by Maddy Hunter
Guy stepped forward and introduced himself to Etienne and Duncan with enthusiastic handshakes. “Could I drag you gentlemen over by the window so I can get a few photos of you against the lights of the Melbourne skyline?” He studied both of them with narrowed gaze. “Interesting bone structure. I bet…Never mind. We’ll see how it turns out. Do you mind?”
“Happy to be accommodating,” said Duncan.
Etienne hesitated before nodding agreement. He threw me a meaningful look. “Don’t move, bella. I’ll be right back.”
Conrad wagged a crooked forefinger at me. “I know now why you haven’t said yes to the dark-haired man. The light-haired man is also in love with you. Every woman wants to be beautiful, but for the ones who are, it must sometimes feel like a curse.”
Ooo, I liked this guy!
“Which one will you choose?”
I sighed my frustration. “Here’s the thing, Conrad: last November I conducted a test that was supposed to resolve all my doubts about which man was the one for me, and it failed miserably.”
“Both gentlemen flunked?”
“They both passed! It proved they’re both kind, generous, wonderful people, so I’m back to dithering again. And I hate to dither, but this decision is going to affect the rest of my life, so I have to be sure.”
Conrad appeared fascinated. “I’ve never conducted a scientific test that involved human participation. What was the most difficult problem you faced?”
“Eating all the maraschino cherries they both piled onto my ice cream sundae. I get a stomachache just thinking about it.”
As the background music changed to a rollicking rendition of “When Johnny Comes Marching Home,” I saw my group straggle into the lounge as if their energy gauges were all registering “Empty.” They checked their watches in one collective motion, then literally sagged against each other, sucking in air. Nana gave me a limp-wristed wave before finding a chair and falling into it.
“Conrad, how would you like to meet my grandmother?” Grabbing his arm, I waltzed him across the floor, stopping in front of Nana’s chair. “Please tell me you haven’t made the rounds of all the nearby convenience stores to clean them out of household pesticide.”
She peered at me as if I’d just caught her switching my mother’s soup cans out of alphabetical order.
“Nana! If those spray cans explode, they can become biological weapons!”
She snapped her fingers to get the group’s attention. “Did anyone buy Raid?”
“Shoot,” said Dick Teig. “How come I didn’t think of that?”
“Make a list,” yelled Osmond.
“Sorry, dear. None of us thought a that. It’s a real good idea though.”
I eyed her suspiciously. “So what have all of you been doing that’s gotten you so tuckered out?”
“We done a little shoppin’.” She cupped her hand over her mouth. “And you know how tirin’ it is when the fellas are along and you gotta put up with their poutin’, whinin’, and grouchies. Your grampa only got grouchy one time when I took ’im shoppin’, then it never happened again.”
“What did you do? Drug him?”
“Nope. I left him home. Worked real good. Who’s this you got with you, dear?”
I presented Conrad front and center. “Nana, everyone, this is Conrad Carver, who will be married fifty happy years tomorrow. How about that?”
Conrad looked a little embarrassed when spontaneous applause erupted. Sketching a little bow, he held up his hand for quiet. “To be completely truthful, not all the years were happy, but we made it through the bad ones, so here we are.”
“He looks like someone,” Grace Stolee claimed. “Who does he look like?”
“He sounds like Count Dracula,” said Bernice. “Where are you from? Transylvania?”
He gave Bernice a hard look. “Poland.”
“Then how come your name isn’t a foot long and end in ‘ski’?”
He lifted his chin proudly. “I was orphaned in Hitler’s war and adopted by an American GI, so my name doesn’t end in ‘ski’; it ends in ‘ver’. Carver.”
“But your name ended in ‘ski’ before, right?”
He fired a look at Bernice that, in the movie version, would have detonated her hearing aid and caused her head to explode. “Listen closely, please. My name is Carver.”
“Wilcome, Australian Advinture travelers!” Henry leaped onto a low table that gave him a great overview of the room. “There’s punch for you here, and the kitchen is sinding up a few nibbles for you to snack on.”
