We all looked at the object by my feet which had been the catalyst for so much mayhem.
“We retrieved it from Amy’s flooded car before we knew she was dead.” I neglected to mention the Taste Society orders behind that act. “The first attempt to steal it was, of course, the break-in at our hotel, where we were unable to identify the perpetrator. At least two people also ransacked Amy’s home looking for something early the following morning. They seemed to anticipate we’d be going there too.”
At least so the tree branch and booby-trapped front door suggested. I rubbed my neck some more.
“In retrospect, I suppose Kirk would’ve been able to predict our movements after running into us at the pub and learning Connor was a PI investigating Amy’s death. Come to think of it, did Kirk run into us at the pub by coincidence, or was that planned as well? Could he have been following us? But how would he even know who to look for or where to find us?”
My questions were directed at Connor, but it was Etta who pointed out, “The news broadcast by the river showed your faces and this car.”
My mind skipped hastily over the leech incident and concentrated on that news footage I’d seen that night on the TV. I remembered Amy’s satchel had been visible in the SUV’s footwell—because I’d left my door open when the news crew had shown up as we’d been about to leave. But I didn’t think the video footage had shown our license plate. Would they even be able to track us down using that?
I gave my sore neck another stretch, and my eyes snagged on the distinctive-colored parking sticker on the windshield. The sticker would’ve been back to front and hard to see through the camera angle, but if the nomads were familiar with the area, it would’ve been possible to recognize. Especially if they were looking for identifying clues. Then all they’d have to do was wait outside the hotel until we showed up.
It didn’t matter now. “In any case, after the break-ins, we went to the gray nomad campsite Kirk had invited us to. Or at least Mum to. And maybe us as well in an attempt to get the satchel?” I shook my head, arguing with myself. “No, because they would’ve been assuming the break-in would work at that point. So maybe he really was trying to romance Mum…”
Etta cleared her throat. “I think you might be getting off track.”
“Right.” I shoved my brain back on track. “So perhaps Ray pouring too much fuel on the fire was their second attempt to steal the satchel. Or maybe that was an actual accident.”
Connor spoke up. “We wondered about that. But if they’d succeeded in stealing it away while the fire served as a distraction, suspicion would’ve fallen on them with no one else around to take the blame. They had the same problem with most of their other attempts as well.”
“So maybe they didn’t need the whole satchel,” Etta said. “Maybe they just had to grab something from inside.”
That made the most sense. If only we knew what they wanted.
“So their third attempt was the alleged scorpion on my shirt collar. I don’t know whether there was a scorpion or not, but Norma picked up the satchel when I put it down.”
“Yes, and she had it open when I came back to look for you,” Connor said. “I pretended not to notice.”
I hadn’t realized that. “But she mustn’t have managed to retrieve whatever it was she wanted. Otherwise crashing the drone into me wouldn’t have been necessary.”
“Maybe Ray just thought it’d be fun,” Etta suggested.
I gave her a dirty look. “No. He was seriously upset that he broke his toy.”
“So are most kids who just threw theirs across the room after being told not to for the umpteenth time,” she returned.
“Like that grandson of yours?” I asked. “You’ve never mentioned him before, you know. In fact, you’ve never even mentioned having a son or daughter.”
“Let’s stick to the summary, shall we? I’m trying to help you out here.”
Connor and I shared a look. Both second-guessing the wisdom of letting Etta in on the case. On the other hand, if we let her loose without the restrictions that came from being one of the team, she’d doubtless get up to worse.
I took a deep breath. “So the last attempt was shoving me into the river.”
“The crocodile-infested river,” Connor growled.
“I thought Ginger tripped,” Etta said in a tone too silky to be believed. “Are you sure they aren’t all just accidents? You know old people are notoriously bad drivers, less steady on their feet as they used to be, and make foolish mistakes since their brains are turning to mush.”
I crossed my arms. “Not in my experience. Though they’re not above using those clichés to their own advantage.”
She smirked. “Well then. How about we find out what they’re so desperate to get ahold of, shall we?”
“We’ve been through—”
Etta slipped out a switchblade from her pocket and flipped it open.
Somehow this stunned me more than the gun had. “Switchblades are illegal in Australia!”
“What isn’t?” Etta asked. “They’re also illegal in California if the blade is over two inches long, which this one is. Now pass me the satchel.”
“But—”
Etta lifted an imperious hand. “Come on. I spotted Kirk walking toward the satchel instead of where Izzy had gone overboard. So I made sure I beat him to it. Since he was carrying a pocket knife at the time, I figured I’d need a knife to get to the good stuff—whatever it is.”
I gave her the satchel.
Thirty seconds later, she’d used her blade to split the stitching holding the natural leather inner lining to the dyed outer blue. Inside was a sheet of paper. A sheet of paper that had survived a flood, so it was faded and hard to read, but the sturdy leather had kept it intact.
It was also growing a good amount of mold.
Eww.
The paper—when we held it up to the interior ceiling light to see better—was essentially an order sheet, detailing each reptile or bird egg, the agreed-upon price, and the buyer’s contact and pickup arrangement details.
