All the nomads were in decent financial positions with high credit ratings and minimum to no debt. All of them had clean records beyond the occasional speeding ticket and parking fine. Except for Gerrie who, as a minor, had been found in possession of cannabis in sufficient quantity that authorities believed he’d been dealing it at school. He’d been squeaky clean since then though—or at least, never caught again. And that was over forty years ago now.
So none of them should’ve been desperate for money, nor did they seem to be old hands at criminal activity. Which begged the question: why were they risking spending their golden years in prison for some extra cash? And what the heck were they smuggling?
Connor was one step ahead of me on that front. Actually, this morning he was one step ahead of me on every front. He’d woken me with a fresh espresso in a takeout cup, and by the time my bleary vision had cleared enough to read the clock, the espresso was finished. Too late to stick my head under the covers and return to sleep.
He gave me a summary of the background check results while I pulled on clothes and stabbed myself in the eye with my mascara wand. That done, he lured me out of the hotel with the promise of breakfast and more coffee.
“I’ve arranged for us to talk to an expert in smuggling in Australia. The more we know, the more we might be able to extract from our Daintree day trip.”
“Is that why you woke me at this ungodly hour?” I grumbled as I climbed into the car. The sun hadn’t been out of bed much longer than I had.
And okay, maybe I should’ve had one less drink last night.
A second espresso, a bowl of Bircher muesli and yogurt, and a side of tropical fruit far sweeter than the South Australian or Californian variety did wonders for my metamorphosis into something approaching human. By the time we’d made the hour trip south to meet our smuggling expert in Cairns, I could smile without grimacing and speak in complete sentences.
Our smuggling expert, Tracey Halvorson, lived in a neat, compact townhouse which backed onto a reserve. We’d agreed to meet her there given she was being kind enough to speak to us on a Sunday morning.
We were greeted at the door by an enthusiastic yellow Labrador. Tracey introduced her as Peanut, and the pair of them led us into the home office. The desk and chairs were basic, but the view into the backyard and the park beyond was a lovely one.
We sat down, and Connor jumped straight to the point. “Thank you for agreeing to meet with us, Ms. Halvorson—”
“Please, call me Tracey.”
“Ah, all right. Thanks. We’re not at liberty to discuss specifics, but we suspect a group of gray nomads is involved in smuggling something out of the country through the airports. From what we can tell, they’ve been sending shipments of whatever it is every few months and receiving amounts ranging from about fifty thousand to two hundred thousand in return.”
“Interesting. Do you know which countries the shipments have been going to?”
“North America as well as multiple countries in Asia and Europe.”
Tracey rubbed Peanut’s belly with her foot thoughtfully. “Hmm. Well, as you’d expect, the list of items people dream up to smuggle is a very long one, but the top three black market trades worldwide are drugs, arms, and wildlife. Arms aren’t big in Australia, especially for export, so that narrows it down to drugs and wildlife. Or otherwise something much more niche like stolen high-value collectibles of some sort. Drugs are more often imported than exported in Australia, but it can go the other way.”
Peanut wriggled upside down on the carpet in ecstasy from her belly rub. It was an effective endorsement technique. I was aching to join her down there and rub her belly myself.
“If these nomads have clean records, we’ll consider them separate from cartels and large crime syndicates,” Tracey mused. “Average people tend to be risk averse—which suggests wildlife smuggling because it has much lighter penalties than drugs. But average people are known to smuggle drugs too, especially if they’re desperate or duped. Take that nun from Ohio who was caught smuggling cocaine into Australia in a pair of high heels, for example. The investigation showed she’d fallen on hard times and was a victim of a catfishing scam—she’d been groomed and duped into transporting the drugs by her supposed online lover. But a group operation like you’re suggesting makes that kind of thing less probable.”
Tracey shifted her hands in a helpless gesture. “I’m afraid it’s very difficult to pin down with so little information.”
Connor nodded. “We understand. Your insight on the smuggling scene over here in general is helpful. I was also hoping you might suggest what kind of information we should focus on to narrow down the options further.”
