Which meant that after less than twenty-four hours in Australia, Etta had rubbed shoulders with death and broken the law.
But it could’ve been worse. Even if they hadn’t brought any blackberries back for the rest of us.
Dad, still grinning, gave me a squeeze, and I trailed after the intrepid adventurers to join everyone in the living room. Mum had recovered from the decimation of her garden and was back in sweet hostess mode. “I thought we could have lunch and then go to the Gorge Wildlife Park so Etta and Connor can see some native animals up close. Feed the kangaroos, cuddle the koalas, and that sort of thing.”
I checked the clock. Would we have time before the next flight out?
Dad kissed Mum on the cheek and then gave Lily the same treatment. “That’s a great idea, love. But hold off making plans until I speak with Izzy for a minute, will you?”
“Sure. I’ll start readying lunch.”
I was instantly suspicious. What was Dad up to? Had he and Etta already schemed up more mischief for the afternoon? Mischief he didn’t want to tell Mum about? Or was he taking me aside to warn me of Connor’s dubious qualities?
We ducked into the study, and Dad rubbed his jaw.
“Listen, darling. Don’t tell your mother, but Etta and I have already visited the wildlife park this morning. And we’re not allowed back.”
“What? What did you do?”
“I didn’t do anything. But Etta may have let the camel out.”
I slapped my palm to my forehead.
“So can you come up with some reason why your overseas visitors might want to do something different today? Please?”
I sighed. “Sure, Dad.” I’d never met a tourist who didn’t leap at the chance to hold a koala.
Lucky Connor had already given me the perfect excuse.
Connor and I broke the news that we had to fly to Queensland. Today. Followed by Connor’s offer to take everyone with us.
Etta was quick to clap her hands in delight. “That’s where most of the cool stuff is.”
Cool meant dangerous, naturally.
Mum’s expression was pained. “Goodness, that’s very generous of you, Connor. After being parted from Izzy for over a year, there’s nothing I’d like more than to spend as much time with her as possible.” She rubbed a hand over her face and gave us a watery smile. “But I can’t leave. Who would look after the animals?”
Lily shuffled in her chair. “I could do it.”
“Nonsense. You took days off work to spend with Izzy, and you’ve got plenty on your plate as it is.”
“I’ll do it,” Dad said.
Everyone looked at him dubiously.
“Oh, come on, I’m capable enough. And as much as I want to be with you all, I’m happiest when my girls are happy.”
Mum started to protest.
“Nope. I’m putting my foot down on this. Now you better get packing. I’ll rustle up some takeaway for lunch.”
Mum looked conflicted, a spatula forgotten in her hand. But relief won out. She put the spatula down, walked over, and wrapped her arms around Dad. “You might’ve given Lily the last of my goat nappies and sometimes confuse pregnancy with menopause, but you’re a darn fine husband.”
He beamed. “If only we could convince your sister of that.”
Mum leaned into him. “I’ve never convinced my sister of anything.” They stayed entwined for a moment, heedless of the rest of us in the room. “But, love, are you sure you’ll be all right with all these animals to care for?”
Dad hesitated a beat. “Of course.”
“At least he won’t have to look after the garden,” Etta quipped. She must have noticed Herbert’s renovations on the way in and gotten the goss while Dad had been telling me what she’d been up to.
Mum tensed again, and Connor winced. But true to her ever-kindhearted nature, Mum wasn’t thinking about herself. “Oh no. What about Herbert? He’s very attached to me, and I’m not sure he’ll cope with being separated. He’s already lost one mother…”
Dad was unperturbed. “We’ll have to fly him up there with you then.”
“Is that even allowed? I know they take dogs and cats, but goats?”
“Don’t worry, that’s what you’ve got me for.” He eased Mum back so she could see his face and put on his winning salesman expression. “I’ll be able to talk them round.”
Mum hugged him again, and as everyone dispersed to pack, I wasn’t sure which male to feel more sorry for.
