G'Day to Die (5 page)

I opened the door. “What took you so lo—”

Etienne cupped his hands around my head and kissed me with the hot-blooded fervor of his Italian side. Kicking the door shut behind him, he scooped me into his arms and crossed to the bed, lowering all six feet two inches of himself on top me. “Say you’ll marry me,” he whispered against my mouth.

“
Can’t,
” I choked.

“You can’t, or you won’t?”

“
Can’t breathe!
”

He rolled off. “Sorry, darling. The idea was to coax a commitment out of you, not to crush you.” He touched his thumb to the corner of my mouth, his eyes lingering on my lips. “Have I mentioned today that I love you?”

I peered up at him. “Does Duncan know you’re here?”

He kissed the tip of my nose. “We seem to have lost track of each other in the hotel lobby, so I’m not sure what he knows.”

“How can you both be back from the hospital already? You should still be helping Jake fill out insurance forms.”

“It was a slow night in the emergency room. A tetanus shot, a few butterfly bandages, and they sent him on his way. We grabbed a taxi and dropped him off at the police station.”

“And you didn’t stay with him?”

He shrugged one shoulder with jungle cat ease. “How do you Americans say, ‘He’s a big boy.’”

I boosted myself to my elbows, eyeing him suspiciously. “A tour guest dies earlier and you don’t wrangle your way into the investigation? You take a man to an actual police station, and you don’t bother to go inside with him? You
live
in police stations, Etienne. What’s wrong with this picture?”

“I’m demonstrating that I can think of something other than work. In fact, I’m thinking of something right now.” He trailed a lazy finger up my arm and across my bare shoulder. “Can you guess what?”

“You’re having trouble with short-term memory loss again, aren’t you? You’ve forgotten you’re a workaholic.”

“I don’t have to be a workaholic anymore.” He nuzzled my throat with his warm, wonderfully soft lips. “As of last week, I have all the time in the world.”

“Oh, my God. You got fired.”

He lifted his head so that his nose touched mine. “I retired.”

“You WHAT?”

“Retired. They even had a little party for me. They gave me a very thoughtful going-away gift.” He stretched out his arm and exposed his wrist. “Gold watch. Swiss. Waterproof.”

“But…you’re too young to retire. You’re not even thirty-five! What are you going to do for the rest of your life?”

“You mean, besides make love to you?” He tangled his fingers in my hair and kissed me slowly and hungrily, but my mind refused to get with the program. If we got married, would I be able to handle Etienne’s retirement? Would I be preparing him three meals a day, watching him take afternoon naps, and listening to him say, “So what are you doing now?” every ten minutes?
Uff da
. This isn’t what I had in mind when I suggested he needed to spend more time with me.
Old
people retired. What was he thinking?

I tapped his shoulder. Up went his head. “What?” he said breathlessly.

“We need to discuss this retirement thing.”

“It’s only temporary, darling. I have something else in mind, but—”

Knock, knock, knock
.

He froze. “Don’t answer that. It’s probably Lazarus.”

“I thought you two were buds.”

“Closer than brothers. Now, where was I?” He resumed the prodigious task of sucking all the air from my lungs.

Knock, knock, knock.

“Etienne!” I gasped, breaking off his kiss. “I need to answer that. I’m expecting Nana.”

“Is she planning to stay long?”

“May I get up, please?”

Groaning, he detached himself from me and assisted me to my feet. “Next time you decide to wear the hot dress, would you schedule more free time into your evening?”

“You was right,” Nana said, when I opened the door. “Her name—Whoa.” She took one look at me and stumbled back a step. “Why don’t Tilly and me come back when you don’t got company.”

“How do you know I have company?” I lifted my hand self-consciously to my head. “It’s my hair, isn’t it? Do I have bed-head?”

“Your hair don’t look bad, dear, but you know how Helen Teig looks when she accidentally smears her eyebrows across her face?”

“You have the same look going on with your lipstick,” Tilly observed. “It bears a startling resemblance to Zulu war paint.”

“Ladies.” Etienne flattened his palm against my lower back as he came up behind me. “Is this a girls-only event, or can anyone join in?”

“I knew one a you fellas was in there,” Nana said, smiling. “Did you buy them international small-cap funds we was talkin’ about?”

“The best advice yet, Marion. They went through the roof.”

I stared at Etienne; I stared at Nana. I fluttered my finger between them. “The two of you are exchanging financial advice?”