I caved and joined Peanut on the floor. Dignity be damned. I could listen just as well from down here.
Tracey smiled at me while she gathered her thoughts. “All right. With wildlife or niche black market items, I’d look for areas of expertise. Both require at least some special knowledge. Illicit wildlife operations are often run with multiple collectors who are hired by someone higher up that handles the sales and overseas smuggling part—so having a group of nomads working together could make sense for the collection side of things. Their travels around Australia would be useful for that too since rarer species found in specific regions often fetch a premium. Plus things like birds eggs have to be collected seasonally. Western Australia is a particular hot spot, so I’d see how often they’re over there, I suppose.”
Peanut licked my hand to better attract my attention. The information was interesting, but even if we narrowed down our options and made our best guess, I wasn’t sure how it would lead to a smuggling conviction, let alone a murder charge.
Tracey’s shoe swung in the air as if it was still rubbing Peanut’s belly. “Moving around and having multiple people could also work well for an operation where they scout out and steal niche high-value items to sell untraced overseas.”
Fabulous. Who knew the gray nomad lifestyle offered so many advantages for a life of crime?
“But I’m not sure what signs to look for around that, beyond expertise in the value of precious things.” She grinned. “Or if you find yourselves robbed.”
My mind flashed to the blue eyes staring at me through the black balaclava. The nomads had shown a propensity or at least a willingness for theft. But they hadn’t been very good at it. Hmm.
Tracey was unaware that she’d struck a chord. “If they’re smuggling hard drugs, and they’re not doing it under duress, you’d generally see a history with some criminal involvement, a bad upbringing, or a tough and rough kind of vibe. Unlike the smuggling of niche products or wildlife, everyone knows drugs destroy lives, and penalties are harsh because of it. The reverse is why bird and animal smuggling has become such a huge industry. Criminals have been drawn to it by the light penalties and big profits. Most prosecutions in Australia have only resulted in a small fine. Though wildlife advocates are calling for tougher penalties to make it less attractive now.”
All this talk of smuggling animals made me wonder if I should be feeling more guilty about smuggling Herbert into the hotel. At least I hadn’t done it for the money.
I rubbed Peanut more vigorously to assuage my guilt. Her tongue flopped out one side of her happy, open mouth. Her legs were still stuck up in the air. And a cloud of fur rose and attached itself to my clothes.
The bottom of Tracey’s black slacks was similarly decorated. She chuckled at Peanut’s expression of bliss. “Peanut here is my failed attempt to draw more attention to the problem of wildlife smuggling, actually. Funding goes where public interest is strongest, so I thought I would raise public interest and get a bunch of media attention by making her the first sniffer dog in existence trained to sniff out wildlife.”
“That sounds like a decent plan to me,” I said. “Why’d it fail?”
Tracey grimaced. “I made the mistake of starting off her nose-work training with peanut butter. She learned to sniff that out quickly, b
ut when I tried to transition to eggshell and reptile skin, she had no interest whatsoever in figuring it out. I mean, she’s great if the lizard has been stashed in a peanut butter jar, but besides that, she’s utterly useless.”
I laughed, and even Connor snorted. Peanut panted happily against Tracey’s leg and swept the floor with her upside-down tail.
“I can’t decide whether she’s the dumbest or smartest dog around since now she gets peanut butter Kongs every day when I go off to work, and she doesn’t have to work at all.”
Peanut pawed my hand which had paused for a moment while I was engrossed in Tracey’s tale. “I don’t know either,” I said, rubbing Peanut’s belly once more. “But we’ll have to send you a thank-you basket of peanut butter.”
“She prefers the crunchy kind,” Tracey informed us.
We returned to the hotel to pick up Mum, Etta, and our requisite gear for the Daintree trip. Lily had volunteered to stay home with Herbert. She’d been to the rainforest a few times before and insisted she’d prefer to spend another day lazing around the pool and our deluxe suite anyway.
