G'Day To Die Part 8

"I have to use the facilities," he said in a dull voice, "and return Henry's phone."

"I'll do that." I stood up. "I'm headed in that direction anyway. But would you do me a favor? If you see Etienne and Duncan while you're in there, would you tell them I'm heading up Main Street, so they can look for me there?"

Henry was still at the turnstiles, pa.s.sing out tickets and maps. I took my place at the back of the line and tried not to think about how disappointed Nana was going to be when she heard the news about her angiosperms. Was Dr. Limeburner right? Had Conrad simply identified them incorrectly? Was it possible that a renowned expert could be so wrong about something?

I scanned the shop while I waited, my gaze lighting on Diana Squires's ponytail as she hefted a huge backpack onto the PACKAGE CHECK PACKAGE CHECK counter at the opposite end of the room. Yikes. That thing was big enough to hold a gas tank! I gave myself a mental slap as I gaped. Had she been wearing it earlier today when I talked to her? Had she been wearing it yesterday? Was I blind in one eye and unable to see out the other? counter at the opposite end of the room. Yikes. That thing was big enough to hold a gas tank! I gave myself a mental slap as I gaped. Had she been wearing it earlier today when I talked to her? Had she been wearing it yesterday? Was I blind in one eye and unable to see out the other?

I handed Henry his phone in exchange for my ticket, then idly studied my site map while Diana pa.s.sed through the turnstile.

"Where are you off to?" she asked, her map already open. "Panning for gold sounds like fun, but that involves water, and I'd prefer not to get wet. Accidents can happen even in shallow water."

Hmm. The Wicked Witch of the West had melted when she got wet. I wondered what would happen to Diana Squires. "Did you bring a change of clothes with you?"

"We're on a nine-hour tour. Why would I do that?"

She'd obviously never watched Gilligan's Island Gilligan's Island. "That backpack you left at the package check counter was a pretty good size. Looked like you could fit your entire wardrobe into it."

"Just the essentials. You know how it is. The older you get, the more essentials you need."

"Were you wearing it yesterday?"

"I wear it every day when I'm on vacation. I guess you were one of the few people I didn't sideswipe with it. How'd you luck out? I get some pretty mean looks when I move the wrong way."

"Were you wearing it at the wildlife park earlier?"

"Sure was."

"How did I not notice something that big strapped to your back?"

"Because it wasn't that big earlier. It's expandable. I buy the expandable model of everything, but I'm downsizing at the moment." She patted the f.a.n.n.y pack at her waist. "I turned the wrong way in the ladies' room and pulled something in my lower back, so I'm giving my muscles a rest." She whacked my arm with her map. "The aging process. See what you have to look forward to?"

"In the oft-spoken words of my grandmother, it beats the alternative."

"Speaking of your grandmother-" She snugged her hand around my forearm and spoke to me from the heart. "I'm afraid I might have scared her off with the price of our product, which is too bad, because it's women like your grandmother-elderly ladies living on fixed incomes-who could benefit most from what Perfecta has to offer."

"Actually, Nana isn't on a fixed-"

"So I'm going to let you in on a little secret that you can share with her. Tell her one of the reasons our product is so pricey is because we have to synthesize a key ingredient in the lab, and we're forced to pa.s.s the expense on to the consumer. But I happen to know that one of my colleagues has recently stumbled upon an alternative that grows freely in nature, so there's a possibility we could lower the price to something every woman can afford. Isn't that exciting?" She squeezed my arm as if it were a lemon that needed juicing.

Yow! I looked down at her hand, jerking to attention when I saw something I hadn't noticed before. "Has anyone ever told you you don't know your own strength?" I looked down at her hand, jerking to attention when I saw something I hadn't noticed before. "Has anyone ever told you you don't know your own strength?"

"All the time. When I'm not in the lab, I'm exercising." She clenched her fist several times. "I'm especially fond of handgrips."

"Is that how you got all those scratches?"

She rotated her hands to examine the angry red nicks that scored her fingers and knuckles. "They're an eyesore, aren't they? Got them yesterday at the Twelve Apostles."

