Free G'Day to Die by Maddy Hunter

you don’t. It’s not there anymore. Do you know why?”
    I wondered if observing that it was buried beneath six tons of modeling clay would be too candid.
    “It’s because Perfecta caused it to fade away. This product performs miracles, and in doing so, it changes lives by inspiring confidence and building self-esteem.” She smiled at her own words. “We’re going to try to work that angle into our advertising campaign.”
    Nana scrutinized the backs of her hands as if she hadn’t seen them in years. “I s’pose George could take a notion to bein’ seen with a woman with younger-lookin’ hands, but I hope it don’t make him too frisky. He’s still got them lower back problems.”
    “Is George your husband?” asked Diana.
    “He’s my gentleman companion, and the only reason he’s not here is ’cause his grandson’s gettin’ married next week back home. But he’s gonna sign up for our next trip in June. He give me his word.”
    “By June you could have the hands of a twenty-year-old,” Diana enthused. “What would you say to that?”
    “I guess I’d wanna know how much it was gonna cost me.”
    “Miracles don’t come cheaply, Marion. We’re presently looking at a price point of twenty-five hundred dollars.”
    Nana’s three chins pancaked onto her chest. “For what? A lifetime supply?”
    “A quarter-ounce tube. But that should last you a good two weeks, and you’d probably only need six tubes to get the job done.”
    I gave Nana a resuscitative slap on her back. When her respirations began again, she stared at Diana, speechless. “If I watch the sales real close, I can get me a nice pair a gloves at Wal-Mart for three ninety-nine. Three-sixty if it’s a Tuesday, on account a that’s when they give us seniors a ten percent discount ’cause we’re old.”
    “EEEEEEEEEEHHHHHHHHHHH!”
    I spun toward the terrified shriek.
    “I bet that’s a cockatoo,” Diana said excitedly. “I’ve heard they sound almost human. Excuse me, would you?” Dropping her kangaroo mug back on the shelf, she rushed through the doorway into the park proper. Nana looked up at me in bewilderment.
    “Did I just hear a scream?”
    “Yup.”
    “Where’d it come from?”
    “Outside.”
    “Oh, good. I was thinkin’ it mighta come from me.”
    Leaving the snakes behind, we hurried outside, joining the curiosity seekers who were running toward the far end of the building. We rounded a corner that said TOILETS and entered a caged area to find three adult kangaroos parked like area rugs in front of the restroom doors.
    “I thought they were animal pelts.” Helen Teig’s voice quavered as she clutched her throat. “And then they moved! How come they’re not in cages? Dick, shoo them away so I can use the potty.”
    Dick aimed his camera and started shooting. “Reach down and pet him, Helen. I think I’m looking at this year’s Christmas card photo. That’s it. Work it, momma!” His finely tailored Italian trousers were tucked into thigh-high boots with silver toe guards, rhinestone snakes, and chunky acrylic heels that made him only slightly taller than he was wide.
    “Hunh. I never would have taken Dick for a rhinestone kind of guy.”
    “It was either rhinestones or sequins,” Nana explained, “so we decided that rhinestones was less sissified. But it was a real close vote. Six to five.”
    We left the restroom facilities behind us and walked toward the picnic tables at the opposite end of the gift shop, where a young man in regulation shirt and shorts stood beside a freestanding clock whose hands indicated the next tour would begin at eleven, which was about a minute from now. “All the kangaroos in the park are free-ranging Rid Kangaroos imported from Kangaroo Island,” he said conversationally, sweeping a hand toward the giant, jackrabbit-like creatures who lounged on the broad lawn behind him. The area was enclosed by a rail fence and bordered by paved footpaths that were colonized by families