The Killer of Oz

by Chelsea Field

  It was a lot of words for Connor to spill at once. This was important to him. So I clamped down my instinctive flippant response and put my other hand over his. “Thank you.”

  His upright posture didn’t slacken in the slightest, but tension drained out of him all the same.

  I figured that meant I could be flippant now.

  “But if you think that’s going to get you out of coming along to chaperone my mother tonight, you’re going to be very disappointed.”

  He smirked. “With Etta, a goat, and a bunch of drunk Australian citizens? I wouldn’t miss it.”

  And with Connor putting on a brave face beside me, I realized I wouldn’t either.

  By the time we arrived at our hotel, I’d picked most of the twigs and leaves out of my hair, and the radio announcer was declaring to the world that the person found eaten by a crocodile had been identified as Amy Cooley, a twenty-eight-year-old woman who’d lived in Kullaroy. It was believed she’d attempted to drive through a flooded river crossing and been swept away. The coroner had confirmed the cause of death as drowning, and while the investigation was ongoing, so far the police had uncovered nothing to suggest foul play in the tragic death.

  Connor and I didn’t agree. But then if we hadn’t come from a world where every substance-related death was suspect, we might have reached the same conclusion. That and the attempt to snatch the satchel, the ski-mask-clad strangers searching Amy’s house, and the notebook we’d discovered that suggested she’d been smuggling black market products in her overseas trips. None of which the police were privy to yet. Hmm.

  We picked up Mum, Lily, Etta, and Herbert and began the journey south to Kirk Bauer’s free beachside campsite. Herbert’s diarrhea had cleared up, so he was settled on Mum’s lap with a fresh nappy and looked rather pleased to be coming along on the family outing.

  I was pleased too. After a long day that had begun with facing down an intruder and followed by hours of driving, investigating, bashing through overgrown gardens, and getting up close and personal with a giant python, I was looking forward to spending time among ordinary, everyday people. And a tropical, balmy evening with drinks and an ocean view seemed like an excellent setting to do it in. The only thing more appealing would have been a quiet night in with popcorn, a lighthearted movie, and some… snuggling. But I’d take what I could get.

  Perhaps even Etta would manage to be entertained enough by the novelty of true-blue Australians drinking and telling stories that she’d stay out of trouble. A girl could hope, right?

  I was also hoping that Lily would manage to enjoy herself without the social lubricant of alcohol during the promised campsite “happy hour.” I’d stopped on the way home to grab her a bottle of nonalcoholic sparkling, but her pale face in the back suggested she might have benefited more from a stomach-soothing ginger tea.

  “So come on, Mum,” I coaxed, trying to give Lily something to think about other than her nausea. “Spill. What’s your history with this guy, and why did he invite you to share a romantic sunset overlooking the beach?”

  Mum’s eyes widened. “What? Oh nonsense. He just wanted to catch up with an old friend and show me what life is like as a gray nomad.”

  I shook my head. “Nope. People catch up with old friends—if they do it at all—over coffee. Not a romantic sunset.”

  Lily patted Mum’s knee. “Sorry, I’m with Izzy on this one.”

  To my surprise, Etta came to my mother’s rescue. “Ah, the young know everything, don’t they?” She shot me a wink. “But come now, dear. Do tell us of your history with this gentleman.”

  Poor Mum hadn’t been acquainted with Etta long enough to be suspicious. “There’s not all that much history. He went to my university, but he was studying to become a statistician so there wasn’t a lot of crossover. The only reason he probably remembers me is that he was a bit… odd back then. Rumor had it that he’d been physically abused by his father. And you know how people like to pick on anyone different to them. I was nice to him, so we became friends of sorts.” She looked at me and pursed her lips. “Your father and I started dating around the same time, and he was convinced Kirk was trying to manipulate me. But then your father was also convinced that waking me up in the middle of the night for a drunken serenade was romantic.”

  Etta nodded throughout the explanation as if she was on Mum’s side. Then she turned my way and grinned wickedly. “All right. Let’s place bets on what Kirk really wants.”

  “To rekindle old flames,” I said immediately.

