G'Day to Die: A Passport to Peril Mystery - By Maddy Hunter Page 0,81

down with two hands. I batted the water. Struggled to hold my breath. Kicked helplessly while seawater stung my eyes. I screamed in my throat, but I knew it was a sound no one would ever hear. Panic overwhelmed me. Pain seared my chest. Images flashed through my mind. Beloved faces. Welcoming arms. And the one face I loved more than all the rest, but would never see again. We’d wasted so much time! If only I could do it over again. If only we’d—

My lungs burst like a popped balloon, causing my breath to escape in a riot of bubbles. I clawed at the seabed as water poured into every orifice, scalding my throat, filling my nos—

Fresh air hit me in the face as I was hauled to the surface amid fevered shouts and cries. Chaos surrounded me. Splashing. Thrashing. Kicking. Punching.

“You’ve got it all wrong!” Guy bellowed at Etienne and Duncan. “I was trying to save her!”

Etienne drove his fist into Guy’s face with a crunch of bone and cartilage. Duncan followed up with a blow to the midsection that sent him backflopping like a beached flounder. Etienne seized his shirt-front, spat something in Italian, and tossed him back at Duncan. “You got him?”

“I got him.”

I paddled and splashed my way into Etienne’s arms.

“Are you all right, bella?”

I burrowed against him, wheezing and gasping, my legs wobbly beneath me. “I thought I’d never see you again,” I sobbed.

He kissed the top of my head, calming me with his quiet touch. “Emily, Emily. Heath called with the results of Nora’s autopsy. She died from an insulin overdose, and according to Henry’s medical forms, only one person on the tour is taking insulin.”

“Guy Madelyn.” I watched Duncan strong-arming him toward shore.

“But he was nowhere in sight. Henry suggested he might have hiked over to this beach, which is where you were heading, so that’s when all hell broke loose. I’m probably only a half-step ahead of your grandmother and her crew.” He hugged me tighter. “Let’s get you to shore. You’re shivering.”

As we splashed through the surf toward dry land, I noticed that the deserted beach was deserted no longer. People were popping out of the tunnel with their cameras already clicking. Nana, Tilly, Alice, Osmond, and Margi rushed forward, hovering over me as I sank onto the hot sand.

“We was so worried about you,” Nana fretted.

“Everyone dropped their crayfish to come rescue you,” said Tilly.

Margi nodded breathlessly. “We would have got here sooner, but it’s pretty slow-going through the tunnel, especially with certain people hogging the passing lane.”

“Someone needs to go back to tell Henry to call the local police,” I rasped, my throat still stinging and my nose burning all the way to my brain.

“We’re on it,” said Nana, grabbing Tilly and taking off like a shot.

“You fellas really knocked the stuffing out of old Guy,” said Osmond, looking farther down the beach. “Would you look at the size of his bottom lip? Woohee.” His camcorder chimed as he powered it up. “This is going to be so good. Real blood!”

“Does he need a nurse?” asked Margi, chasing down the beach after him.

“Maybe I can get a group shot,” said Alice. “Any chance we can locate a shark for local color?”

Etienne went down on one knee, cupping my face in his hands and smiling gently. “Are all you Americans this resilient?”

“Not all.” My eyes filled with tears as I smiled back. “It helps to be from Iowa.”

“It’s gonna be a while before we can get to Henry!” Nana yelled from the direction of the tunnel. “It’s on account a the Dicks. They’re stuck!”

Chapter 18

After breakfast the next morning we were scheduled to drive southeast for a morning of shopping in the German settlement of Hahndorf, but in light of the harrowing day we’d spent on Kangaroo Island, Henry canceled the tour and gave us a free day in Adelaide to get our feet under us again. He suggested the real diehards in the group could entertain themselves by hopping the Glenelg tram to the seashore or visiting the East End Market, but if we wanted something more relaxing, he recommended the rooftop pool and a pitcher of maragaritas. Nana was so relieved I hadn’t drowned, she announced an open house and prepool appetizers in our suite, so by ten o’clock, our living room was crawling with people eating smoked salmon on mini bagels and knocking back fresh-squeezed orange juice.

“This fresh-squeezed is a pain,” griped Bernice. “I’ll be spittin’