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me to wonder if this was a subliminal call to the feed trough or a top-ten hit from Melbourne’s Pop Chart list. I located the stack of medical forms by the door and beat back a sudden wave of grief. Maybe if we’d filled out the forms before the trip started, it might have given Peter Blunt some insight into Claire’s death, or at least provided a starting point. I knew Peter didn’t suspect foul play, but I wouldn’t rest easily until we heard the results of the autopsy.
    Conrad tapped my arm. “Would you like to meet my wife?”
    “I’d love to meet your wife. And I’ll even go one better. I’ll introduce her to the whole Iowa gang. Where is she?”
    “Over there by Mr. Madelyn. She appears to be in line to have her photograph taken. Let me run over there and bring her back.”
    I checked out the queue that had formed behind Guy and did a quick double take when I spied Etienne and Duncan posing with a top-heavy brunette in Daisy Duke short shorts and snakeskin boots who was gyrating against them like a Vegas showgirl. “Great moves,” Guy encouraged, “but maybe you could just prop yourself against the men for a few seconds so I can get a still shot. Think, Greek temple. You’re a vestal virgin and the men are gods.”
    She splayed herself against them, lips puckered and eyes at half-mast, looking hot and seductive. I rolled my eyes. This could take all night. She was never going to get the hang of the virgin thing.
    Bernice came up behind me. “Who’s the sexpot?”
    “You got me.”
    “Looks like your two Romeos are finding out for you. It’s the testosterone. Men don’t know how to handle it. Give ’em an eyeful of bosom and booty, and they all turn into cave men. There’s probably some fancy anthropological name for it.” She grabbed Tilly and gestured toward the trio. “You’re the professor. You see what’s going on over there? What do you call that?”
    “Group photo.”
    I would have chuckled if I hadn’t been distracted by Jake Silverthorn’s arrival on the scene. He stood just outside camera range, arms crossed, features tight, toothpick twitching in the corner of his mouth. He gave the brunette a “get over here now!” head bob. She stuck her tongue out at him and mugged for the camera.
    “Lola,” he said in a menacing tone.
    “Git lost! Can’t you see I’m busy with some real gintlemen?”
    “Don’t make me come over there.”
    “Ooo. I’m scared.”
    Nana snapped a close-up of Bernice, Tilly, and me. “I’m gettin’ photos of everyone on the tour.”
    “Don’t give me that,” Bernice said in an accusatory tone. “You’re grandstanding. You just want to show off for the famous photographer.”
    “Listen here, Bernice Zwerg, if you knew me a little better, you’d know the reason I’m doin’ this is on account a Emily.”
    Me? I stared down at Nana. “Why are you taking photos for me?”
    She lowered her voice. “Mug shots, dear. In case it turns out that Bellows woman was done in by someone on the tour, I wanna have your suspects all lined up for you. Like what we done in Hawaii. I’m makin’ one a them preemptive moves.”
    “Then why are you taking pictures of us ?” Bernice asked, snorting. “Our group was in the visitor center when she died.”
    “I’m not gonna have no one accusin’ me a discrimination.” She held on to a corner of the photo as it developed. “One down.”
    “Oh! That reminds me.” I presented my punch glass to Bernice. “Would you mind holding that for a sec?” Major exploration of my shoulder bag required two hands. I fished around until I found what I was looking for, then handed it to Nana. “Does that look familiar?”
    “Well, would you lookit that.” She stared at the Polaroid, puffing her cheeks out in confusion. “It’s my pretty pink flower in the brambles. But what are you doin’ with it, Emily? I thought I had it with me.”
    “I found it back at Port Campbell, lying on the ground by the walkway on the