s arm a frantic tug. “It’s my group that’s missing. This is so unlike them. They’re never late. Ever. Something terrible must have happened to them.”

He unholstered his cell phone. “No worries. I’ll call emergency services again if you like.”

Etienne grabbed my wrist and aimed me toward the visitor’s center, motioning with his hand. “Is that one of your group in the window?”

I strained to see what he was pointing at. It was fluorescent pink and filled the entire window, which meant it had to be Lucille Rassmuson. Oh, thank God. “Hold off on the phone call,” I instructed Henry. “I see them. I’ll be right back.”

I rushed into the visitor’s center to find all eleven of them cowering by the window, bunched up like grapes. “Are you guys okay? Is someone hurt? What are you doing in here? The bus is about to leave!” And then I said something to them that no other person in the annals of history has ever said to a group of Iowans. “You’re late. Do you hear me? L-A-T-E. Late!”

They stared back at me like zombies. Good Lord, what was wrong with them? “Guys?”

“Did you know that of the ten deadliest snakes in the world, all ten are Australian?” said Dick Teig in a strained whisper.

“And there’s a seashell here that can kill you if the creature inside chomps down on you?” said Grace Stolee.

“And there’s a rock with thorny spikes that can pierce shoe leather and shoot you full of enough toxin to turn your innards to creme brulée?” added Dick Stolee.

“It’s not a rock,” said Bernice. “It’s a fish that looks like a rock.”

“Oh, yeah?” Dick sputtered. “Well, I think you look like a rock.”

“And there’s a saltwater crocodile that can leap twenty feet out of the water and eat you in one ferocious bite,” fretted Lucille, though in her case, it might be two.

“And there’s a big bird in the rain forest that can split you open with one swipe of its claw,” Osmond croaked. “It’s like a can opener with wings.”

Since no one was waving around The Big Golden Book of Reptiles, Insects, and Marine Life that Can Kill You in Australia, I figured all this sudden knowledge had originated in one place.

Nana regarded me anxiously. “Emily, dear, did you know there’s more things that can kill you in Australia than anywhere else on earth? That fella what looks like the crocodile hunter was nice enough to give us the scoop.”

Note to self: Kill Jake Silverthorn.

“Okay, gang,” I said in the most soothing voice I could muster. “I think you might be overreacting a teensy bit.”

“Tell that to the girl who keeled over out there in the