We were suddenly invaded by a small army of waiters pushing food trolleys laden with oversized trays. “This is what we call ‘bush gourmet’,” Henry said expansively, “so gird your taste buds.” One of the waiters handed him a small menu that he quickly perused. “You’re in for a treat, mates. Chef Viggo has prepared smoked emu, crocodile macadamia brochettes with bush tomato chutney, bunya nuts, lemon-aspen lemoncurd, prawns fried in coconut with curried mayonnaise, handmade agnolotti filled with yabbie mousseline, baby wattle seed blini topped with cress, and baby Barramundi fish wrapped in paperbark tree sleeves and served with Kakadu plum sauce.”
A ground swell of “Mmmms” traveled around the room, fading when it reached my group, who were staring at each other in gastronomic horror. “What kind of sauce did he say?” asked Osmond, desperately readjusting his hearing aids.
“There are two tricks to a succissful tour experience,” Henry continued, brandishing two fingers in the air. “The first is to learn everyone’s name, and the sicond is to talk to everyone. That’s why you’re here, mates. To be frindly. I also need you to fill out midical history forms, so I’ll leave thim on a table by the door and you can hand thim back to me in the morning. So what do you say we git started? Eat. Drink. Mingle.”
In the background Burl Ives serenaded us with “Mares Eat Oats,” causing me to wonder if this was a subliminal call to the feed trough or a top-ten hit from Melbourne’s Pop Chart list. I located the stack of medical forms by the door and beat back a sudden wave of grief. Maybe if we’d filled out the forms before the trip started, it might have given Peter Blunt some insight into Claire’s death, or at least provided a starting point. I knew Peter didn’t suspect foul play, but I wouldn’t rest easily until we heard the results of the autopsy.
Conrad tapped my arm. “Would you like to meet my wife?”
“I’d love to meet your wife. And I’ll even go one better. I’ll introduce her to the whole Iowa gang. Where is she?”
“Over there by Mr. Madelyn. She appears to be in line to have her photograph taken. Let me run over there and bring her back.”
I checked out the queue that had formed behind Guy and did a quick double take when I spied Etienne and Duncan posing with a top-heavy brunette in Daisy Duke short shorts and snakeskin boots who was gyrating against them like a Vegas showgirl. “Great moves,” Guy encouraged, “but maybe you could just prop yourself against the men for a few seconds so I can get a still shot. Think, Greek temple. You’re a vestal virgin and the men are gods.”
She splayed herself against them, lips puckered and eyes at half-mast, looking hot and seductive. I rolled my eyes. This could take all night. She was never going to get the hang of the virgin thing.
Bernice came up behind me. “Who’s the sexpot?”
“You got me.”
“Looks like your two Romeos are finding out for you. It’s the testosterone. Men don’t know how to handle it. Give ’em an eyeful of bosom and booty, and they all turn into cave men. There’s probably some fancy anthropological name for it.” She grabbed Tilly and gestured toward the trio. “You’re the professor. You see what’s going on over there? What do you call that?”
“Group photo.”
I would have chuckled if I hadn’t been distracted by Jake Silverthorn’s arrival on the scene. He stood just outside camera range, arms crossed, features tight, toothpick twitching in the corner of his mouth. He gave the brunette a “get ov
er here now!” head bob. She stuck her tongue out at him and mugged for the camera.
“Lola,” he said in a menacing tone.
“Git lost! Can’t you see I’m busy with some real gintlemen?”
“Don’t make me come over there.”
“Ooo. I’m scared.”
Nana snapped a close-up of Bernice, Tilly, and me. “I’m gettin’ photos of everyone on the tour.”
“Don’t give me that,” Bernice said in an accusatory tone. “You’re grandstanding. You just want to show off for the famous photographer.”
“Listen here, Bernice Zwerg, if you knew me a little better, you’d know the reason I’m doin’ this is on account a Emily.”
Me? I stared down at Nana. “Why are you taking photos for me?”
She lowered her voice. “Mug shots, dear. In case it turns out that Bellows woman was done in by someone on the tour, I wanna have your suspects all lined up for you. Like what we done in Hawaii. I’m makin’ one a them preemptive moves.”