"Really?" I angled my head for a better look. "How'd that happen?"

She hesitated. "You know how most woman go into a clothing store and have to finger all the soft fabrics and fur collars? Botanists are like that, too, except instead of touching merchandise, we're all over the local flora. We can't keep our hands off those unfamiliar leaves and flowers, and unfortunately, nature tends to be th.o.r.n.y." She regarded her hands again. "I had a veritable field day yesterday, but it does look as if I've been clawed by a cat, doesn't it?"

Yeah, a cat with long, manicured nails.

"I'll have to keep applying antibacterial cream. The last thing I need on this trip is a skin infection." She consulted her map. "If I'm going to sign up for the gold mine tour, looks like I walk straight up the street and bang a left. You want to join me?"

I couldn't tell if her smile was sincere, or a dare. "I'm supposed to be hooking up with a couple of people somewhere along the main street, so you'd better go on without me."

"Suit yourself. Catch you later."

My heart pounded in my ears as I watched Diana hike up Main Street. Uff da! Uff da! Had Peter Blunt made the wrong call yesterday? He said they'd found no evidence of foul play, but was there a chance they'd overlooked something as obvious as skin particles under Claire Bellows's fingernails? Was it humanly possible for a technician processing a noncelebrity case outside LA to make a mistake like that? Had Peter Blunt made the wrong call yesterday? He said they'd found no evidence of foul play, but was there a chance they'd overlooked something as obvious as skin particles under Claire Bellows's fingernails? Was it humanly possible for a technician processing a noncelebrity case outside LA to make a mistake like that?

No. If they'd found traces of skin under Claire's nails, they would have checked everyone in the park for fresh scratch marks.

I blew a puff of air into my face. It struck me then that there was no colleague. Diana Diana was the one who'd made the discovery, which meant she'd cut her hands in the puckerbrush, all right... was the one who'd made the discovery, which meant she'd cut her hands in the puckerbrush, all right...while ripping Nana's plant out of the earth.

d.a.m.n. I had to find out what was in her backpack. But first-I needed something to eat. I was starving.

I glanced up Main Street, wondering if this is what Tombstone or Dodge City had looked like in the 1850s. One- and two-story clapboard buildings with overhanging roofs. Plank sidewalks. Cobblestone gutters. Wooden railings and hitching posts. Teams of horses pulling wagons and coaches. Ladies in hoop skirts and bonnets sidestepping clumps of manure. Gentlemen in stovepipe hats leaping daringly over it, proving that even though times might have changed, men obviously hadn't.

To my left was Dilges Blacksmith, Forge and Wheelright, Alex Kelly's Bath and Hotel, and the Australian Stage Company. To my right was the Auction and Sale House and a redbrick building that held real potential: HOPE BAKERY HOPE BAKERY.

After a ten minute wait in a line that went on forever, I exited with a boysenberry tart that I purchased from a woman dressed like Betsy Ross. Walking north, I paused in front of the Red Hill Photographic Rooms to admire the souvenir shots of tourists dressed in period costume. Then, spying a bench outside the Post Office, I sat down to devour my tart.

"Do you think if we wait here long enough, a gunfight will break out, and Chester will limp down the street yelling, 'Mr. Dillon! Mr. Dillon!'"

With my mouth full of boysenberry tart, I nearly choked when I realized the man who'd stopped beside my bench was Roger Piccolo. He was short and square, and even though his face ballooned with almost steroidal puffiness, the rest of him looked hard as a sack of grain.

"I remember my granddad watching that show when I was a kid," he went on. "Gunsmoke, starring James Arness as Matt Dillon and Amanda something-or-other as Miss Kitty." starring James Arness as Matt Dillon and Amanda something-or-other as Miss Kitty."

"Blake," I mumbled around my tart. "Amanda Blake."

He swung his body around to face me. "I'm impressed you knew that. You don't look old enough to remember the Gunsmoke Gunsmoke days." days."

