by Maddy Hunter
“He couldn’t remember much about her personal belongings other than she was carrying a heap of picture postcards, so he’s going to check on the Polaroids and suggested that if I don’t hear from him tomorrow, I should call him back in a couple of days. But there were definitely no photos in her pocket.”
“You s’pose all three a them blew away after she collapsed?” asked Nana.
“Could be,” I reflected. “Maybe the other two are still out there someplace.”
“Or maybe Claire didn’t take them at all,” suggested Tilly. “Maybe someone else did.”
I threw Tilly a puzzled look. “They were photos of bushes, and dirt, and rocks. Why would anyone besides Claire want them? I mean, a person would really have to know their flora to be able to look at those pictures and identify—” I paused midsentence as my brain suddenly caught up to my mouth. “That’s it!” I gave myself a V-8 Juice smack on the forehead. “What is wrong with me? Why can’t I think outside the box anymore?”
“Might be a good time to apply for government work,” said Nana. “I think they’re lookin’ for folks like that, ’specially for them upper-level jobs.”
“Where’s my guest roster?” I flew off the bed and riffled through the tour documents I’d stacked on the desk. “I was operating under the assumption that Claire was the only botanist on this tour, but for all I know, there could be a whole slew of botanists with us, all planning to attend that same conference.” I found the sheet I was looking for and waved it at Nana and Tilly. “Can we go back to your room to check the names on this list against the conference registrant list? I think we’re on to something.”
“Well, would you lookit that,” said Nana ten minutes later. “Diana Squires, Ph.D. in botany from Florida State University, and Roger Piccolo, Ph.D. in the same thing from Pepperdine. You was right, Emily. I guess you can hold off on that government job.”
I studied the monitor over her shoulder. “Company affiliations—Infinity Incorporated and GenerX Technologies. Can you check out those websites?”
“Squires and Piccolo,” repeated Tilly as she perused the ‘mugshot’ photos she’d lined up like quilting blocks across the bed. “Here’s Diana Squires. Ah, yes. I remember seeing her. The lady wearing the thick theatrical makeup. You have to wonder if that’s by choice or necessity.”
“I knew them pictures was gonna come in handy,” Nana said as she switched to another screen. “And did you notice that I got close enough so’s you could read the name tags?”
“Roger Piccolo,” Tilly exclaimed, glomming onto a second photo. “I vaguely recall seeing him. He’s a rather muscular fellow.”
I joined her at the bed for a look-see. “I don’t remember seeing him at all.” He had a head like a mason jar and no discernible neck, which had to make swallowing really difficult.
“Infinity Inc.,” Nana read aloud. “Says here it’s some kinda high-tech skin care company, ‘specializin’ in nonsurgical options to rejuvenate what’s been destroyed by the agin’ process.”
I regarded Diana Squires’s photo. Whoa! Most women applied foundation with a sponge; Diana looked as though she used a bricklayer’s trowel. Made me wonder if she’d been a guinea pig for an experiment that had gone terribly wrong.
“GenerX Techologies,” Nana continued after a few clicks on her keyboard. “Claims to be the largest manufacturer of dietary supplements and nutritional drinks in North America.”
“Does it say what kind of supplements?” I asked.
“Natural male enhancement, menopausal relief, and antiagin’ remedies. They’re claimin’ to offer the fountain a youth in ‘easy-to-swallow time-released capsules’. Dang. I wouldn’t mind tryin’ some a them fountain a youth pills, but I’d probably have to OD before they’d do me any good.”
“So Global Botanicals, Infinity Inc., and GenerX are all playing to the same audience with their antiaging remedies,” I tossed out.
“Which means all three companies are in competition with each other for the largest market share,” said Tilly.
Nana turned in her chair. “Which means if them other two botanists recognized my angiosperms, they mighta knowed a discovery like that could be a knockout punch to the competition. You s’pose one of ’em seen Claire take my photos?”
Tilly rapped the floor with her walking stick. “If they did, you can be sure their first order of business would be to wrest the pictures away from her. And we all know what that means.”
I sighed. Unfortunately, it meant that Claire might not have died from natural causes.
She might have been murdered.