As I exchanged my shorts and T-shirt for long-sleeved clothing, smothered myself in sunscreen and high-strength bug spray, and loaded a backpack with lots of drinking water, wet weather gear in case it rained, bug spray for reapplication, and a few snacks to prevent me gnawing on random fruits of the rainforest, I wondered if Lily hadn’t chosen the better option.
I felt like I was gearing up for battle. A rather different one to the celebrity glamor wars of Los Angeles.
But if I was a soldier, I wasn’t a very good one. Connor took the heavy backpack for both of us. I grabbed Amy’s much lighter satchel.
Exiting the bedroom, I found Lily, Mum, and Herbert on the couch. An empty bottle rested on the coffee table, and Lily was tickling Herbert’s distended milk belly as he cuddled on her lap.
Mum was already in her day trip gear and saying a fond goodbye to the pair of them. She hugged Lily, then scratched Herbert under the chin. The fluffy goat plonked his head in her hand and blinked sleepy eyes at her.
Lily smiled. “You’re such an incredible mother.” A flurry of feelings crossed her face. “When did you know you wanted to be a mum? Or that having kids was the right thing for you?”
Mum supported the weight of Herbert’s head in the hand he’d claimed and found a new spot to scratch with the other. “Hmm, about the time Izzy was six months old.”
Lily started, jolting Herbert. “What?”
“Oh yes,” Mum answered casually. “Up until then, I was only planning on mothering baby animals. I wasn’t sure I liked the human kind.”
“Really? I… find that hard to believe.”
So did I. She’d never told me that.
“It’s not so uncommon as you might think. Being a good mother requires a lot more than maternal instincts or an attraction to children.” She eyed Lily appraisingly. “If you’re worried about how you’re feeling, don’t be. Raising a healthy, happy kid takes intention, determination, and creativity, and you’ve got those in spades, girl.”
She kissed Lily and Herbert both, then turned to me. “Are we ready to go?”
Lily still hadn’t said a word by the time we left the hotel suite. I’d kept hold of my tongue too, but I made sure to walk next to Mum on our way to the car.
“You never told me you weren’t sure about having kids.”
“What?” Mum glanced at me. “Oh, yes. Well I always wanted kids.”
“But—”
“It was only after I had you that I realized I might not want any more.” She winked and slung her arm around me. “But it’s what Lily needed to hear, darling. I think she’ll make a fine mother.”
I opened and shut my mouth, mimicking a goldfish. Stunned by the revelation my mum was an excellent liar…
15
We met the nomads at the Daintree ferry. On this side of the river, the land was mostly flat and cleared for sugarcane plantations and other human endeavors. Our immediate vicinity was scattered with parking spaces, meeting places for tour companies, a public toilet, and signs warning people away from becoming crocodile food.
The single ferry served as both connection and protection for the world’s oldest tropical rainforest.
On the other side of that wide and deceptively tranquil river, greenery erupted from every inch of earth, fighting for space and nutrients in a race toward the sky and the mountainous peaks beyond. Clouds skimmed the tops of those peaks, and beneath the wispy white threads, life teemed in a wild and cacophonous riot. This was the last remaining remnant of the wet tropics that had once covered Australia’s continent back when dinosaurs roamed the earth.
My attention was drawn from this majestic sight by Ray and Misti arguing over what to take in their backpack. A packing task they were attending to only now since they’d brought their whole house with them anyhow. I tried not to feel too shortchanged about that luxury and the implications of a sleep-in after my early start.
Misti was holding up a black case the size of a shoebox. “Do we really need your drone today? It gets heavy when we hike.”
“Yes,” Ray said.
Misti acquiesced with a sigh, tucking it in the pack while Ray watched on like a hawk. Then she pushed two green raincoats in after it.
“What are you bringing those for?” Ray protested. “It’s not going to rain today!”
“It is according to the forecast.”
“Yeah well, the forecast is wrong. Put them back. We need the space.”
Misti wiped her face with one hand. “Right, dear. Would you please find the sunscreen for me?”
Behind his turned back, she shoved the raincoats deeper into the backpack, placed a floppy hat on top, and shot me a wink.
I couldn’t help but laugh. Even if she was a smuggler and thief.
