underbrush,” argued Dick Teig, his gaze riveted on the floor in an obvious search for killer insects with dinner plans.
“None of us would have signed up for this trip if Emily had told us how dangerous this place was,” complained Bernice. “It’s all her fault. No one wants to be insect bait for the next two weeks. I say we go home. And we better get refunds!”
“Show of hands for how many people want to go home,” asked Osmond.
“EEE-YAH!” yelled Dick Teig, stomping his foot on the floor so hard, the windows rattled. “Die, you cussed bug.”
Dick Stolee sidled up to him. “What’d you kill?”
Dick lifted his sandal. “Dust bunny.”
Dick Stolee nodded. “Looks like a poison one.”
Section two, subparagraph three of my official Escort’s Manual states that the savvy tour escort “will do everything in her power to place her guests’ minds at ease so they can fully enjoy every moment of their tour experience.” Unfortunately, subparagraph three offered no suggestions about how to do that, so I was going to have to ad lib my butt off.
“Listen to me, everyone: the only thing you’re in mortal danger of is missing the bus. We’re not walking on a beach, so you can’t be attacked by seashells. We’re not wading in the ocean, so you can’t be stung by rocks. We’re not visiting the Great Barrier Reef, so you can’t be devoured by crocodiles. We’re not exploring the rain forest, so you can’t be ripped open by birds.”
Alice Tjarks shot her hand into the air. “Excuse me, Emily, but what’s left to see if you’re not taking us to visit any of the exciting touristy stuff?”
“Yeah,” sniped Helen Teig. “We expect to get our money’s worth!”
“We didn’t fly all the way over here to do everything on the cheap!” Dick Stolee protested.
Gee, that worked well. “You will get your money’s worth. It’s a big country. There’s plenty left to see. But you won’t see any of it unless you get on the bus.”
Foot shuffling. Sighs. Indecisive looks. “What about snakes?” Margi called out.
“You only have to walk a short distance to the bus, and it’s on pavement, so just watch where you’re going. Australian snakes prefer to slither in the grass anyway.” At least, I hoped they did.
“Does anyone have a weapon in case Emily is feeding us a line of bull?” asked Dick Stolee.
“Tilly has one,” Bernice piped up. “Let her go in front. If she sees a snake, she can beat the crap out of it with her cane while the rest of us hightail it to the bus.”
Nods. Smiles. Grunts of approval. In the next half second Tilly got body-passed from the back to the front, and everyone bunched up in line behind her.
“Are you okay with this setup, Tilly?” I asked skeptically.
She stood pencil straight in her madras skirt and visor, looking stern and professorial. “I’ve faced giant dung beetles in Africa and black flies in Maine. I should be able to handle this.” She rapped her walking stick on the floor. “Come along, people! Look lively, or you’ll be using your opposable thumbs to get back to Melbourne.”
They scuffed across the floor in a solid clump, as if they’d been Super-Glued. “Hey, we still have a vote pending about whether we’re going home. Can I see a show of hands?” Osmond yelled, as they squeezed through the door.
I whipped out my camera and got off a shot, grinning, as they shuffled across the pavement in caterpillar formation. I could see the caption under the photo in my travel newsletter: TOGETHERNESS, AUSTRALIAN STYLE. I snapped another for good measure, suddenly reminded of what Peter Blunt had said.
He’d implied that tourists use up all their film shooting pictures of the Shipwreck Coast. But Claire told me she always cut off the heads of her subjects, so she didn’t even own a camera. So if she hadn’t gone back out into the heat to take pictures, why had she gone out?
Chapter 3
I took an instant liking to Melbourne with its grandiose Victorian buildings, modern high-rises, and colorful electric trams. Back in the 1850s some guy with a lot of vision drew a blueprint for the city, so streets are laid out in an orderly grid that has “Iowa Highway System” written all over it. Even people without maps can’t get lost.
Unlike Iowa, however, Melbourne leans toward the eclectic. For instance, our hotel was located on a quiet side street around the corner from an imposing stone government building, a