G'Day To Die Part 15

"Excuse me, Emily." Ellie Carver worried her bottom lip as she glanced at a group of sheds whose stucco-and-stone walls had the look of candied fruit poking through the b.u.t.tercream frosting on a Christmas stollen. "Connie's back there, poking through the old equipment, so you mustn't let on that I've spoken to you. He'd be cross if he thought I went behind his back, but you look like a savvy traveler, and I need to know. If Connie were to make changes to our return tickets home, would we have to pay a penalty or fee?"

"More than likely. Airlines usually make you pay through the nose if you alter your plans, especially for overseas flights."

"Oh, dear. I was afraid of that."

Warning bells jangled in my head. "I hope he's not thinking of leaving the tour early, Ellie." Like, before the police arrived. "We have a lot of continent left to see."

"It's worse than that. He wants to stay longer. I heard him making inquiries over the phone this morning. He told me it won't cost us anything to change the tickets, but I don't believe him. How can we afford to stay longer when every credit card we own is maxed out? I'll tell you one thing, he'd better not ask the children to foot the bill." Her voice trembled as she fought back tears. "Why is he lying? What is he so afraid to tell me?"

I could come up with a theory, but I didn't think she'd want to hear it. "Has he told you why he wants to extend your trip?"

"He said he didn't want to tell me because it would spoil the surprise, but he'll be the one who'll be surprised if the bill collectors come knocking on the door for lack of payment." Her jaw locked with granite hardness. "After all I've done to pay our bills on time for the last fifty years, if he ruins my credit rating, I'll leave him!"

"Um, I'm no expert on marriage, Ellie, but wouldn't it be a good idea if you and Conrad talked about your financial concerns before you walked out the door?"

"Talk?" She regarded me quizzically. "Connie and I don't talk, Emily, at least not about anything important. How do you think we've managed to stay married all these years? Do you want to know the secret of a successful marriage?" She tapped my forearm with her forefinger. "Never discuss critical issues. It makes living together a whole lot easier."

Excuse me? Avoid talking about workaholism? Retirement plans? Whose family gets us for which holiday? Was she crazy? "Have you heard of Dr. Phil?"

"Oh, your generation thinks a successful marriage means hammering every issue to death. Hogwash. The couples who do the most hammering are usually the ones who end up in divorce court. Marriage is an inst.i.tution, and no inst.i.tution is perfect. You simply have to accept the limitations."

I blinked surprise. "Really?"

"Take it from me, Emily, if you're head over heels about someone, forget all the silly issues and marry him. Everything else will get resolved eventually; you just have to remember always to be respectful and kind to each other."

"Really?"

She flipped me an "Aw, go on" gesture. "Young people. You always make things so difficult."

I was so blown away by her advice that I almost forgot the critical issue I'd wanted to talk to her about. "Not to change the subject, Ellie, but could I pick your brain for a minute? Do you remember when we were in the Port Campbell visitor center the other day, and Henry announced that the bus had broken down?"

"Of course I remember. Connie went back outside to explore and left me with a roomful of strangers. I always play second fiddle to his explorations. But that's Connie. He can never sit still. He always has to be exploring or fidgeting with something he's not supposed to. He'd much rather be off on his own than socializing. But he's taken a liking to you, Emily. If you get him alone, maybe he'll open up to you about the airline ticket business."

And if the police had any say in the matter, maybe he wouldn't be with us long enough to open up to anyone.

As the group headed back toward the main salesroom, we fell in at the rear behind Diana and Roger, who were going at each other like spin doctors after a political debate.

"She doesn't want to drink your crummy shakes because they taste like the stuff people take for diarrhea," Diana sniped.

"Have you ever tried our shakes?" Roger fired back. "I should mail you a carton. They might change your appearance so much, you might even be able to lose the clown makeup. Why do you wear all that garbage anyway? Are you trying to hide something that you don't want potential customers to see? Did the animal rights activists scare Infinity into testing their products on their own scientists instead of laboratory mice? Did the industry's most perfect product turn you into Frankenstein's monster?"

Oh, my G.o.d. It wasn't just me. Other people were thinking the same thing.

"Who do you think has more credibility here?" Diana asked in an even tone. "A woman who wears foundation with an SPF of forty-five to protect her skin from sun damage, or a man with four former wives who all died under suspicious circ.u.mstances? What do they call you at GenerX? Dr. Bluebeard?"

Roger grabbed her arm. "That's not funny."

"It wasn't meant to be. Now let go my arm before I drive your privates up through your nose. Would you like a demonstration? We even have an audience." She nodded toward Ellie and me.

Roger released her arm and looked at me apologetically. "It's not like she makes it out to be. I loved all my wives; I've just had trouble keeping them alive."

I wondered if having a little food in the house might have helped.

"Freak accidents," he explained as he removed his GPS from its holster. He punched a b.u.t.ton a few times and flashed us the numbers on the screen. "These are the coordinates for Venice, Italy. My first wife drowned when she fell out of our water taxi into the Grand Ca.n.a.l." He hit the b.u.t.ton again. "This is St. Michael's Mount. My second wife drowned when the incoming tide swept her off the causeway when we were walking back to the mainland." He flashed new coordinates at us. "This is Alcatraz. Our boat was driven onto the rocks while we were sailing and my third wife fell overboard and drowned." He punched the b.u.t.ton a final time. "This is the hot tub on my back deck."

