photo didn’t accidentally blow out the visitor center’s door, Nana. Claire Bellows deliberately took it.”
She heaved a discouraged sigh. “She mighta took more than that, dear. I counted my pictures like you told me, and I’m missin’ two other ones.”
“Do you know what they’re photos of?”
She shook her head. “I snapped so many shots, I don’t got a clue what’s missin’.”
“If the photos revealed more angiosperms, don’t you imagine Claire took those, too?” asked Tilly.
“She mighta snitched all three,” said Nana, “but how are we ever gonna know for sure?”
I summoned a mental image of Claire Bellows as she patted down her voluminous travel shirt. “We know that one photo blew away, but I never saw any others. She was wearing a shirt with several pockets, though. Do you suppose the other two photos might have been in one of those pockets when she died?”
Nana’s eyes brightened. “If someone finds ’em, you think they’ll give ’em back to me?”
A bulb went on over my head. “I’m not sure, but why don’t you and Tilly have a seat while I find out.”
“Whatcha gonna do, dear?”
I found the card I was looking for in my shoulder bag and sat down on the bed by the phone. “I’m calling the coroner in Warrnambool.”
Nana consulted her watch. “It’s awful late, Emily. Are you sure he won’t think you’re bein’ rude?”
“He gave me his home phone number and told me to call anytime a memory kicked in, so I’m about to remember something.” I held up a finger for quiet as he came on the line. “Hi, Peter, this is Emily Andrew. We met this afternoon at—Oh, I’m so happy you remember. I apologize for calling so late, but—Uh-huh. Uh-huh. Yup, I did recall something. My grandmother is missing a couple of Polaroid snapshots that she’s just now remembering she lent to Claire Bellows, so I’m trying to track them down. I don’t know if you’re allowed to divulge information like this, but could you possibly tell me if you found any photos in Claire’s shirt pockets?
“Uh-huh. I see.” I gave Nana and Tilly a thumbs-down. “How about her pocketbook? Anything there? No kidding? Yeah, people used to call them penny postcards, but with the rise in postal rates, it can cost a small fortune to mail them these days.” I bobbed my head as he continued. “I appreciate that. Um…they’re mostly of scenery and stuff but my grandmother takes her photography seriously, so she’d love to get them back. Uh-huh. If I give you my number here, would you give me a buzz if you run into them? Thanks, that’s so nice of you.” I rattled off the information. “We’ll be leaving for Adelaide the day after tomorrow so—Uh-huh. Sure, I’ll be happy to do that. Thanks for your help.”
“Well?” asked Nana when I’d hung up.
“He couldn’t remember much about her personal belongings other than she was carrying a heap of picture postcards, so he’s going to check on the Polaroids and suggested that if I don’t hear from him tomorrow, I should call him back in a couple of days. But there were definitely no photos in her pocket.”
“You s’pose all three a them blew away after she collapsed?” asked Nana.
“Could be,” I reflected. “Maybe the other two are still out there someplace.”
“Or maybe Claire didn’t take them at all,” suggested Tilly. “Maybe someone else did.”
I threw Tilly a puzzled look. “They were photos of bushes, and dirt, and rocks. Why would anyone besides Claire want them? I mean, a person would really have to know their flora to be able to look at those pictures and identify—” I paused midsentence as my brain suddenly caught up to my mouth. “That’s it!” I gave myself a V-8 Juice smack on the forehead. “What is wrong with me? Why can’t I think outside the box anymore?”
“Might be a good time to apply for government work,” said Nana. “I think they’re lookin’ for folks like that, ’specially for
She heaved a discouraged sigh. “She mighta took more than that, dear. I counted my pictures like you told me, and I’m missin’ two other ones.”
“Do you know what they’re photos of?”
She shook her head. “I snapped so many shots, I don’t got a clue what’s missin’.”
“If the photos revealed more angiosperms, don’t you imagine Claire took those, too?” asked Tilly.
“She mighta snitched all three,” said Nana, “but how are we ever gonna know for sure?”
I summoned a mental image of Claire Bellows as she patted down her voluminous travel shirt. “We know that one photo blew away, but I never saw any others. She was wearing a shirt with several pockets, though. Do you suppose the other two photos might have been in one of those pockets when she died?”
Nana’s eyes brightened. “If someone finds ’em, you think they’ll give ’em back to me?”
A bulb went on over my head. “I’m not sure, but why don’t you and Tilly have a seat while I find out.”
“Whatcha gonna do, dear?”
I found the card I was looking for in my shoulder bag and sat down on the bed by the phone. “I’m calling the coroner in Warrnambool.”
Nana consulted her watch. “It’s awful late, Emily. Are you sure he won’t think you’re bein’ rude?”
“He gave me his home phone number and told me to call anytime a memory kicked in, so I’m about to remember something.” I held up a finger for quiet as he came on the line. “Hi, Peter, this is Emily Andrew. We met this afternoon at—Oh, I’m so happy you remember. I apologize for calling so late, but—Uh-huh. Uh-huh. Yup, I did recall something. My grandmother is missing a couple of Polaroid snapshots that she’s just now remembering she lent to Claire Bellows, so I’m trying to track them down. I don’t know if you’re allowed to divulge information like this, but could you possibly tell me if you found any photos in Claire’s shirt pockets?
“Uh-huh. I see.” I gave Nana and Tilly a thumbs-down. “How about her pocketbook? Anything there? No kidding? Yeah, people used to call them penny postcards, but with the rise in postal rates, it can cost a small fortune to mail them these days.” I bobbed my head as he continued. “I appreciate that. Um…they’re mostly of scenery and stuff but my grandmother takes her photography seriously, so she’d love to get them back. Uh-huh. If I give you my number here, would you give me a buzz if you run into them? Thanks, that’s so nice of you.” I rattled off the information. “We’ll be leaving for Adelaide the day after tomorrow so—Uh-huh. Sure, I’ll be happy to do that. Thanks for your help.”
“Well?” asked Nana when I’d hung up.
“He couldn’t remember much about her personal belongings other than she was carrying a heap of picture postcards, so he’s going to check on the Polaroids and suggested that if I don’t hear from him tomorrow, I should call him back in a couple of days. But there were definitely no photos in her pocket.”
“You s’pose all three a them blew away after she collapsed?” asked Nana.
“Could be,” I reflected. “Maybe the other two are still out there someplace.”
“Or maybe Claire didn’t take them at all,” suggested Tilly. “Maybe someone else did.”
I threw Tilly a puzzled look. “They were photos of bushes, and dirt, and rocks. Why would anyone besides Claire want them? I mean, a person would really have to know their flora to be able to look at those pictures and identify—” I paused midsentence as my brain suddenly caught up to my mouth. “That’s it!” I gave myself a V-8 Juice smack on the forehead. “What is wrong with me? Why can’t I think outside the box anymore?”
“Might be a good time to apply for government work,” said Nana. “I think they’re lookin’ for folks like that, ’specially for
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