Twenty-six Sheilas on a Bus: and murder most foul

The story of how a simple touring holiday in Tasmania turned into a Who-Dun-It. ' . . . but worse than all of that, on the side of her fifty-year-old throat was an ugly gash from which came the dreadful corporeal flood, some of it deeply scarlet. Of course she was dead. Her mouth was open, so were her eyes. The terror was still showing in them. I desperately wanted to cover her face . . .' ' . . . she was on a mission that was concerned with big money and there is little in today's compromised world that is more sacred to some people than big money.' These holiday-makers should have paid heed to Kurt Vonnegut's observation that "we are what we pretend to be so we must be careful what we pretend to be".