Chapter 5
A brief look at Nana the next morning at the Ballarat Wildlife Park and I knew I was in for trouble.
She clomped down the stairs of the bus in her teddy bear T-shirt, flowered capris, and kick-ass boots that cocooned her legs like stovepipes. I covered my eyes and gave my head a weary shake. Oh, God.
“Mornin’, dear. What do you think? Fancy, hunh?” She stuck out a foot that had grown exponentially overnight. “Genuine kangaroo. It’s lighter weight than cowhide and guaranteed not to make your feet sweat in the heat. I hardly know I’m wearin’ ’em.”
Which was saying a lot, considering they were weighed down by fifty pounds of decorative chains and hardware. “I don’t imagine you bought those at the neighborhood Farm and Fleet back home.”
“Got ’em last night right before the meet ’n’ greet. That nice David Jones Department Store was too far a walk, so I run into the little boutique around the corner from the hotel and found everythin’ I needed.”
“You needed Gestapo army boots?”
“I needed protection, dear. We all did. You know…from the spiders and snakes.” She executed a little heel/toe action that caused her chains to jangle melodically. “I was lookin’ for gum rubber, but it was the funniest thing, Emily, all’s we could find was black leather. Guess they don’t cater to the fishin’ crowd. We got some real good bargains though. Lotsa styles was on close-out.”
“Mostly in large sizes, I take it.”
She gazed at her feet. “They didn’t have no fives left, so I had to get nines. But I stuffed the toe box with toilet paper, so they’re real comfy. I’d a rather bought the ones Bernice got, but I didn’t think I could manage them skinny heels.” She nodded toward Bernice, who was scuttling toward the entrance gate in the kind of knee-high stiletto boots made popular by lady wrestlers and French streetwalkers. “She wouldn’t be strut-tin’ around like that if she didn’t have them bunions out last year. Lookit her. She thinks she’s Octopussy.”
“Missed you at breakfast,” said Duncan, massaging my shoulders as he came up behind me.
“My fault. I was awake so much last night that I slept through my alarm. I’ve bypassed bags under my eyes and gone directly to steamer trunks.”
“I have a tried-and-true cure for sleeplessness.” He trailed a knuckle down my cheek. “Lazarus family secret. You should have phoned me.”
Nana handed him a pencil and notepad. “You mind writin’ down your room number? I couldn’t sleep last night neither.”
“The guided tour begins in fifteen minutes,” Henry shouted from the entrance gate, “so that gives you time to use the comfort facilities and buy yourself a cold drink. Most of the wildlife in the park roams free, so be aware that there are surprises on the ground that you’ll want to avoid.”
Nana elbowed me as Jake and Lola walked past us, hips bumping and arms snaked around each other’s backs as if they’d been Velcroed together. “I’ll be. Looks like they patched things up.”
“Let’s see how long it lasts,” said Duncan as he ushered us toward the gate. “Henry told us at breakfast that they kissed and made up at the police station last night, but I’m not buying it. Those two have major issues. We’ll be lucky if they don’t end up killing each other before the tour is over.”
My stomach performed an involuntary somersault. Just what we needed. More dead bodies.
T
he entrance gate funneled us through a gift and coffee shop where patrons could buy cuddly koala backpacks, rubber snakes, Tasmanian devil key chains, and crocodile caps with toothy visors.
“You s’pose the grandkids would enjoy it if I brung ’em back a few snakes?” Nana asked as she approached the bin.
“They’d enjoy them more if they were real,” I said, stopping to finger the wombat hand puppets. “But then you’d have that whole quarantine mess at Customs.” I slid a puppet onto my hand and brandished it before Duncan’s face. “You were between the ages of five and twelve once. What tacky souvenir appealed to you back then?”
“I love you, babe, but how about you do your thing with the puppets, and I’ll meet you outside?”
“Ten four,” I said, as Diana Squires paused in the aisle opposite me to look over the merchandise. Gee, how handy was that? I meandered in her direction, poking unobtrusively through baskets of change purses and stuffed animals along the way.
“What do you think?” she asked, holding two coffee mugs. “Should I go kangaroo or crocodile?”