Dad, missing out on the trip and being left alone with the animals in his attempt to make the rest of us happy. Or Connor, who would now be flying to Queensland with four women and a goat…
5
Everything’s more dramatic in tropical Queensland. The grass is quite literally greener, the Aussie accents thicker, the wildlife more dangerous, the mangoes sweeter, and the humidity is muggier than an athlete’s armpit.
Yet despite boasting of being home to half a dozen of the world’s most venomous snakes, multiple species of lethal jellyfish and spiders, and not forgetting their fierce man-eating crocodiles and sharks, the most recent report from the NCIS (National Coronial Information System) showed Queenslanders had less chance of an animal-related death per capita than the supposedly sleepy state of South Australia.
That’s less surprising when you consider the humble kangaroo causes more deaths than snakes, crocodiles, or sharks. Mostly by car collision, but there are a few mysterious kangaroo-related deaths the NCIS chalked up as “unknown mechanism of injury” that seem suspicious, if you ask me.
But before we could risk death by kangaroo, we had to deal with a certain goat…
Smuggling a goat into a posh hotel was not my idea of a good time. I wasn’t a rule breaker by nature.
Luckily my companions had no such compunctions and a great many more ideas.
We parked the rental SUV (which we’d already had to smuggle the goat into) a block away and erected the pram Mum and Etta had bought for our nefarious purpose.
Lily had refused to go into the shop of preloved baby supplies. She mustn’t have had the strength to face the formidable mass of outlandish paraphernalia after Dad’s thoughtful gift basket.
The pram was a sturdy-looking thing with all-terrain wheels, and Mum had found a baby blanket (covered in cute and colorful baby animals, including goats) to hang over the top.
She placed Herbert in the pram and laid the blanket over top. We experimented with walking down the street a short way.
It wasn’t a bad plan, but there were two problems.
One, Herbert wanted to keep Mum in sight and would call out in a most decidedly nonhuman cry when she disappeared behind the blanket.
Two, Herbert, after decimating Mum’s garden and enduring the stress of flying, had the runs. The odor was more apparent in the humid air of Port Douglas and had a way of detracting from the tropical holiday vibe. Then again, perhaps Herbert’s smell might be helpful for discouraging anyone from getting too close.
We’d stopped in front of someone’s garden while chewing over our dilemma, and the brightly colored flowers gave me an idea. It wasn’t an idea that was likely to help Herbert’s tummy problems, but it would distract him for the few minutes we needed to sneak him past the hotel’s front desk.
I looked around furtively and snatched a handful of flowers, put them in the pram, and tucked both stolen shrubbery and Herbert out of sight again. This time he stayed quiet when the blanket blocked his view.
“Good thinking,” Mum said.
And now I was officially an accomplice.
Etta stole additional branches from half a dozen bushes, then nodded. “All right. We’re good to go. Izzy, Connor, or Lily, one of you should push the pram since you’re the ones young enough to have a child this age.”
Connor folded his arms. “I’ll be checking us in.”
Hard to object to that when it was his credit card we’d be using.
Not wanting to play any bigger role in our goat-smu
ggling operation than I already had, I eyed Lily. “Maybe you could use the practice?”
She shot me a dirty look.
I blew a tendril of damp, frizzy hair off my face and sighed. “Or I could do it.”
We marched toward the hotel, pushing the pram, dragging suitcases, and attempting to appear normal. Connor stepped closer to me. “I booked us a suite on the top floor, but should we get a ground floor suite instead? For um, the baby?”
“No. Remember what the baby did to Mum’s garden?”
Connor’s shoulders dropped a fraction. “I was trying to forget.”
We entered the lobby, and I angled away from him as he approached the front desk, steering the pram over to a more secluded seating area.
Mum, Etta, and Lily came with me. A mistake, I realized, when a young man pushed a luggage trolley over to us to take their suitcases. Thankfully, Herbert stayed silent. Well, except for the soft chewing noises.
The man worked fast. Was he holding his breath? Figuring he must’ve gotten a whiff of the smell emanating from the pram, I thanked him brightly. He gave me a tight nod and fled for the front desk.
