G'Day to Die: A Passport to Peril Mystery - By Maddy Hunter Page 0,4
was to nip a vicious rumor in the bud before it had a chance to blossom.
Battening my hair down with a bandanna, I signaled Etienne and Duncan that I had to leave, then exited the building, bracing myself against the brutal force of the wind.
The sky was electric blue, the sun so hot that it rippled the air. I shivered at the hostile acres of briars and brush that stubbled the cliff top, then stepped onto the slatted walkway that knifed through them, noting the frequent signs that cautioned visitors to PLEASE REMAIN ON THE WALKWAY. Oh, sure. Like there was someone on the planet who’d willingly stray off it?
I spied Claire and the other guests a city block away, hustling full speed ahead in spite of the heat and head wind. I couldn’t chase her down in my five-inch stacked heels, so I trudged behind for an exhausting five minutes, cursing when I reached the brow of the cliff, where the walkway split into a T.
I squinted east and west, wondering which way she and everyone else had gone. Nuts! This called for serious deductive reasoning. Eenie, meenie, meinie, moe…
Interrupted by the sudden clatter of footsteps behind me, I turned to find Guy Madelyn hiking my way. “The wind’s a pain,” he called out, his shirttails flapping around him, “but at least it keeps the flies from tunneling up your nose.” He paused beside me and nodded seaward. “Did you know that if you leaped off this cliff and started swimming south, you wouldn’t run into another landmass until you reached Antarctica?”
“Assuming you leaped at high tide.”
He raised his forefinger in a “Eureka!” kind of gesture. “Timing is everything. I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name in the visitor’s center.”
“Emily Andrew. You want to hire my grandmother as your new crack photographer.”
“Mrs. Sippel is your grandmother? She has some fine photographic genes. Did she pass them on to you?”
“I got the shoe and makeup genes.” I regarded him soberly as he opened the lens of his camera. “Were you serious about wanting to hire Nana?”
“I’ll say! And I’d like to sign her up before the competition finds out about her.” He scanned the horizon through his viewfinder before motioning me toward the guardrail. “Could I get a shot of you with the great Southern Ocean as a backdrop? I don’t charge for my services when I’m on holiday.”
Was I about to be discovered? Oh, wow. I might not have made it as an actress, but could Guy Madelyn transform me into a cover model?
I struck a pose against the guardrail and emoted like a Sports Illustrated swimsuit model. Sexy. Sultry. Windblown.
“Can you open your eyes?”
I tried again. Sexy. Surprised. Windblown.
“Maybe we should try this from one of the lookout points. We’re getting too much light here.”
Which I interpreted to mean, it was a good thing I was otherwise employed, because I had no future as a cover model.
“So you’re not here to shoot a wedding?” I asked as I walked double time to keep up with his long strides.
“Family reunion. It seems the Madelyn side of my family played as important a role in Australian history as the Mayflower passengers played in American history, so when my wife and kids fly out from Vancouver in a couple of weeks, we’re planning to meet all the Aussie relatives for the first time. The kids are really fired up, which is remarkable since they’re at the age where nothing impresses them. But I think they’re finding the idea of celebrity status for a few days ‘way cool.’”
“Because they’re related to a famous photographer?”
He laughed. “Because the town is planning to honor us with an award to recognize the contribution my ancestors made toward populating this part of Victoria. We’ve dubbed it the Breeder’s Cup. The kids figure we’ll be the only family in British Columbia with a commemorative plaque for inveterate shagging, so that gives them bragging rights. Kids, eh?”
Noticing a discarded candy wrapper littering the wayside, I ducked beneath the guardrail to pick it up, frowning when I realized what I was holding. “This is one of Nana’s photos. What’s it doing out here?” It was bent, and a little scratched, but in good shape otherwise. I showed it to Guy, who threw a curious look around us.
“I was positive all your grandmother’s photos found their way back to her. People can be so damned careless. I hope this is the only one she’s missing.”