  Mum’s eyes narrowed. “I already told you—”

  “To rub his fancy motorhome in her face so she regrets choosing the wrong man,” Lily volunteered.

  Etta’s wicked grin grew more wicked. “To rub other things in her face.”

  “Etta!” I protested.

  “Fine. Maybe he’s a serial killer planning to chop her up and feed her to his pet snake!”

  That hit a little close to home after my encounter with Frank, but Lily’s giggles and Etta’s enthusiasm drew a chuckle from me anyway.

  Mum let out a long-suffering sigh and caught Connor’s eyes in the rearview mirror. “Are we there yet?”

  12

  Much to Mum’s (and probably Connor’s) relief, we arrived at the campsite soon afterward.

  Kirk strode forward to greet Mum. “I’m so glad you came.” He faltered as more people—and a goat—emerged from the car. “All of you.”

  Etta sidled over and nudged me with her elbow. In case I didn’t catch it myself.

  “Wow, what a beautiful spot,” Mum gushed.

  It was. We were on a small bluff overlooking the ocean. The sun was setting almost out of sight up the coast, but the cloud-strewn sky was a glorious pink, offset by the blue of the lapping waves and reflected back by the water-washed sand.

  Kirk couldn’t have looked prouder if he’d painted it himself.

  He led us to where a group of people sat in a half circle on fold-out camping chairs, enjoying the gorgeous view and the cool breeze coming off the water.

  “Let me introduce you to the fine folk over here. This is Misti and Ray Rooney, originally from Western Australia, and those lovebirds there are Gerrie and Ginger Costello from New South Wales. We have one more member who completes our group, but she’s preparing some snacks at the moment. We take turns providing nibbles each evening.” He offered Mum one of the empty fold-out chairs and pretended to seat her as if it were a fancy restaurant. “I’m telling you, it’s a bonza way to live.”

  Then he looked at the rest of us and realized there weren’t enough chairs. “Um, let me try to rustle up some extra seating. I’ll be right back.”

  Lily and I shuffled awkwardly. Connor stood stock still as if he was immovable and could remain there all night. Etta helped herself to the last unclaimed chair.

  The elderly gentleman Kirk had introduced as Ray Rooney looked us over. He was a large but gaunt man with oversized ears and an undersized chin. “Ah, and what are you all doing here then?”

  His wife—Misti, I think her name was—answered before we could. “Kirk already told us earlier, sweetheart, remember? He invited them to get a feel for how wonderful life is on the road.”

  Mum turned to give me a meaningful look, but I wasn’t about to let her win the bet so easily. Kirk’s true motives remained to be seen.

  Meanwhile, Ray cocked his head at his younger and more attractive wife. “What did you say? I told you to stop mumbling.”

  “KIRK INVITED THEM TO SEE WHAT LIFE IS LIKE ON THE ROAD,” his lovely wife repeated at a much higher volume.

  Ray crossed his arms. “Well of course. I knew that.”

  Misti smiled at us. “Don’t mind him. He’s gone a bit deaf, but he’s in denial.”

  Ray cupped his ear. “What’s that?”

  “I TOLD THEM YOU’RE A FINE CHEF WITH A KILLER SMILE.”

  Everyone smiled. Including Ray.

  He did look a whole lot better when he smiled. It hid his we
ak chin.

  “So where are you from?” he asked.

  “Los Angeles,” Etta volunteered.

  “Heh.” Ray sounded unimpressed and made no effort to follow up. As if that was all there is to say about that.

  Misti broke the awkward silence. “In that case, we’ll have to get a fire going later so you can experience billy tea and damper.”

  “That’s a great idea,” Mum said. “Izzy, Lily, and I are from South Australia, same as Kirk, but it’s been ages since we’ve had damper, so we’ll enjoy it too.”

  I dipped my chin in agreement. “So how long have you been living as gray nomads?”

  Ginger raised one carefully plucked eyebrow. She and her husband were plus-sized in a contented, comfortable-with-themselves kind of way. Their clothing was proof of that. Ginger was decked out in a zebra-striped muumuu and pink fluffy slippers. “Gray?” she asked. “Please. I’m still as blond as the day I was born.”