Okay, that was one hurdle cleared.
But how much longer was this check-in process going to take? Had we given Herbert enough tasty distractions?
The clerk behind the desk demonstrated none of the haste the luggage person had. “There’s covered parking available at the rear of the hotel,” he was explaining helpfully. “Just display this pass on your windshield so our staff knows you’re a guest here.” He handed something to Connor, looking over at us as he did so. “Your suite is ready for you. But, hmm, there are no notes here about you having a child. Will you be needing a cot set up in the room?”
I peeked under the baby blanket. Herbert had eaten almost everything we’d given him.
“No,” Connor said. “We’ve got it covered, thank you.”
The clerk eyed our stack of small suitcases dubiously—we’d only brought carry-on luggage, not expecting to stay long.
Hurry up, I urged Connor. My sweat had dried in the air-conditioned lobby, but I was starting to feel damp again.
Connor cleared his throat. “It’s amazing how compact and collapsible they make travel baby gear these days.”
The clerk took his time replying, fingers now flying across the keyboard. “Right, I’m sure. You’ll find information on our childcare and other services in your rooms. Just take the elevator to the top floor and turn left.” He stopped typing for a moment. “Have a wonderful stay.”
Connor rejoined us at last, and we rushed into a waiting elevator. I was breathing a sigh of relief when a middle-aged woman wearing a camera, a bathing suit, and a towel that unfortunately did not disguise the fact her bather bottoms were riding up in a frontal wedgie, darted in behind us.
Damn.
We had not given Herbert sufficient stolen shrubbery for this.
The doors closed, sealing us in with Herbert’s unique aroma. I surreptitiously shuffled Mum into a useful position and lifted the blanket just enough so Herbert could see her. If he cried out now, our ploy was over.
I prepared myself to cough and splutter noisily if necessary.
Despite the stench permeating the small space, the new arrival stared indulgently at the pram. “A baby, how wonderful. Can I have a peek?”
“No!” I said.
The woman’s tender, doting expression shifted to one of shock.
“I mean, sorry. It’s the first time he’s slept in what feels like days, and I’m dying to get upstairs and have a nap myself.”
The woman swung her short bleached hair in understanding. “Oh sure. Maybe I’ll get to see him later.”
I gave her a weak smile. “Right. Later.”
The elevator dinged, the lady got out, and we made it at last to our hotel suite.
The interior design was done in an expensive-but-plain-vanilla flavor, wholly neutral so as not to offend any palate. But with large windows and a balcony overlooking the ocean, it didn’t need livening up. More importantly, Connor had managed to wrangle us a family suite with four separate bedrooms and a shared, central living area.
Mum lifted Herbert out of his pram, and he did a leaping, bouncing, head-tossing victory dance over the woven rug. As if the triumph of our successful smuggling belonged to him alone.
I just hoped that nappy would contain everything it needed to contain.
Our luggage had beaten us to the suite, so I grabbed my suitcase and wheeled it into one of the bedrooms. Connor followed.
“Are you sure you don’t want to stay here with your family?” he asked.
“No. I’m coming with you.” My tone was firm.
He didn’t ask again.
We rejoined the others in the living area. “All right,” I said. “Sorry to leave so soon, but we need to go and investigate this case.”
Lily had changed into her bathers. “No worries, I’m going to head down for a swim. And I guess have mocktails at the pool bar.”
That didn’t surprise me. She’d been to Port Douglas a few times before and had told me she was looking forward to chilling out at the hotel and clearing her mind far away from the mundane details of home.
Mum had put the kettle on and was feeding Herbert a bottle of milk. “Fine by me too. I was just going to relax here with Herbert for a while, give him a bottle and a bath, and once he’s settled, I’ll be in heaven with a book, a beautiful view, and nothing else to do.”
That didn’t surprise me either. Mum was easy to please.
What did surprise me was Etta’s response. I’d been expecting her to try to butt in on the investigation, but she waved us out the door. “I knew you’d be busy, so I made my own plans for the afternoon. Perhaps we can reconvene for a late dinner?”
