by Livia Day
I handed him a Tupperware container with the second electrified ping pong ball inside.
Bishop picked the ball out of the container, and dropped it as the thing stung him. ‘Tabitha,’ he said, in a tone of voice usually reserved for swear words.
‘I did tell you it was electrified! There was a parcel, too—a creepy stalker parcel, with mouse traps inside.’ I had a horrible feeling that I was sounding like someone who had been watching too many B-grade horror movies.
‘And where is that?’
I felt myself going red, damn it. ‘I didn’t actually see it. It was … intercepted by a friend.’
‘Which friend?’ he asked in a voice that remained professional but had a little extra growl in it. ‘McTavish?’
‘No.’ This was going to be bad. ‘Xanthippe,’ I admitted.
There was a small choking sound in the back of his throat. ‘Xanthippe is back in town. Brilliant. Why don’t the two of you just kill me now?’
‘Leo,’ I said, to show him I was serious. ‘I wouldn’t call you over some prank. I know the evidence is ropey, but someone is trying to freak me out here. And I think it’s the Trapper.’
‘Someone with a sick sense of humour,’ Bishop agreed. ‘Maybe someone who knows you’ve been poking your nose around this case, for God-knows-what reason —’
‘I have not!’
‘But the guy who made those traps is dead. And even if he’s not—the death was accidental.’
‘Are you really sure about that?’ I said in a small voice.
Bishop gave me one of his patented big brother looks. ‘I’ll put you down in the register as a person of concern. If you get any more strange packages, let me know. Some officers will swing by every now and then, to check you’re okay. Plenty of the lads will volunteer, to make you feel better.’
‘Fine,’ I said, knowing I sounded like the brat he always said I was. I couldn’t help it. It was all I could do not to cross my arms and pout.
He looked frustrated. ‘I do care about you, Tabitha.’
‘But you don’t care about my opinion. You’re better than this, Bishop. You can’t give up on everything Dad taught you because he’s not around any more and some inspector is trying to play politics with your case.’
‘Tish—’
‘Don’t call me that,’ I snapped. ‘Stop calling me Tish. You’ve always called me that because he did, but I doubt you even know what it means.’ I had tears in my eyes now, and I really hated myself for it. One rolled down the side of my nose, and I swatted it away. ‘Xanthippe knows what it means,’ I added. ‘Ask her, if you’re interested. She always knew me better than you did.’
Bishop had that frantic expression that some men get around crying women. ‘Tabitha, if you need to talk…’
‘Thanks,’ I said, getting control of myself. ‘I have friends for that.’
He nodded, putting his professional face back on. ‘You should maybe keep your head down for a while.’
‘Until when?’ I said. ‘Until you’ve caught my imaginary stalker?’ He turned to go, and I darted forward, grabbing at his sleeve. ‘No, Bishop, wait. I know this sounds mad, believe me, I know. I haven’t had much sleep, which isn’t helping. But the café, and Amy and Danny, and Margarita’s place is just around the corner, and I went out with Julian at colleg—I can’t help thinking that maybe this whole mess is connected to me. Somehow.’ Yep. That really did sound stupid.
Bishop looked at me for a long time, as if trying to figure out a tactful way to tell me I was nuts. Then, of course, he remembered that he was Bishop. ‘You’re nuts. I know you miss your dad—’
‘Don’t. It’s not about that.’
‘Isn’t it?’ He looked tired—tired of me, maybe. I didn’t entirely blame him. ‘The world doesn’t revolve around you, Tabitha. Maybe it’s time you learned that.’ And then he left.
A few minutes later, Stewart came back in to refill his coffee cup. He was wearing one of Ceege’s band t-shirts, a grey thing with something obscene scrawled across it. ‘How long has it been?’ he asked after a long quiet moment.
‘How long what?’
‘Since yer dad passed away.’
‘Oh,’ I said. He’d figured it out, then. Good, I suppose. I hated telling people. Hated talking about it. Pretending it wasn’t a thing was easier. ‘About three months ago. Before Christmas. But he wasn’t here for a couple of years before that—retired to Queensland. Died there. I’m okay,’ I added fiercely. ‘I’m fine.’
‘But you and Bishop—are not normally like this.’
I wiped my face with the back of my hand. ‘Not as bad as this, usually, no.’
‘A whole lot of things are starting to make sense.’ Stewart put down his coffee and put his hand on the back of my neck, drawing me into him.
I put my arms around his back, and hugged. ‘You smell like Ceege,’ I said into his shoulder. It was bony.
‘Is that a bad thing?’
‘I can live with it. Almond soap. The boy knows how to moisturise.’
The phone rang, and I answered it without de-hugging Stewart. ‘Hello? Yep, he’s right here.’ I handed it over. ‘Simon for you.’