“Then why are you taking pictures of us?” Bernice asked, snorting. “Our group was in the visitor center when she died.”
“I’m not gonna have no one accusin’ me a discrimination.” She held on to a corner of the photo as it developed. “One down.”
“Oh! That reminds me.” I presented my punch glass to Bernice. “Would you mind holding that for a sec?” Major exploration of my shoulder bag required two hands. I fished around until I found what I was looking for, then handed it to Nana. “Does that look familiar?”
“Well, would you lookit that.” She stared at the Polaroid, puffing her cheeks out in confusion. “It’s my pretty pink flower in the brambles. But what are you doin’ with it, Emily? I thought I had it with me.”
“I found it back at Port Campbell, lying on the ground by the walkway on the cliff. Do you have any idea how it got there?”
“I don’t rightly know, dear. I s’pose somebody could a walked off with it when my pictures was makin’ the rounds, but why would anyone want a picture a my wildflower?”
Bernice shoved my glass back at me and eyed Nana’s photo. “Good question. It’s not even centered.”
“Here’s the missus,” said Conrad, escorting a white-haired lady with heavily rouged cheeks toward us. “This is Ellie,” he said proudly, beaming as we went through all the introductions.
“You mind me gettin’ a photo a you two?” Nana dropped her photos on a nearby table and waved Conrad and his wife together.
“Is there a photography contest going on?” Conrad asked, a little perplexed. “Why is everyone taking so many pictures?”
“Scrapbookin’,” Nana said. “It’s the latest craze. Big smiles now.” Bzzzzt. She set the ejected print on the table, then motioned Conrad and Ellie to join her. “It’ll be a real picture in no time at all. You wanna watch it develop? It can get pretty excitin’ at the end.”
Osmond arrived with a plate of goodies. “Would anyone like to try one of the crocodile macadamia brochettes? I got extra. They taste pretty good.”
Bernice bit into one just as Burl Ives surrendered the air waves to a trio of female vocalists who started belting out the ever-popular, “How Much Is That Doggie in the Window.” Oh, God.
Bernice’s face screwed up in immediate revulsion. “Yuck! What’s wrong with your taste buds, Osmond? This tastes like burned tailpipe.”
“Give it back then.” He plucked it out of her hand and tossed it back on the plate. “You’re a pain in the neck, Bernice. You don’t like the appetizers; you don’t like the heat; you don’t like the scenery; you don’t like your room; you don’t like to part with your money; you don’t like people. Can you name one thing you do like?”
Stunned into silence by Osmond’s rampage, she pursed her lips and cocked her head toward the speaker system, saying in a small voice, “I like the music.”
“This is extraordinary,” Conrad exclaimed as he bent over Nana’s photos.
“What’d I tell you?” Nana said. “Watchin’ them pixels come together makes your heart race, don’t it?”
“I’m not talking about the photo you just shot.” He lifted a print off the table. “I’m talking about this. Do you know what this is?”
“A flower.”
“Do you remember where you took it?”
“I shot it back at them Twelve Apostles this afternoon. Along that cliff walk.”
Conrad’s voice trembled with excitement. “Marion, do you know what you’ve stumbled upon?”
I caught Conrad’s eye. “What did she find? A rare primrose or something?”
He was struggling not to hyperventilate. “The flower is as common as a beach pebble. But do you see this plant growing beside it?” He stabbed his forefinger at the wild greenery in the background. “It’s extinct!”
“No kiddin’?” Nana regarded the photo with her usual calm. “I betcha someone just forgot where to look for it. My Sam was always misplacin’ stuff. ‘Specially batteries. After he died, we found enough nine-volt coppertops in his electric socks drawer to keep the Energizer Bunny goin’ ’til his fur falls out.”
Conrad gasped for air. “It’s been extinct for over a hundred million years.”
Chapter 4
Nana’s jaw dropped halfway to her waist. If she hadn’t been wearing denture cream with extra hold, her uppers would have been history. She gave Conrad’s shoulder a playful thwack. “You’re pullin’ my leg.”