Such a charmer. I swallowed what was in my mouth and smiled. "I used to watch reruns when I visited my grandparents. Grampa ate up Westerns. The Rifleman. Cheyenne. Bronco Lane The Rifleman. Cheyenne. Bronco Lane. He loved watching men in ten-gallon hats blow each other's heads off. I think it's a guy thing."

He eyed my half-eaten pastry. "Is that the boysenberry tart? I almost bought one, but the hot cross bun beckoned seductively from behind the gla.s.s." He shook the brown paper sack he was carrying. "Mind if I join you?"

I slid to my right to make room. "Has your name on it."

"I know you're on the tour," he said as he opened his bag, "but you haven't worn your name tag long enough for me to see your name."

"Emily Andrew. Sorry. My name tag never seems to match what I'm wearing, so it spends most of its time in my suitcase."

"I'm Roger." He bit into his bun, a heavenly smile appearing on his face. "Unh. Unnnnh Unnnnh. G.o.d, I'd forgotten how good fresh food can taste."

"Yeah, frozen can be a little hard on the teeth. What do you normally eat? Takeout?"

"Nutritional shakes-breakfast, lunch, and dinner. They're all the body needs. Plus a truckload of dietary supplements. It's one of the perks my company offers. Free product as long as I work for them. I can't remember the last time I visited a grocery store."

I tried to suppress my horror. "You drink all your meals out of a can?"

"Bottle, actually. They redesigned the containers a couple of years ago. But you wouldn't believe how much time and money a liquid diet can save you. My productivity has increased by twenty percent since I made the switch."

"Yeah, but no pizza, no fudge, no soft serve ice cream with colored sprinkles. What kind of drugs are you on for withdrawal?"

"I'm not suffering withdrawal. Believe it or not, I actually like my diet."

Sure he did. That's why he was scarfing down his hot cross bun as if he'd been given the two-minute warning before the start of the Rapture.

He held up the final sc.r.a.p. "Just so you won't think I'm a total hypocrite, the only reason I'm eating this is because it's impossible for me to travel with my own food supply, so when I'm on vacation, I'm forced to eat what everyone else does. But once I'm back home, it'll be shakes and supplements again."

"Can you honestly say that drinking nutritional shakes is better for your health than eating steak and potatoes?"

"Spoken like a person who's never heard of GenerX Technologies."

I feigned deep thought by wrinkling my brow. "I've heard of GenerX. Isn't that the company who's developed a new vanishing cream? What's it called? Perfecta?"

"Bite your tongue! GenerX is not, I repeat not, not, the makers of that bogus vanishing cream. You're thinking of Infinity Inc., our scab compet.i.tor whose main objective is to peddle snake oil to an unsuspecting public. Bunch of con artists. They're unfit to lick our corporate boots!" He speared me with an accusatory look. "How did you find out about Perfecta? I thought Infinity was keeping it under wraps until they could explode onto the scene with a major ad campaign." the makers of that bogus vanishing cream. You're thinking of Infinity Inc., our scab compet.i.tor whose main objective is to peddle snake oil to an unsuspecting public. Bunch of con artists. They're unfit to lick our corporate boots!" He speared me with an accusatory look. "How did you find out about Perfecta? I thought Infinity was keeping it under wraps until they could explode onto the scene with a major ad campaign."

"Word of mouth. There's a guest on the tour who was recommending it to my grandmother. I think she must work for them."

"There's an Infinity employee on this tour on this tour?" He slapped his thighs in disgust. "Travel halfway around the world, and I still can't escape their propaganda. Whatever she has to tell you, don't listen. It's all smoke and mirrors. And don't point her out to me. I don't want to know." He made a gravelly sound in his throat. "I bet she's planning to attend the conference in Melbourne. I wonder how many people she thinks she can deceive with her phony scientific results. Botany has devolved into a science catering to flimflam artists!"