This was what the nomads had been so desperate not to have fall into the wrong hands.
We’d been right. They were smuggling wildlife. A huge breakthrough in the case.
But how the heck did it relate to Amy’s death?
What motive did it give them to kill her? And presumably destroy all their collected “product” too—since they’d rushed to meet Amy before she flew out, and she’d been carrying this order sheet in her hand luggage.
If anything, it made less sense.
Unless…
I recalled Amy’s upcoming year of leave. To volunteer for a charity organization working to save critically endangered tigers from extinction—or so she’d claimed.
That didn’t make sense either for someone willing to smuggle wild animals for monetary gain. Unless her volunteering had come from a guilty conscience? An attempt to balance the scales?
Or maybe it was a new phase of her smuggling career? One where she didn’t need to pay the nomads most of the profit. Not that tigers were the type of animal that could be easily smuggled, but I was sure something in Indonesia could be.
Either way, the gray nomads would be very concerned.
If her volunteering came from a sense of guilt, would she go a step further and turn over the nomad wildlife-smuggling ring to the police? Perhaps in exchange for leniency for her own part?
Were the nomads worried she would?
That was an excellent motive for murder. And cutting them off from their profits wasn’t a bad one either.
I summarized my thoughts for Connor and Etta. Then wrapped up the briefing session with, “So that’s everything we’ve learned. What do we do now?”
We all sat in silence for a minute.
Etta broke it first. “We pick up the dry cleaning,” she said. “Then we get some sleep and figure the rest out tomorrow.”
That surprised me even more than the switchblade. “You really
do have dry cleaning to pick up?”
“Kind of.” And with that mysterious answer, she climbed out of the car and disappeared into the shop. A minute later she re-emerged with a bag over her shoulder. Upon closer inspection, the bag contained a bright pink pantsuit about five sizes larger than her petite frame.
“Did you just steal someone else’s dry cleaning?”
“Well, we can’t go back to the hotel empty-handed. I’ll return it tomorrow.”
I was not comfortable with this arrangement, but I was too exhausted to argue. “What about the crocodile jerky?”
Etta pulled a packet out of her purse. “I bought some to try earlier.” She grimaced in remembrance. “I wish I hadn’t.”
18
The following morning, I was sucking down the first espresso Connor had woken me with when I received a text message.
We need to talk. Meet me at your hotel’s rooftop bar in fifteen minutes.
The sender was unknown.
After a brief consultation, we left the satchel with Etta—just in case the nomads were about to try something even more extreme—and took the elevator up to the bar.
It was almost empty at this time of day. No one wanted to be closer to the scorching sun even if the roof did have a clear view of the ocean. We scanned the few individuals there, and I had to admit I was wrong. One girl was sunbathing, sweat glistening on her exposed skin, though she at least had a towel draped over her face.
An older man was snoozing under one of the umbrellas, a book still clutched in his fingers.
And Norma was perched on a cushioned sofa—as far from the others as possible.
She looked decidedly out of place. Her scuffed sneakers, olive-green three-quarter pants, floral blouse, and large dark glasses weren’t typical bar wear, but that wasn’t why. It was her tense, upright posture in a seat and location meant for relaxation.
As demonstrated by the snoring man under the umbrella.
“Norma?”
We drew closer, and I noticed she’d bent one of the complimentary straws beyond all hope of function.
“I need to make this quick,” she said. “The others think I’m buying groceries, so I’ll have to get some on my way back.”
“All right,” Connor agreed as he and I took seats. “Go ahead.”
I hoped his calm, unflappable manner would reassure her.
Norma focused on me. “They’re going to invite you to happy hour again tonight. Don’t go.” She hesitated, swallowed, then added, “Your lives are in danger.”
Wow. We’d figured that out for ourselves after being shoved into the crocodile-infested Daintree River, but I hadn’t expected a warning from this quarter. “Why are you telling us this?”
“Because the others are going too far.” She stared at the straw in her hands as if noticing it for the first time. “Look, just give me the satchel and get out of here, and you’ll be safe.”
Connor and I shared a glance. He gave me a discreet go-ahead.
I chose to match Norma’s bold and blunt approach. “We already know you’ve been smuggling wildlife via Amy overseas.”
She started but recovered fast. “Then why haven’t you turned us in?”
“Because the smuggling doesn’t concern us nearly as much as Amy’s murder does.”
This time her shock didn’t fade so quickly. “You think Amy was murdered?” There was no faking the incredulous horror in the question.
“Yes,” I said simply. “Unless you think she swallowed a cocktail of opiates and benzodiazepines on purpose before driving in dangerous conditions.”
Doubt flickered across her features. “That doesn’t sound like Amy.”
Connor and I kept quiet.
Norma took off her glasses and rubbed her face. Then froze. “Wait. You think we murdered her? Why?”
“Well, it’s not so far-fetched, considering you’ve been smuggling helpless wildlife for profit.”
