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with Wendell while darting surreptitious looks at Margaret and herself. Eduardo and Lucien had gone off into a corner by themselves. They seemed simpatico, although Eduardo’s smile appeared somewhat forced.
    Margaret’s eyes sparkled with malice. “Neesha and I declared a truce in Sydney, but I don’t think she quite believes it.”
    The doctor emitted a braying laugh at something Cleon had said and Cleon clapped him on the shoulder and chuckled. Eduardo said that Cleon had given Fisher an earful in Sydney, but they certainly seemed chummy enough tonight. Margaret excused herself and moved off to listen in on their conversation.
    In a black dinner jacket befitting a gig at Buckingham Palace, Mack sallied across the room with a tray of canapés. “The kitchen isn’t equipped to handle a large number of hors d’oeuvres. I’m afraid the shrimp got a bit crusty under the broiler.”
    “They look great to me.” Dinah helped herself to two.
    “The place isn’t officially open for business, but your uncle was adamant. Don’t sweat the niceties, he said. But I wish there was more and better help in the kitchen. Your party are the first guests.”
    She said, “I can live without some niceties, but I’m squeamish about spiders.”
    “You saw a spider?”
    “It was tiny, but one roomie’s enough.”
    “It was probably an assassin. They eat other spiders.”
    “Then I’m sorry I killed it. I’m also squeamish about snakes. I hope there are no more death adders lurking around.”
    “I’m sure what happened to Lucien was a oncer.”
    Maybe death adders weren’t everyday callers at Crow Hill, but his offhanded certainty made her want to knock wood. “How long have you been running the lodge, Mack?”
    “I bought it last year. The place had been derelict for a long time. I’ve been slow to renovate. More spiders than money, I’m afraid. Ultimately, I plan to turn it into a destination resort with original Aboriginal art in every room and art and cultural tours. Of course, I’ll need to raise quite a lot of money. Your uncle’s offer to pay top dollar for a week’s stay was a godsend.”
    Dinah wanted to ask if the price covered the risk of allowing an illegal suicide on the premises, but self-censored. Mack might not know. And if he wondered why a wealthy American sought out his spidery, no-niceties inn in the boonies, top dollar had evidently allayed his concerns.
    Tanya, the disgruntled Aboriginal cook, came around with a tray of stuffed mushrooms. Mack took one for himself and one for Dinah. “You can manage two trays at once, can’t you, Tanya?” He pressed the shrimp tray into her free hand.
    She glared mutinously and stumped off with a tray balanced precariously on either arm.
    Dinah foresaw employee relations issues in Mack’s future. “What did you do before taking on this place, Mack?”
    “I was concierge at the Godfrey Arms in London. When the hotel went bankrupt and closed its doors, I decided to return to Australia, reconnect with my roots, and track down my birth mother.” He glanced around the room. Everyone was deep in conversation and Tanya was circulating with the shrimp. “If you’d like, I’ll show you some of what I have in mind for the place.”
    “Sure.” Maybe he had a private room in mind for her.
    He led her back into the foyer, past the stairs, and turned left down a long, dismal hallway. A few paces along and another, shorter hall turned left again and doglegged behind the stairs. Dinah followed Mack to where it dead-ended at a dwarf-sized door. What was this? A storm cellar? A storage room? The pit where he kept his pet snake?
    He opened the door, switched on the light, and motioned her inside.
    She looked at the diminutive door and balked. “You know, Eduardo is wild about interior design. He’d just love to see your ideas. I’ll run back and get him.”
    Mack’s chin jutted. “I assure you I’m thoroughly domesticated and trustworthy.” He turned a cold,