"But she claimed to have a port wine birthmark on her face that Perfecta erased. If she's telling the truth, this vanishing cream could be the best stuff to come along since-"

"A topical cream cannot cannot perform at that level! The implication is that Infinity has found a way to restore a youthful appearance to aging skin. Not true. If you want imperfections removed and elasticity restored, you have only three options: cosmetic surgery, laser surgery, perform at that level! The implication is that Infinity has found a way to restore a youthful appearance to aging skin. Not true. If you want imperfections removed and elasticity restored, you have only three options: cosmetic surgery, laser surgery, or or"-he paused for effect-"GenerX Techologies nutritional drinks and herbal supplements. We attack aging from the inside. A strict diet of our product will not only slow the aging process, it will reverse it. We've perfected the nonsurgical face-lift, and I'm a living testimonial. Fifty-three years old and look at me." He leaned toward me and tapped the corner of his eye. "No crow's-feet. No laugh lines. No age spots. My face is flawless."

And the size of a Macy's Thanksgiving Day balloon. "That's really remarkable. Um...are there any side effects? Nausea? Insomnia?" I paused. "Unusual swelling in various parts of the body?"

"Nothing. Our shakes are as safe as mother's milk. The important point is, you should introduce our products into your diet while you're still young so you can maintain a youthful glow throughout your life. See that white-haired lady walking out of Clarke Brothers Grocer across the street? I met her last night. Nora Acres. She should have started popping our herbal supplements years ago."

I glanced toward the grocer to find Nora scuttling gnomelike behind Heath while Lola Silverthorn walked hip to hip beside him, her arm entangled in his, her chest pressed to his sleeve as if held there by static cling. Unh-oh. If Jake found Lola cozying up to Heath, I didn't want to be around to witness the fireworks. What was her game? Was she planning to hit on every man on the tour to make her husband jealous?

"Here's the punch line," Roger continued. "If Nora bought into our product, she'd look a hundred years younger in no time."

Considering how wrinkled Nora was, I wasn't sure a hundred years would even make a dent.

"Can you imagine the before and after photos?" His eyes brightened at the prospect. "You know something? This idea has teeth. Nora Acres could be the face of GenerX Technologies, selling our product to the world." He stood up suddenly. "I should speak to them."

He removed a phone from the holster at his waist, punched a couple of b.u.t.tons, and studied the display screen.

"Is that a satellite phone?" I asked. "I thought they were a lot bigger."

"Global Positioning System. I'm marking waypoints where interesting things happen to me on this trip. I press this click stick on the front and it a.s.signs a three-digit number to the place where I'm standing. Then when I highlight the number, it gives me exact lat.i.tude, longitude, and elevation. I find an obscure specimen I'd like to investigate in an out-of-the-way place? I mark the waypoint and I can walk right back to it. Nothing ever gets lost. It's an invaluable tool in my line of work."

He fidgeted with the unit before showing me the display screen. The number zero-one-four appeared inside a rectangular flag. Below it was an array of digits signifying location, elevation, distance, and bearing.

"So where's zero-one-four?" I asked.

"That's-" He hesitated, his eyes flickering with sudden unease. "That's one of the places we stopped yesterday."

"Port Campbell?"

He clicked off the power b.u.t.ton and returned the unit to its holster. "Yeah, probably. Look, I want to catch Nora before she heads farther up Main Street. Great talking to you."

"Have you ever heard of a company called Global Botanicals?"

"Another compet.i.tor," he said as he backpedaled into the street. "What of it?"

"Did you know that the woman who died yesterday was a research botanist who worked for Global Botanicals?"

He puffed out his bottom lip in a miserable attempt at surprise. "Guess she'll miss the conference. That's too bad. It's supposed to be a good one."

I wagged a cautionary finger at him. "Before you go any farther, you better turn around and watch where you're-"

Squish.

"-stepping."

After helping Roger locate a restroom where he could clean his shoes off, I window-shopped my way up Main Street, tempted by boiled lollipops, soaps, spices, and fudge, but my mind kept drifting to the zero-one-four on Roger's GPS. What did it signify? Was it a general marker for the national park, or was it more sinister? Could it mark the exact spot where Claire Bellows had died? If it did, what did that imply? Had Roger recorded the death of a compet.i.tor simply because it was a momentous event, or because he'd had a hand in her death?