“It’s not exactly an exchange, darling.” Etienne trailed his fingertips down my naked spine, causing the down on my arms to stand on end. “It’s more like a one-way transfer of knowledge from your grandmother to me.”

My jaw dropped in shock. “How long has this been going on?”

“Since Italy,” said Etienne. “I had little need for financial advice before then.”

“Hail, hail, the gang’s all here.” Duncan tramped down the hallway toward us, breathing heavily and appearing a little ragged around the edges. “I would have joined you sooner, but both elevators are mysteriously stuck on the forty-fifth floor, so I had to take the stairs.” He sent a questioning look Etienne’s way before gaping at my Bozo the Clown mouth. “So, what have I missed?”

Oh, yeah. Having both “boys” along on the same tour was working out
really
well.

“Not much,” said Etienne. “The ladies are getting together for girl talk, and you and I are heading back to our room to allow them their privacy.” He nodded to Nana and Tilly and dropped a kiss on my forehead. “See you in the morning,
bella
.” He gave Duncan’s back a friendly slap and redirected him back down the hallway. “So you had to hike up all twenty-one flights of stairs, did you? That must have been a bear.”

Nana nodded toward Etienne. “Isn’t that somethin’? For a foreigner, he’s learnin’ our clichés real good.”

“He bought a dictionary.” I pulled Nana and Tilly into my room and closed the door behind us. “Did you find Claire’s name on the registrant list?”

“You bet,” said Nana. “Her name was there, just like you said.”

“Her business affiliation was listed as Global Botanicals.” Tilly read from a scrap of paper. “According to their website, they’re an ‘international company involved in research and development of age-reducing cosmetics and organic supplements that help the human body operate at peak performance.’”

“Yes! I knew it! Your photo didn’t accidentally blow out the visitor center’s door, Nana. Claire Bellows deliberately took it.”

She heaved a discouraged sigh. “She mighta took more than that, dear. I counted my pictures like you told me, and I’m missin’ two other ones.”

“Do you know what they’re photos of?”

She shook her head. “I snapped so many shots, I don’t got a clue what’s missin’.”

“If the photos revealed more angiosperms, don’t you imagine Claire took those, too?” asked Tilly.

“She mighta snitched all three,” said Nana, “but how are we ever gonna know for sure?”

I summoned a mental image of Claire Bellows as she patted down her voluminous travel shirt. “We know that one photo blew away, but I never saw any others. She was wearing a shirt with several pockets, though. Do you suppose the other two photos might have been in one of those pockets when she died?”

Nana’s eyes brightened. “If someone finds ’em, you think they’ll give ’em back to me?”

A bulb went on over my head. “I’m not sure, but why don’t you and Tilly have a seat while I find out.”

“Whatcha gonna do, dear?”

I found the card I was looking for in my shoulder bag and sat down on the bed by the phone. “I’m calling the coroner in Warrnambool.”

Nana consulted her watch. “It’s awful late, Emily. Are you sure he won’t think you’re bein’ rude?”

“He gave me his home phone number and told me to call anytime a memory kicked in, so I’m about to remember something.” I held up a finger for quiet as he came on the line. “Hi, Peter, this is Emily Andrew. We met this afternoon at—Oh, I’m so happy you remember. I apologize for calling so late, but—Uh-huh. Uh-huh. Yup, I did recall something. My grandmother is missing a couple of Polaroid snapshots that she’s just now remembering she lent to Claire Bellows, so I’m trying to track them down. I don’t know if you’re allowed to divulge information like this, but could you possibly tell me if you found any photos in Claire’s shirt pockets?

“Uh-huh. I see.” I gave Nana and Tilly a thumbs-down. “How about her pocketbook? Anything there? No kidding? Yeah, people used to call them penny postcards, but with the rise in postal rates, it can cost a small fortune to mail them these days.” I bobbed my head as he continued. “I appreciate that. Um…they’re mostly of scenery and stuff but my grandmother takes her photography seriously, so she’d love to get them back. Uh-huh. If I give you my number here, would you give me a buzz if you run into them? Thanks, that’s so nice of you.” I rattled off the information. “We’ll be leaving for Adelaide the day after tomorrow so—Uh-huh. Sure, I’ll be happy to do that. Thanks for your help.”

“Well?” asked Nana when I’d hung up.

“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.