"I hope your fourth wife was bright enough to grab a life jacket," said Ellie.

"She didn't need one. She was an Olympic caliber swimmer. She died when she fell through the hole I cut in the deck for the hot tub."

"Allegedly fell," said Diana. "Her family claimed you pushed her. Who knows where you'd be today if you hadn't hired some high-priced lawyer to get you off the hook."

Roger bristled like an angry porcupine. "Don't take this personally, Toots, but you're starting to p.i.s.s me off. My past is none of your d.a.m.n business."

"I can make it my business if the details are splashed all over the internet for the whole world to see. Your hometown paper has wonderful archival material. I expect Heath will be thrilled to entrust his mother into the hands of a man who has such a stellar track record with the gentler s.e.x, don't you?"

"I didn't push her!" he yelled in a desperate tone. "The hot tub was supposed to be a surprise! She came back from her mother's early and fell into the hole in the dark."

"Sure she did," Diana taunted.

"Is that one of those picture phones?" Ellie asked as she scrutinized Roger's GPS. "Would you mind if I have a look? Connie could use something like that."

Roger shoved the unit at her while he continued to rail at Diana. "If you read the outcome of the trial, you'd know that I was acquitted of all charges!"

Diana spiraled her forefinger in the air in an unenthusiastic whoopie.

"How do you dial this thing?" Ellie asked me. "There's no keypad."

"You can't talk to anyone on it," I said, eyeing it with excitement. "It's a Global Positioning System."

"Is that like an iPod? The grandkids all have iPods...and hearing problems."

"It doesn't play music."

"Where's the shutter?"

"It's not a camera."

"It can't take pictures; it doesn't play music, and it won't let you talk to someone? Shoot, what good is it?"

"It helps you find your way if you're lost."

"What's wrong with using a compa.s.s?"

I shrugged. "Nothing, except it's not as cool as something that's ridiculously expensive, eats batteries, and labels you as a trendsetter."

She handed the unit to me. "Would you mind giving this back to our friend when he stops yelling? I'm going to catch up with the group."

Of course I'd give it back to him, after after I checked out the waypoint he'd shown me at Sovereign Hill-if I could find it again. I pressed the click stick to change the screen, and when nothing happened, I pressed a b.u.t.ton above the power switch. The main menu appeared, with the word "Waypoints" at the top. Now we were cooking. I checked out the waypoint he'd shown me at Sovereign Hill-if I could find it again. I pressed the click stick to change the screen, and when nothing happened, I pressed a b.u.t.ton above the power switch. The main menu appeared, with the word "Waypoints" at the top. Now we were cooking.

"Stay out of my face, Diana," Roger threatened, "or you're going to be one sorry scientist."

She laughed dismissively. "What are you going to do? Invite me to go on a boat ride with you?"

I found the up and down b.u.t.tons, wiggled the click stick, and accessed another menu. Highlighting the appropriate waypoint, I glanced at a new screen that showed the digits zero-one-four within a little flag. Ta da! But there were a gazillion numbers marking longitude and lat.i.tude. How was I supposed to remember all of them? I didn't even memorize phone numbers anymore. I used speed dial!

"I'd love to see what happens to you around water," Roger mocked. "My best guess is that your face dissolves. Am I right?"

"You're a d.i.c.khead, Roger. You're not going to win Nora over. I'll see to it personally-that's a promise."

"Don't make promises you can't keep, Toots. Hey, where'd the old broad go with my GPS?"

I powered off the unit and waved it at him. "Here you go. She wasn't impressed. She said she'd rather have a compa.s.s."

He regarded the blank screen. "Did you turn it off?"

"Yup. Didn't want to drain your batteries."

"How'd you know which b.u.t.ton to press?"

"Lucky guess."

He eyed me suspiciously. "You better not have screwed anything up. No one touches my GPS. If that witch hadn't distracted me-" He threw an ugly look after Diana as she hiked back toward the main building.

"You two have become pretty fierce compet.i.tors, hunh?" I asked.

"She'll never be in my league. She's a rank amateur. What she doesn't know is, when she least suspects it, I'm going to crush her." He cracked his knuckles in seeming antic.i.p.ation and smiled. "Metaphorically, of course."

I hoped his metaphorical definition of the word "crush" didn't include any activity that would impair Diana's ability to walk, talk, or breathe. He might be short, but he was so bulked up with muscle, he might as well have OVERSIZE LOAD OVERSIZE LOAD tattooed on his forehead. If he fell on top of her, we'd need a crane to lift him off. tattooed on his forehead. If he fell on top of her, we'd need a crane to lift him off.

I blanched at the image. I hope he hadn't just confessed to meditating about premeditated murder. If Diana ended up dead, where would that leave me, other than being the sole witness who could squeal on him? Oh, G.o.d. Oh, G.o.d. "Uhh, I'm going to jog up to the main building and join the others before all the wine is gone." I edged away from him. "See you at the tasting counter." "Uhh, I'm going to jog up to the main building and join the others before all the wine is gone." I edged away from him. "See you at the tasting counter."