The ferry ground to a stop on our side of the river, and we returned to our respective vehicles. Kirk had detached his caravan and had Norma, Gerrie, and Ginger in his 4WD. Ray and Misti climbed into the cab of their motorhome—they would be in charge of refreshments later in the day—and our contingent stuck with Connor’s rental. The ferry crossing was fast and uneventful, and we were soon enveloped by magnificent jungle—the vivid, towering greenery held at bay only by the winding road we drove upon. Despite the warm, humid weather, we rolled our windows down and traveled at a crawl to enjoy the view and chance to spot one of the mysterious and unique creatures that called this wilderness home.
Kirk and co. stopped after a short drive to lead us on our first hike of the day. Connor grabbed our bulging backpack. I grabbed the satchel—a reminder that I wasn’t here today just to play tourist. Darn it.
Without the engine noise, the other sounds—the haunting bird calls, buzzing of insects, and odd rustle of something moving through the dense undergrowth—seemed louder, nearer. We started walking.
Kirk was playing tour guide up ahead, his attention on Mum. “Did you know that the Daintree is the oldest rainforest in the world? And by old, I mean about a hundred and eighty million years.”
Norma and Misti were bringing up the rear with me. “Old enough to make a bunch of nomads like us feel young,” Misti commented.
Kirk didn’t hear her. “Or at least that’s the widely accepted estimate. There’s some debate—”
“Phht,” Gerrie interrupted. “They don’t care, Kirk. Stick to the interesting stuff. Like, today we’re gonna show you one of the oldest flowering plant species in the world, found nowhere else on earth. These trees were around sixty million years before a Tyrannosaurus rex ever chomped on some tasty smaller dinosaur, which makes it twice as ancient as the first T. rex.” He grinned at Etta. “Your nephew will like that.”
Etta looked momentarily puzzled. “What nephew?”
“The one that likes the dinosaurs. We saw you on the news.”
“Ah yes, true. I’ll make a note to tell him.”
I snorted and then disguised it with a cough. “Ahem, sorr
y. I swallowed a bug.”
My phone rang. Surprised I had any service here, I looked at caller ID. Dad. With a single bar of signal. I stopped to answer it, thinking I’d better cling to the one spotty bit of cell service I had.
“Good, I got you, Iz. Look, don’t tell your mother, but—”
“Can this wait?”
“Depends if any member of our family ever wants to visit the wildlife park again.”
I dabbed sweat off my face and thought about sitting down for what was shaping up to be a long conversation. Then I remembered leeches. I inhaled and exhaled. “What did you do this time?”
“Hey, I’ll thank you to remember it wasn’t me that did anything the first time. It was your friend who let the camel out.”
Inhale. Exhale. What on earth had possessed Etta to—never mind. It didn’t matter now. “Fine. What happened this time?”
“Well, the lemon tarts worked such a treat with Mildred Saunders that I figured I should try the same thing with the owner of the park. So I went down there with a whole box of different tarts, and a helpful lad at the kiosk told me the owner was down seeing to the dingoes. I was walking through the petting and feeding area on my way there when this youngster starts bawling her eyes out. A black miniature pony had snatched the bag of pellets right out of her hands. So I put the tarts down to get her bag back from the little beast, made sure the kid was okay, and when I turned around, that sneaky, black devil of a pony had opened the box and eaten every single one!”
I groaned. “Oh no.”
Dad sighed. “Oh yes. So I had to face the owner, empty box in hand, and fess up what’d happened. He said the pony might get colic from stuffing his face with that many tarts, so they’re gonna have to monitor him overnight and might end up with a nasty vet bill or worse. So, um, I was hoping you might have an idea on how to make amends. Like you did for Mildred.”
I rubbed my face. “I don’t know, Dad. There’s not much you can do except to go down there and apologize again, offer to pay the vet bill if they need to call someone out, and ask them if there’s anything else you can help with. Maybe they could use your sales skills for something. I don’t know. Be sincere and willing to help in whatever way would be useful for them and see what they say.”
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