Now there there was a sobering thought. But let's face it, there was so much rivalry between Global, Infinity, and GenerX, it wouldn't surprise me if knocking off the compet.i.tion was part of a new corporate strategy to increase market share. was a sobering thought. But let's face it, there was so much rivalry between Global, Infinity, and GenerX, it wouldn't surprise me if knocking off the compet.i.tion was part of a new corporate strategy to increase market share.

I sighed as I trudged up the plank stairs to the next level of sidewalk. No way was I ready to throw accusations around yet. Before I started pointing fingers, I needed to find out if Roger had actually followed Claire out onto the cliff yesterday. If he'd stayed inside the visitor center to wait for the bus to be repaired, there was no way he could possibly be involved in anything suspicious. Unless- I paused before a shop window.

Unless the waypoint he'd marked was the location of Nana's plant. Could he have seen Nana's photo, gone out searching, and found it himself? Was it possible that the plant wasn't in Diana Squires's backpack after all, but was simply camouflaged by all the undergrowth at Port Campbell? Could he be planning to return to the park after his conference to cash in on his find and deliver a knockout punch to the compet.i.tion? Was it possible he could be involved with the angiosperms and not not with Claire's death? with Claire's death?

With my brain twisted into more knots than a macrame rug, I stared at the merchandise in the window, perking up a little when I realized what I was looking at. Oooooh! Jewelry. Oooooh! Jewelry.

The name of the establishment was Rees and Benjamin Watch and Clockmakers, but the display in the window showcased more than antique timepieces. There were trinket boxes shaped like hearts, octagons, and coaches. An egg-shaped case lined in scarlet satin that held a dainty manicure set. Earrings and brooches in intricately carved jet. Lockets encrusted with tiny pearls. Gaudy Victorian necklaces set with amethysts that were big as quarters. And an elegant gold band in a lacy filigree pattern that was quite the most beautiful ring I'd ever seen.

I looked down at my fingers. I looked at the band again. I walked into the shop.

"Could I trouble you for a closer look at the gold ring in the window?" I asked the young woman behind the counter. She was dressed in a poufy pink gown trimmed with black piping and wore her hair pulled back into a tidy chignon that might have been the "in" thing at Tara.

"You're from away," the girl greeted me. "We've had news that the Charlotte Charlotte made safe pa.s.sage from England a fortnight ago. Were you aboard her?" made safe pa.s.sage from England a fortnight ago. Were you aboard her?"

I stared at her dumbly. Oh! I got it. Since Sovereign Hill was a living history museum, all its employees were "living" in 1850, which meant, so was I. Okay, given my degree in theater arts from the University of Wisconsin and my brief stint on Broadway, I could play along; I could even embellish. "I'm recently arrived," I said seriously, "but not aboard the Charlotte Charlotte. I was traveling on a ship that wrecked near Port Campbell and if not for a perfect stranger who could dog paddle like a Labrador retriever, I would have drowned." I winced as I thought about my previous trips abroad. "I don't seem to have good karma with water."

"We've suffered terrible wrecks along that stretch of coast, and few people have survived. I'm so happy you were one of the lucky ones." She patted my hand before removing the ring from the window and placing it on a velvet cloth before me. "What ship were you on? News travels so slowly here. We're often ignorant of naval disasters until months later."

"It was the-" What had Guy Madelyn said? Mermaid? Meredith Mermaid? Meredith? I remembered it sounded like something you'd take for insomnia or erectile dysfunction. "Meridia!" "Meridia!"

The clerk clutched her throat and gasped, her eyes bulging with horror. I couldn't tell if she was choking on a Tic Tac or being suffocated by her corset.

"How is it possible you were aboard the Meridia Meridia? You claim to be recently arrived on our soil, yet the Meridia Meridia wrecked over forty years ago." wrecked over forty years ago."