G'Day to Die: A Passport to Peril Mystery - By Maddy Hunter Page 0,83

quite the splash here in South Australia.”

Guy said he liked splash, but I imagined this wasn’t the kind he had in mind.

“These are yours.” Bernice shoved a couple of photos at Nana.

“My Polaroids! I thought they was gone forever. Well, I’ll be. I knew if I kept prayin’ to St. Anthony, they’d show up. Where’d you find ’em?”

“I didn’t find them exactly; I borrowed them.”

“See, dear?” Nana held them up to me. “This one’s a little anthill that was right off the parking lot, and this here’s one a the ants. Never seen an ant what looked like that before. See how the body’s almost transparent?” She snapped her gaze back to Bernice. “What do you mean, ‘borrowed?’”

“That photographer was making such a fuss over your pictures, I thought I’d borrow a couple. I figured I’d study what you did right so I could get the same effect in my pictures and maybe land me a job like you were being offered. I knew you wouldn’t mind. In fact, I thought you’d be flattered.”

“You stole Nana’s photos?” I accused.

Bernice rolled her eyes. “You are such an alarmist. I told you. I borrowed them, and now I’m giving them back. Damned if I could figure out what was so special about them. Dirt. Rocks. Ants. You know what I think? I think your fancy-schmancy photographer was full of crap.”

I looked from Bernice to Nana, suddenly enlightened. “So if Bernice took two of your pictures—”

“—Claire probably took the other one,” said Nana.

“And if she was the only person to recognize the angiosperms when the photos were being passed around—” said Tilly.

“Then no one would have any reason for wanting to kill her!” I exclaimed.

Bernice squinted at the three of us. “You people are Looney Tunes.”

When the desk phone rang, I scooted down the hall and picked up in the bedroom.

“Imily? This is Peter Blunt in Warrnambool. I apologize for taking so long to answer your call, but we’ve been swamped. If you were calling about Ms. Bellows’s autopsy, I have the results.”

“Let me guess. It wasn’t foul play, right? We just figured it out, and I have to tell you, I’m so relieved. You wouldn’t believe what we’ve been through, trying to piece together why anyone would want to kill her.”

A pause. “Didn’t I mintion there was no evidence of foul play at the scene?”

“You mentioned it, but were you a hundred percent sure? You seemed a little iffy to me.”

“I wasn’t being iffy. I was flirting with you.”

“Oh.”

“Claire Bellows died as a result of deep vein thrombosis. Have you heard of it?”

“I’ve heard the term, but I’m not sure I know what it is.”

“It’s a blood clot in a deep vein in the leg. In Claire’s case it formed above the knee, then broke off and traveled to her lungs. It can happen to folks during long-distance travel, especially if they don’t exercise their legs or stay hydrated. We’re will aware of the problem here since there are no short flights from Australia to anywhere ilse in the world, so we’re always preaching comprission stockings.”

“Excuse me?”

“Graduated comprission socks. They’re tighter at the foot than the calf, which hilps with circulation. Just about every store sills them. They’re a bit pricey, but we ricommind them to anyone who boards a plane, especially people over forty who are carrying a bit of weight.”

“But Claire wasn’t over forty!”

“Goes to show you. You just never know.”

I hung up the phone, overwhelmed by a sense of dread.

“Problems?” asked Duncan, stepping into the bedroom and closing the door behind him.

“You bet.”

“Anything I can help with?”

“Can you persuade eleven money-conscious Iowans to spring for compression stockings?”

He grinned. “You’re on your own with that one. I couldn’t convince your two Dicks to fork out five cents for toothpicks at the café yesterday.” He kissed my hand and sat me on the bed. “You have a good group, Em. I’m going to miss them.”

“I’m sorry?”

He tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. “I told you in Italy that Lazarus men have a reputation to uphold. We pursue relentlessly until we get the girl. Remember? But we’re not entirely stupid. Some of us can actually tell when it’s time to throw in the towel.”

I felt a little hitch in my throat. “You’re giving up?”

“Not because I don’t love you, Em, because I still do. There’s a part of me that’ll always love you. But I know the way you look at Miceli, and I know the way you look at