  “Actually, you were a brunette back then,” Gerrie corrected. He was wearing fluorescent orange Crocs and a matching polo shirt. “I’ve seen your baby pictures.”

  Ginger rolled her eyes. “Not exactly the point here, Gerrie. Gray nomads is a silly label that encourages age discrimination.”

  He ignored her comment, leaning toward us and speaking eagerly. “She was one cute baby. And she was even cuter by the time we met when she was twelve years old—isn’t that right, sausage?”

  Sausage crossed her arms but looked pleased all the same. “Honestly, you haven’t changed a bit. Still distracted from a good cause by any pretty thing that catches your eye.”

  “Not just any pretty thing, Ginger, you know that. You’re the only one that ever caught my eye.”

  “I’m also the only one that ever caught you mooning old Ms. Mueller too.”

  They both giggled. Then Ginger remembered I was there. “Sorry, what was the question?”

  “Um, never mind.”

  Kirk returned with several chairs, just as Misti asked, “So what brings you all to Port Douglas?”

  “Business,” Connor answered at the same time Etta said, “Crocodiles.”

  “That’s right.” Kirk nodded authoritatively. “Connor’s a private investigator.”

  Ginger and Gerrie exchanged glances, and I wondered if we weren’t the only ones passing meaningful looks.

  “Well, strewth, is that so?” Ginger asked. “What are you investigating?”

  “It’s confidential, I’m afraid.”

  Gerrie hauled himself to his feet. “Phooey. We better get some grog into this man so we can hear some real stories.”

  “Snacks first,” a new voice declared behind me. “Lamington, dear?”

  I turned and looked into the eyes of the thief.

  I blinked, once, twice, and felt my certainty fade. Yes, her eyes were the right color and the skin around them the right amount of crinkled, but that was no doubt true of hundreds, or at least dozens, of people around Port Douglas.

  Yet she seemed familiar…

  She was the woman from the photo we’d filched from Amy’s house. In the picture, they were both wearing hiking gear and flushed happy faces. We’d figured it must be the friend Dr. Merlot had mentioned since they were standing in front of a motorhome.

  “Norma?” I blurted.

  It was her turn to blink. “That’s me. Have we met?”

  “Um—”

  I was saved from explaining myself by Ginger coming over and laying a hand on Norma’s elbow. “Oh, sugar, you really didn’t need to provide the snacks tonight. How are you holding up?” Without giving Norma a chance to respond, Ginger took the tray from her. “Here, at least let me pass them out for you.”

  She thrust the tray at me. “A young friend of Norma’s died in the recent floods, but we only had confirmation today. Tragic is what it is. The girl was just twenty-eight. So poor Norma is shook up as you’d imagine. We’re all a bit shook up, to tell you the truth, but Norma knew her best.”

  I took a lamington—partly to buy myself time to come up with a response, and partly to prevent Ginger thrusting the tray any closer and knocking my teeth out.

  Once again, Ginger didn’t wait for an answer. She whipped the tray around, almost smacking my newly acquired lamington out of my hand, and raised her voice. “All right. Somebody better pour Norma a drink. Before you get your mitts on her famous lamingtons, I think we should have a toast in honor of Amy, may she rest in peace.”

  My own lamington was hovering in my mouth where I’d been about to bite down. I lowered it to my lap.

  Drinks were distributed around the now-enlarged half circle; a choice of beer, red, or white. Lily poured herself the nonalcoholic sparkling I’d brought for her. I chose a beer and wondered briefly how Oliver was enjoying our shared apartment to himself. Or his cat to himself for that matter.

  Norma stood solemnly and raised her glass. “To Amy.”

  “To Amy,” everyone chorused. Then, in unorchestrated agreement, we sat in silence for a minute, each person’s thoughts turned inward.

  Ginger resumed passing out the lamingtons, and the spell broke, conversation slowly returning. I made eyes at Connor, and he inclined his head.

  “Ahem.” I cleared my throat. “We, um, didn’t want to interrupt earlier, but we’re actually investigating the circumstances of Amy’s death on behalf of the pharmaceutical company she worked for. We had no idea that you guys knew her.”

