Free G'Day to Die by Maddy Hunter Page A

of waddling ducks and hungry pigeons. “They’re known in Latin as macropus rufus. Macropus, meaning long-foot, and rufus, meaning rid, though they’re actually rid-brown in color. Males can reach a height of one and a half meters and can weigh as much as eighty-five kilos. That would be four and a half feet tall and one hundred eighty-seven pounds to you Yanks.”
    In other words, they were built like Nana only with a really long tail.
    “There you are, ladies,” said Tilly.
    Nana stuck out her right hand. “Tell me the truth, Til, if you was me, would you spend two grand to lose the liver spots and have younger-lookin’ skin?”
    Tilly tapped the back of Nana’s hand. “Bat guano and monkey urine. An old Pygmy preparation. Much cheaper.”
    “G’day, ladies and gintlemen, and wilcome to Ballarat Wildlife Park. My name is Graham, and I’ll be your guide today throughout our sixteen hectares of bushland. Australia is home to wildlife found nowhere ilse in the world and it will be my pleasure to introduce you to mini of our native species: koalas, echidnas, wombats, goannas, Tasmanian divils, quokkas…”
    As he continued his litany, I inched away from the crowd to do a quick head count. All my Iowans were here except for the Teigs, who would probably catch up once Dick filled his memory cartridge with holiday pinups of Helen in her muumuu and leather boots. Duncan and Etienne were posing for Guy Madelyn with a group of young kangaroos; Bernice was making a purchase at the coffee shop window; and Jake Silverthorn was off by himself, studying a corner of the gift shop’s overhanging roof.
    “We’ll ind our tour in the riptile house, where you’ll come face-to-face with poisonous dith adders, tiger snakes, and man-eating saltwater crocs,” Graham said dramatically.
    “Hey!” Bernice shook a small paper sack at Dick Stolee. “Get this on your camcorder. I bet the folks at Channel Six can use it on the ‘Senior Doings’ segment of their noon show.” She dipped her hand into the sack and held out a palmful of feed to a furry little marsupial with a face like Bambi.
    Dick sprinted into position. “This is Bernice, feeding a kangaroo.”
    “Get right profile shots,” she instructed him, as a second kangaroo joined the first. “It’s my best side.”
    “If you’ll follow me.” Graham raised his arm and pointed left. “Our first stop will be around the first bend in the footpath.”
    As tour guests trailed dutifully behind him, three larger kangaroos loped toward Bernice, crowding around her legs and stretching to their full height to reach her paper sack. “Shoo! Go ’way.” She angled the sack over her head to protect it, but the ’roos were smart enough to recognize the mother lode when they saw it. Kangaroos suddenly charged in from everywhere, six more, eight more, clambering over each other to knock the feed bag out of Bernice’s hand. “Help!” she screamed.
    Dick Stolee moved closer to the foray. “Here’s Bernice, rethinking her plan to feed the kangaroos. You have any last words, Bernice?”
    “GET THESE DAMN THINGS OFF ME, YOU STUPID SH—” The paper sack flew from her hand. As the creatures pawed and wrestled to reach the seed and grain inside, Bernice’s head of wire whisk hair disappeared within a sea of fur. Dick stopped recording.
    “I’ll make a copy of this for you, Bernice,” he hollered at the place where her head had disappeared. “But I’ll warn you now, if Channel Six airs it, you’re gonna get bleeped.” He trotted off after the crowd on the footpath; I rushed toward the coffee shop.
    “Bernice?” I called as I circled the perimeter of the animals.
    Her hand popped up like the self-timing stick in a Butterball turkey.
    “Hang on! I’ll…I’ll get you out.” Having no idea what else to do, I let fly a whistle that was shrill enough to shatter aquarium glass. “Move it!” I bellowed, clapping my hands. I whistled again, nearly deafening myself.