“It’s the truth! This plant belongs to a family of angiosperms that no one has seen for a millennia. Do you know what this means?”
“Eyesight’s improved through the years?”
“It means, it’s back! This plant might have properties that could unlock the great puzzles of medical science—cures for cancer, heart disease, obesity. It could be a fountain of youth for the elderly. An elixir for the infirm. A cure for male pattern baldness!”
“Do you suppose it could do anything for irregularity?” asked Margi. “That’s a real common complaint at the clinic.”
Bernice studied the photo over Conrad’s shoulder. “If you’re expecting it to do all that, you’re gonna need more than one crummy plant.”
“Are you absolutely sure about this?” Tilly asked. “How does a plant that’s been extinct for hundreds of thousands of years suddenly turn up at a local tourist site?”
“It’s very simple,” Conrad enthused. “Plants that thrived when the earth was one solid landmass couldn’t survive the climatic changes when the continents split apart, so they died out. But on this continent, the climatic changes were less dramatic. The plants that died everywhere else not only survived here, they flourished. Australia boasts over twenty-five thousand species of plants. Think of it!”
Our thinking was accompanied by clueless staring and silence. “Is twenty-five thousand a lot?” I finally inquired. Hey, somebody had to ask the tough questions.
“As a comparison, Britain is home to only sixteen hundred species. Australia is a stew of botanical surprises. No one knows what’s in the jungles because they’re too dense to explore; no one knows what’s in the interior because it’s too hostile to survey; and the country has neither the financial resources nor the manpower to remedy the situation. Believe it or not, there are still eight thousand unnamed species of plants in government labs waiting to be classified.” He crushed the photo to his chest, delight jacking his eyebrows to his hairline. “I’m beside myself. This type of angiosperm has never been known to exist this far south!”
I knew exactly how thrilled Conrad must be to have an extinct species reappear. I’d felt the same heart-pounding excitement when Clinique reintroduced a lipstick shade they’d discontinued years ago. “Should we be telling someone about this? A natural history museum? A university? Some government agency?”
“I’ll call the University of Melbourne right away,” Conrad said. “If their School of Botany can’t help me, they should be able to direct me to someone who can.”
“It’s after hours
, dear,” Ellie reminded him. “They won’t be answering their phones.”
“They won’t?” He checked his wristwatch, looking surprised at the hour. “But they have to answer. This is an emergency. It won’t wait until morning.” He wrung his hands in panic. “What am I supposed to do now?”
“I seen a couple a guest computers in the front lobby,” Nana spoke up. “If I was you, I’d log on to the university’s website, find the faculty directory, and phone one a them botany professors at home. That’d probably work.”
He studied Nana for a heartbeat. “Here’s your photo. I’ll be right back.” He took off for the elevator.
Ellie patted Nana’s arm. “Bless you, dear. Even though he belongs to that organization for people with genius IQs, simple problems often stump him. Our life together would have been much easier if he’d been a moron.” With a long-suffering sigh, she scurried after him, returning a short time later with a beaming Conrad in tow.
“It worked out splendidly,” he chirped. “I talked to the head of the School of Botany himself, and he was so excited to talk to me. They use my textbook for their introductory botany courses! I’m apparently quite the luminary with the fossils people. Dr. Limeburner even mentioned my autographing a few textbooks before I fly back home, complete with media coverage. You see? This reinforces what I’ve always said: the farther you get from home, the more—”
Ellie elbowed his ribs. “Tell them what he said about Marion’s photo, dear.”
“He’s going to send a team to Port Campbell tomorrow.” He grinned at Nana. “Your trip Down Under could turn out to be momentous, Marion. You might end up with your name on a new species of angiosperm!”
“Are those the ones with the good or bad motility?” Dick Teig inquired.
Conrad went on breathlessly. “And your timing couldn’t be better. Dr. Limeburner informed me that in two weeks, the International Society of Botanists meets here, so Melbourne will be crawling with scientists who’ll be able to confirm the discovery. I’ll warn you right now, Marion, you’re going to be famous.”