  “Oh,” Misti clapped her hands. “That must be why you look familiar. We saw you on the TV.”

  I expected Ray to demand she speak louder, but it seemed he’d fallen asleep during that minute of silence.

  Norma was frowning. “But didn’t the police say her death was an accident?”

  “Yes,” Connor confirmed. “And it may well have been, but we’re not entirely convinced of that yet, and the company hired an independent investigator, so they’ll get an independent assessment.”

  Smooth.

  “Do you mind if we ask you a few questions?” I chimed in. “How did you know Amy?”

  “She and Norma go way back,” Misti said. “The rest of us met her from traveling through here with Norma from time to time.”

  We looked questioningly at Norma.

  All she said was, “Amy and her mother used to live next door to me when Amy was still a teenager.”

  “Norma’s being modest,” Misti interjected. “When Amy was eighteen, her mother—a single parent—was hit by a drunk driver and suffered brain damage. She needed near full-time care. Amy was studying at university when it happened, and Norma volunteered to look after her mother whenever Amy had classes so she could keep pursuing her degree.”

  Norma shrugged. “What else was I supposed to do? That drunk driver had already ruined one life. I couldn’t let him ruin Amy’s too. Poor girl.”

  Misti gave Norma’s shoulder a squeeze and refilled her glass. “That’s our Norma. She’s as kind as they come.”

  Ginger was doing another round with the food tray. “And she makes the finest lamingtons in the land. We can say that with confidence since we’ve been all over.”

  They were good lamingtons. Though why they’d become a culinary Australian icon in the first place was beyond me. Sponge cake dipped in melted chocolate and rolled in desiccated coconut was an okay combination. But I’d choose a good, gooey brownie any day.

  Nevertheless, I took another lamington when it was offered. “Where’s Amy’s mum now?”

  Norma declined a second one. “I’m afraid she passed away within the year.”

  Ouch. I knew from Amy’s file that she didn’t have any siblings and had never learned who her father was. Possibly a good thing if he walked out on his partner and child. But I couldn’t imagine going through life without the dependable safe haven of family—sometimes irritating, inconvenient, or bossy, but always there. Gosh, I was lucky.

  With difficulty, I pulled my thoughts back to the matter at hand. “Did you get to see Amy before—um, on th
is trip?”

  Norma swallowed a mouthful of wine. “Yes, we got in the same evening she was flying out. We’d meant to come earlier, but we were delayed by engine troubles and then a big accident on Bruce Highway, so we only had time for a quick meal at her house before she drove to the airport.”

  No one pointed out she’d never made it to the airport.

  Misti went to pour more wine but only a few drops came out. “Bugger. We’re out of red.”

  Gerrie made a scoffing sound. “As if we’d let that happen. Winnie’s got a whole cupboard full. I’ll be right back.”

  I inhaled sharply around my mouthful of lamington. A few flakes of coconut lodged in my throat, and I coughed, sputtered, choked, and sprayed my half-chewed food into my hand. Very ladylike.

  Ray woke up from his nap.

  Gerrie paused in apparent concern until my face returned to its normal color.

  I closed my fingers over the saliva-sodden lamington bits, wondering if I could convince Herbert to eat them for me. “Sorry, just had some coconut go down the wrong way.” Then, making my tone casual, I asked. “Who’s Winnie?”

  Ginger chuckled and pointed at the Winnebago Gerrie was walking toward. “That’s Winnie.”

  “Oh. Do all your motorhomes and caravans have names?”

  Kirk looked pleased. “Absolutely. Mine’s Liberty. I’ll give you a tour later.”

  Damn. That wasn’t in Amy’s notebook. Maybe the name Winnie was a coincidence after all.

  “Ours is Rusty,” Misti said.

  Or maybe not.

  “Our first ever rig was a rust bucket,” she explained, “and while we’ve gone through three different motorhomes since then, we call them all Rusty in the original one’s honor. May he rest in peace.”

  “Pieces more like,” Ray muttered.

  Norma smiled, though I suspected she’d heard that story approximately five thousand times. “And mine’s the smaller one with the yellow stripe over there.” She pointed. “I call her Truby.”

  13