“Is it for you or someone else?” Everything about her reminded me of Veronica in the old Archie comic books: the long black hair pulled into a ponytail, the fine features masked beneath a half-inch layer of pancake makeup, the heavily lip-lined mouth and penciled brows, the athletically fit body clad in designer coordinates. Her age was a big question mark, but I went out on a limb and narrowed it down to somewhere in her thirties, forties, or fifties. Go fish.
“It’s for a colleague. I never buy junk like this for myself.”
“What do you buy for yourself?”
She smiled with the kind of self-satisfied delight a cat would display after polishing off a bowl of cream. “Anything I want. So which mug is it?”
“I’d go with the kangaroo. Nothing says Australia like kangaroos.”
“Good point.” She set the crocodile mug back on the shelf. “You made that easy enough. Thanks.”
“I’m Emily,” I said, extending my hand.
“Diana Squires.” She gripped my hand with the kind of strength pythons use to crush their prey before devouring them whole. “I guess we would have gotten introductions out of the way last night if it hadn’t been for the Silverthorns’ theatrical debut. That guy reminds me so much of my old boyfriend. All that swagger and macho bull. If I were his wife, I wouldn’t have pushed him into the artwork: I would have pushed him out the window. Did you notice how lovey-dovey they are today? Classic passive-aggressive tendencies. If they don’t get help, it’s going to get really ugly. And believe me, I know, because I’ve lived it. How is it that women can be so smart in the business world and so stupid when it comes to men?”
Eh! Was that the reason for all the makeup? Was she disguising physical scars from an abusive boyfriend? I cleared my throat self-consciously. “Is that a rhetorical question or do you really want an answer?”
“Are you married?”
“I used to be.”
“Divorced?”
“Annulled.”
“See what I’m talking about? Bright girl, bad decision. It’s epidemic.”
Okay. Maybe. But at least I knew which coffee mug to choose!
“I need help.” Nana appeared with an armful of rubber snakes. “I can’t decide between the death adder and the king brown for David. All’s I know is, it’s gotta be creepy enough so’s he’ll wanna keep it instead a feedin’ it to the dog.” She dropped her load on the display table and pulled out two remarkably realistic-looking specimens. “Which one looks like it’d be more likely to cause you an agonizin’ death?”
Diana regarded the back of Nana’s hand. “Do you realize my company has developed a topical cream that can vanish age spots like this? Age spots. Liver spots. Unsightly discolorations.”
“No kiddin’?”
“Trust me. It’s my life’s work.” She examined Nana’s hand more closely. “Are you allergic to bee stings, peanuts, shellfish, or latex?”
“Latex. You mean like paint?”
“She means like condoms,” I whispered.
Nana grinned. “Big negatory on that.”
“Then you’re a perfect candidate. I can guarantee younger-looking hands in three months or your money back. And there’s a bonus. Our cream is a biological rather than chemical product, so you’re not required to have blood tests to keep track of liver function, and there are no side effects other than flawless skin. We call it Perfecta.”
“Is it a new product?” I asked. “I haven’t seen it advertised.”
“It’s so new that we haven’t even finalized our marketing campaign. But it works. I’m living proof. I used to have a port wine birthmark the size of an Idaho potato on my face.” She angled her right cheek toward us as if it were Exhibit A in a criminal trial. “Look closely. Do you see anything? Of course, you don’t. It’s not there anymore. Do you know why?”
I wondered if observing that it was buried beneath six tons of modeling clay would be too candid.
“It’s because Perfecta caused it to fade away. This product performs miracles, and in doing so, it changes lives by inspiring confidence and building self-esteem.” She smiled at her own words. “We’re going to try to work that angle into our advertising campaign.”
Nana scrutinized the backs of her hands as if she hadn’t seen them in years. “I s’pose George could take a notion to bein’ seen with a woman with younger-lookin’ hands, but I hope it don’t make him too frisky. He’s still got them lower back problems.”
“Is George your husband?” asked Diana.
“He’s my gentleman companion, and the only reason he’s not here is ’cause his grandson’s gettin’ married next week back home. But he’s gonna sign up for our next trip in June. He give me his word.”
“By June you could have the hands of a twenty-year-old,” Diana enthused. “What would you say to that?”