“Sounds great,” I said. But unease seeped over me. If Etta wasn’t trying to barge her way onto our case, reason followed that her own plans must be more exciting than a missing-person investigation.
And in my experience? Anything that excited Etta wasn’t good.
Somewhere between the Taste Society’s secret facility in Kullaroy and the Boeing 737 Amy Cooley was supposed to get on at Port Douglas airport1, something had gone wrong.
Since we were already in Port Douglas, we started at the airport. She’d never gotten on the plane, but had she made it this far?
While Connor drove, I flicked through Amy’s file again. There were two photos of her. One was a passport-style headshot. Her brown hair was pulled back, showing a lean, open face that was both tanned and freckled. Not pretty in a conventional sense, but appealing in its honesty. Her expression was solemn, as stipulated by the Australian Passport Office, dark brown eyes looking straight into the camera.
The second photo was a more candid shot. She was dressed in a T-shirt and jeans, holding aloft a big black snake and grinning from ear to ear. With her casual clothes and unaffected grin, she looked like someone I could be friends with.
Provided she put down the snake first.
Amy was single, a year younger than me, and had been working for the Taste Society for three years. But she was one of the many Taste Society employees who were unaware of the organization they truly worked for. Instead, she believed herself to be employed by a multinational pharmaceutical company.
The file noted she’d applied for and been granted a year’s leave of absence beginning in three months’ time—to volunteer for a charity organization working to save endangered Sumatran tigers in Indonesia. Her employment record was spotless, not a single sick day, complaint, or mark against her name, and her criminal record was equally blemish-free. Given all that, she didn’t fit the profile of someone who might run off with her employer’s costly proprietary medicines to start a new life somewhere.
So where was she?
We drove back and forth through the airport’s long-term parking area, searching for her silver Mazda 3 sedan to no avail. Amy hadn’t made it to the airport. Not in her own car anyway.
<
br /> Our next step was to retrace the most probable route she would’ve taken—albeit in the opposite direction.
We drove out of Port Douglas and almost immediately hit rural, sparsely populated land of staggering beauty. Everything was green and lush. Fields of sugarcane were interspersed with small patches of wild tropical growth, and beyond both lay mountainous swaths of national parks.
The day was hot and humid with a sky so blue it was hard to believe it had emptied over four inches of water in just six hours several days prior when Amy was supposed to fly out. Hard to believe a sky could fling down that amount of rain that fast at all. I hadn’t experienced it myself, but secondhand knowledge said it was like a having a bathtub of water dumped over your head. Except the water kept coming.
Windshield wipers were ineffective. Vision was reduced to a blurry smear of color and shapes. It was very plausible that Amy had crashed in those conditions.
That said, on most asphalted roads on the planet, a crashed car wouldn’t go near forty-eight hours without being spotted by another traveler. But this road saw little traffic, and Tuesday’s flooding meant passersby were even more scarce than usual. There was also the possibility Amy’s car had careened so far off the road that it was no longer visible.
We drove slowly, scanning for skid marks on the asphalt or disturbed soil or foliage on the roadside. Never mind that evidence like that may well have washed away in the torrential rain. Whenever we spotted suspicious-looking marks, we got out and investigated the stretch. But we found nothing. Unless you count three hubcaps, a blue-tongue lizard, or a pair of leopard-print panties. At least we didn’t find another orphaned animal we’d have to smuggle into the hotel.
It was oddly tiring work trying to pay strict attention to each foot of road and roadside we passed, and I was pleased I was there to lend Connor a second pair of eyes. Adding to my weariness was a nagging sense of futility. How likely were we to find her this way?
I should’ve brought gumboots. My sneakers were soaked right through to my socks from the wet grass and foliage we’d trudged through, and the parts of me that weren’t wet from that were damp with sweat from the heat and humidity. The car’s air conditioner offered relief from the latter, but cold wet feet weren’t a great deal better than hot wet ones.
The Killer of Oz Page 4