"Never touch the stuff. Too many toxins. But you go ahead. We've all gotta die of something."

He grinned when he said it.

"White wines aren't actually white. They range from green, to yillow, to brown, with more color indicating more flavor. Rid wines range from pale rid to a deep brown rid and usually become lighter in color as they age."

Our wine expert stood behind a long counter in a room whose stone walls and exposed wood beams smacked of an English hunting lodge, minus the big-game heads mounted over the mantel. Boxed sets of the winery's premier labels sat on display tables along the walls, while sparkling stemware crowded the countertop, waiting to be filled.

"Proper tasting is a six-step prociss," our hostess continued. "See, swirl, sniff, sip, swish, and spit." She decanted a small amount of a straw-colored wine into a gla.s.s. "I'll go over these steps with you briefly, then we'll git right to it. You can till a great deal about a wine simply by looking at it, or 'seeing' it."

I tuned her out as I jotted down the coordinates I'd seen on Roger's GPS.

"If those are potential wedding dates," Duncan said over my shoulder, "I'm available, and I know for a fact that Miceli happens to be busy, so why don't you pencil me in?"

I closed my little notebook and dropped it back in my shoulder bag. "How do you know Etienne is busy?"

"He's retired, Em. Trust me, he already has an appointment with his sofa and big-screen TV on those dates. Miceli is a nice guy, but don't you think you're a little young to hang up the dancing shoes? Marry me, Em." He intertwined his fingers with mine and drew me close. "We can travel to every corner of the world together. We can see it all; do it all. I love you. How many languages would you like me to translate that into for you?"

"Nixt, we swirl the wine to release the bouquet, then we sniff deeply," our hostess announced, demonstrating the procedure.

I lowered my voice to a whisper as I surveyed the crowded room. "I'm not sure this is the place to be discussing love and marriage, Duncan."

"Where is the place? Tell me. We can ditch Miceli and-" His expression soured as he glanced beyond me. "d.a.m.n."

I followed his gaze to find Etienne threading his way through the crowd toward us.

"Remimber that your taste buds are on the front and and back of your tongue," said our hostess, "so once you've sipped, swish the wine around to awaken your sinses. If you draw in a little air at the same time, you'll enhance the flavor even more." back of your tongue," said our hostess, "so once you've sipped, swish the wine around to awaken your sinses. If you draw in a little air at the same time, you'll enhance the flavor even more."

"Emily, darling," whispered Etienne as he brushed his thumb down my cheek, "why is there a balloon hanging from your grandmother's ear?"

"Shoot, the hairpins must have fallen out. Where is she? I'll need to fix it." I went up on tiptoe. "And it's not a balloon, it's a glove-or it used to be, before I cut off four of the fingers."

"Of course." Etienne nodded his understanding. "A glove makes much more sense than a balloon."

"Have you talked to her about earm.u.f.fs?" asked Duncan.

Our hostess's voice grew louder. "After you've swished, I suggist you spit out your wine in any of the barrels provided throughout the room. If you prefer not to spit, it's perfectly acciptable to swallow after you gurgle gurgle it a little at the back of your mouth to release more flavor. See, swirl, sniff, sip, swish, and spit. Are you riddy to begin? Billy up to the bar, mates. I'll pour samples of our nineteen-ninety-eight chardonnay for each of you." it a little at the back of your mouth to release more flavor. See, swirl, sniff, sip, swish, and spit. Are you riddy to begin? Billy up to the bar, mates. I'll pour samples of our nineteen-ninety-eight chardonnay for each of you."

A crus.h.i.+ng wave of humanity pressed forward, arms extended and fingers grabbing. It reminded me of a recent customer appreciation day at Fareway Foods when the hot giveaway item had been pork-flavored minimarshmallows.

"Wine anyone?" asked Duncan.

I gazed at the mayhem. "I value my life too much."

"Not as much as I value it," said Etienne, lifting my hand to his mouth and placing a soft kiss on my inner wrist that tingled all the way to my shoulder.

Eh!

"I don't mean to pry, Imily," Henry said as he joined us, "but why is your grandmother wearing a condom on her ear?"

"Whin you sniff this chardonnay," our hostess yelled above the clinking, slurping, and spitting, "you'll note it has a stunning nose with a palate of ripe, tropical fruit, coconut, milon, and spicy oak. Does anyone ilse want a sample?"

"That's my cue," said Duncan. "Samples all around?"

"Not for me." Henry held up his hand. "The company frowns on their drivers gitting hammered, especially whin they're on the job."

Which reminded me in a roundabout sort of way-"Are either of you familiar with global positioning systems?"

"Those new personal units are pretty expinsive," said Henry, "but they make great toys for the hard-to-buy-for bloke. I have one on my Amazon wish list."

"My department was in the process of installing them in our police cars when I left," said Etienne.

"If I had lat.i.tude and longitude for an unknown location, but didn't have a GPS unit, do you know where I could look that would tell me where the location was?"

"A gazetteer," said Henry. "It would at least git you in the right ballpark."