“I guess I’d wanna know how much it was gonna cost me.”
“Miracles don’t come cheaply, Marion. We’re presently looking at a price point of twenty-five hundred dollars.”
Nana’s three chins pancaked onto her chest. “For what? A lifetime supply?”
“A quarter-ounce tube. But that should last you a good two weeks, and you’d probably only need six tubes to get the job done.”
I gave Nana a resuscitative slap on her back. When her respirations began again, she stared at Diana, speechless. “If I watch the sales real close, I can get me a nice pair a gloves at Wal-Mart for three ninety-nine. Three-sixty if it’s a Tuesday, on account a that’s when they give us seniors a ten percent discount ’cause we’re old.”
“EEEEEEEEEEHHHHHHHHHHH!”
I spun toward the terrified shriek.
“I bet that’s a cockatoo,” Diana said excitedly. “I’ve heard they sound almost human. Excuse me, would you?” Dropping her kangaroo mug back on the shelf, she rushed through the doorway into the park proper. Nana looked up at me in bewilderment.
“Did I just hear a scream?”
“Yup.”
“Where’d it come from?”
“Outside.”
“Oh, good. I was thinkin’ it mighta come from me.”
Leaving the snakes behind, we hurried outside, joining the curiosity seekers who were running toward the far end of the building. We rounded a corner that said TOILETS and entered a caged area to find three adult kangaroos parked like area rugs in front of the restroom doors.
“I thought they were animal pelts.” Helen Teig’s voice quavered as she clutched her throat. “And then they moved! How come they’re not in cages? Dick, shoo them away so I can use the potty.”
Dick aimed his camera and started shooting. “Reach down and pet him, Helen. I think I’m looking at this year’s Christmas card photo. That’s it. Work it, momma!” His finely tailored Italian trousers were tucked into thigh-high boots with silver toe guards, rhinestone snakes, and chunky acrylic heels that made him only slightly taller than he was wide
.
“Hunh. I never would have taken Dick for a rhinestone kind of guy.”
“It was either rhinestones or sequins,” Nana explained, “so we decided that rhinestones was less sissified. But it was a real close vote. Six to five.”
We left the restroom facilities behind us and walked toward the picnic tables at the opposite end of the gift shop, where a young man in regulation shirt and shorts stood beside a freestanding clock whose hands indicated the next tour would begin at eleven, which was about a minute from now. “All the kangaroos in the park are free-ranging Rid Kangaroos imported from Kangaroo Island,” he said conversationally, sweeping a hand toward the giant, jackrabbit-like creatures who lounged on the broad lawn behind him. The area was enclosed by a rail fence and bordered by paved footpaths that were colonized by families of waddling ducks and hungry pigeons. “They’re known in Latin as macropus rufus. Macropus, meaning long-foot, and rufus, meaning rid, though they’re actually rid-brown in color. Males can reach a height of one and a half meters and can weigh as much as eighty-five kilos. That would be four and a half feet tall and one hundred eighty-seven pounds to you Yanks.”
In other words, they were built like Nana only with a really long tail.
“There you are, ladies,” said Tilly.
Nana stuck out her right hand. “Tell me the truth, Til, if you was me, would you spend two grand to lose the liver spots and have younger-lookin’ skin?”
Tilly tapped the back of Nana’s hand. “Bat guano and monkey urine. An old Pygmy preparation. Much cheaper.”
“G’day, ladies and gintlemen, and wilcome to Ballarat Wildlife Park. My name is Graham, and I’ll be your guide today throughout our sixteen hectares of bushland. Australia is home to wildlife found nowhere ilse in the world and it will be my pleasure to introduce you to mini of our native species: koalas, echidnas, wombats, goannas, Tasmanian divils, quokkas…”
As he continued his litany, I inched away from the crowd to do a quick head count. All my Iowans were here except for the Teigs, who would probably catch up once Dick filled his memory cartridge with holiday pinups of Helen in her muumuu and leather boots. Duncan and Etienne were posing for Guy Madelyn with a group of young kangaroos; Bernice was making a purchase at the coffee shop window; and Jake Silverthorn was off by himself, studying a corner of the gift shop’s overhanging roof.