G'Day to Die by Maddy Hunter Page A

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 pass 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?”
    “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 thorny.” 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! 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 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 .
    Damn. 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 .
    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