Norma’s jaw tightened. “Look, I know it’s not exactly right, but despite working hard my entire life, I needed money to supplement my retirement if I didn’t want to live in a hovel and eat ramen noodles until they killed me. Amy wanted to help me. And so we did it as ethically as we could. Amy made sure of that. That’s why we sent them overseas with her. Traveling by air minimized stress and kept them from suffocating as others do in the mail. Plus we only transported reptiles in a hibernation state and birds as unhatched eggs, so none of them were harmed. We never sold critically endangered species either.”
She lifted her chin. “We did a whole lot less harm to wildlife populations than pollution or habitat destruction or even cane toads have done.”
I looked at her stiff defiance and read guilt underneath. So I pushed her. “Yet your companions are now prepared to risk our lives to save them from the threat of penalty. I’m betting you didn’t see that coming any more than Amy’s murder.”
Norma’s spine stiffened further. “I didn’t see it coming, but I can understand their reasoning on that at least. There’s mounting pressure to send wildlife smugglers to prison, and none of us want to spend our golden years behind bars. But we had no reason to kill Amy! We cared about her. You should’ve seen that the first night you visited our campsite.”
“We saw you cared about her. To the others, she was just a girl they hardly knew.”
Anger flashed in her eyes. “Why are you so convinced they did it?”
“Who else would Amy have shared food and drink with before her flight? Do you remember who made her tea? Who was responsible for providing nibbles that night? Do you think if they’d decided to do away with her they’d tell you?”
Doubt flickered again.
I pressed on. “And if they already killed Amy, doesn’t it then make even more sense why they’d be prepared to go to such extremes to make their smuggling connection to her disappear?”
“But why? What motive would they have?”
“That’s what we were hoping you could help us narrow down. How do your companions feel about her taking a year off to volunteer helping endangered animals? Have you heard anyone express concern she might turn you in out of guilt? Or go out on her own and cut you out of the smuggling operation?”
Norma shoved back from the table and snatched up her sunglasses. “I’ve said enough. Just stay the hell away tonight.”
Connor and I looked at each other over the now-empty table. I didn’t know whether I wanted another coffee or to skip straight to the booze.
“Well,” Connor said. “That was interesting.”
I suppressed a groan. “I thought I was bringing her around, starting to convince her. But I drove her away instead.”
“I think it was because you were beginning to convince her that she left. You shook her confidence in her nearest and dearest companions. That’s a bitter pill to swallow.”
I reassessed those final moments through this lens. “Then maybe my final questions made her remember something. Something damning.”
“Maybe,” Connor agreed. “It’s clear that all the nomads are in on attempting to retrieve the satchel, but I wonder if they were all in on Amy’s murder as well. Or whether more than just Norma was left out of that plan.”
“You’re thinking of leveraging them one against the other?” I guessed.
“Maybe,” he said again. “If Ginger and Gerrie are as in love as they seem, they could have the most to lose. They’ve spent their entire lives together. Imagine spending their final years apart. Australia doesn’t have mixed gender prisons, does it?”
And Gerrie and Ginger had been the ones to make the most extreme—the most life-endangering—attempt on the satchel.
I chewed my lip. “But if Norma did remember something or some of the others are innocent of Amy’s murder too, I don’t see them volunteering anything that might incriminate their friends.” I thought hard. “If we need them to turn on each other, the only way we’re going to make that happen is to corner them somehow and up the stakes.”
&nbs
p; “I believe you’re right.” Connor rose reluctantly. “But I suppose we’d better go bring Etta up to date before she sets the hotel on fire as an excuse to run up here and ‘warn us.’”
19
Connor, Etta, and I hatched a plan. And when the gray nomads extended their invitation, we accepted it.
There wasn’t much more preparation we had to do after that. Except for one thing.
I called our smuggling expert, Tracey Halvorson.
“I have a strange request for you. Would we be able to borrow Peanut?”
20
The nomads’ chosen campsite, with the setting sun splashing colors over where the sky met the horizon, was just as picturesque as I remembered it. But something about walking into a group of people willing to kill you to cover up their crimes meant my gaze didn’t linger long.
We had come here with a mission. One we had to enact fast—before the nomads had time to enact their own lethal plan.
Even Mum, Herbert, and Peanut each had a part to play. Meanwhile, Lily had stayed at the hotel on a mission of her own—to take down the “Brat Brigade.” I hoped I hadn’t made a mistake in encouraging her.
We all piled out of the car, and Kirk hurried to Mum’s side. “Wendi, I’m so glad you could join us again.”
You’d think he might be less solicitous while planning on endangering her daughter.
Herbert bounded and bucked and leaped his way over to the chairs, playing his part as well as if he understood it. Mum greeted everyone warmly but briskly and gestured to her cheeky charge. “He’s been cooped up in the hotel all day. I’m just going to take him for a quick walk, let him stretch his legs.”
“I’ll come!” I said before Kirk could offer the same. “Don’t worry, we’ll be back by the time you’ve finished pouring the drinks.”
Mum and I strode away before anyone could devise an excuse to join us, and Herbert bounded merrily at our heels.
The cleared, flat ground of the campsite gave way to grass, rocks, and the copious green shrubbery that bordered much of northern Queensland’s beaches. Most of that grass and shrubbery was prickly. Australia was like that.
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