Stewart took it from me. I washed up my omelette plate as he talked. ‘How do ye even have this number? Oh, really, yer a reporter? First I’ve heard of it.’ Ooh, Stewart was sarcastic in the mornings. I kind of liked it. ‘Aye, I heard about the press conference. Planning to crash it? Don’t need me, surely—hardly worth taking decent photos. Oh. Cheers, I’ll call her. See you later.’ He hung up.
‘Do you have to go to Inspector Clayton’s little shindig?’ I asked.
‘No, but I’m away to the office now. Have to return a phone call to Melbourne.’
‘You can do that from here,’ I told him. ‘We have like a dozen free interstate calls on our plan, and I’m—well, I’m not calling Queensland much, these days.’ Before he got his serious face back, I batted my eyelashes at him. ‘Plus, Ceege is paying the phone bill this month. Really, it’s fine.’
‘Cheers,’ said Stewart. ‘I’ll take ye up on that.’
‘No problem. I’m going to have a bath.’
* * *
Baths are the best thing in the world. If you get the perfect combination of water temperature, steam, bubbles and oils, then you can entirely forget your troubles. Even if your troubles include a ping pong ball stalker and a police officer who keeps snogging you out of misplaced loyalty to your dead father, but doesn’t actually think you have two IQ points to rub together.
Well, maybe not all your troubles.
Like most old rental houses, our bathroom was pretty grim. Exposed pipes lined the walls, the cracks in the lino had reached epic proportions and the mirror only barely showed a reflection. The state of the bathroom was actually top of the List of Reasons Why Kelly Didn’t Feel Guilty About Moving Out Despite Sticking Ceege and Tabs with the Extra Rent.
There was a pot of teal paint in the corner that I had bought with every intention of brightening up the little room, but it had never even been opened. Who has time for home improvements when there are soups and salads to perfect?
The bath was our crowning glory, the one thing which made up for stubbed toes, peeling paint and pipes which bounced noises all the way from one end of the house to the other. It was a fabulous tub, huge and deep. It also stood up from the floor, raised on four claws of solid, greenish metal.
I pinned my hair up, and stepped into the hot water, immersing myself in glittery foam. The scents of tea tree and peppermint washed up through my skin, flooding my senses. One long mmmmmmmmm.
I sighed, closed my eyes, and tilted my head against the water pipe. It was an interesting feature of our otherwise horrible bathroom that anything spoken on the stairs, immediately outside the back door or anywhere near the kitchen sink could be heard perfectly from this particular vantage point.
Not that I intended to eavesdrop on Stewart and his phone call. Because that would be wrong.
>
‘Di,’ he said in a low burr.
For one shocking moment I thought he’d said “Die”, but I blame the bath bubbles and a misspent youth watching Hitchcock movies. Then I remembered Diana Glass, and rolled my eyes at myself. Of course she was the person in Melbourne he would call.
‘What are ye doing back home?’ Stewart asked. ‘I thought ye’d be in the States for … is Col there?’
There was a very long pause, during which I scrubbed my toes with a pink flannel, and wondered what the legal ramifications were of tapping one’s own phone. It was no fun just hearing half the conversation.
‘How did tha’ happen?’ Stewart said suddenly. ‘Di, what the hell —’
My toenails were in a state—definitely time to make a triple mud cake for Sara at the salon, to swap for a pedicure.
‘No, no, I’m no’—I know I shouldnae have got ye into this. I never thought … what do ye need me tae do about it now?’
So frustrating. I resisted the urge to run naked and soapy into the kitchen, demanding to know all the details. Instead, I dipped my head under the water, blowing bubbles. Not my business, not my business, not my business… But I resurfaced, of course, and kept listening.
‘Christ,’ said Stewart, so quietly I barely heard him. ‘I like this job, Di. I’ve only just started. This is no’ the best timing.’
A long, long pause.
‘I love you, I love you! Yer the best.’
I washed my knees very thoroughly, and tried not to be depressed. Stewart’s personal life was none of my business. Really, truly.
‘Ow—Kinky Boots, gerroff!’ He laughed, and I let the sound wash over me. ‘No, it’s a cat, trying tae kill me. I’m staying at a mate’s place. No, no’ a girlfriend, shut up. Aye, me too. Talk tae ye later. Bye.’
I stepped out of the bath, and dried myself off while the water gurgled and splurted its way down the plug hole. Then I wrapped up in my green kimono and padded out to the kitchen.
Stewart was on his third cup of coffee. ‘I was going tae track down Claudina today, for the follow up on the “Morris isn’t a drug user” story. Want tae come with?’
I thought about ping pong balls, and how annoyed Bishop would be. ‘You bet. Since I’m apparently not running a café today.’
Stewart passed the phone over. ‘Call Nin. If ye really want to get back tae normal tomorrow, let her know. No going back. Ye’ll feel better.’
I stared at the phone as if it might bite me.
‘Or you could tell her in person,’ Stewart suggested.
Okay, phone it was.
Nin was short with me, but agreed to come in for her Thursday shift. She muttered something about being glad I had come to my senses, and then offered to call Lara and Yui for me, to tell them it was business as usual. I felt better when I hung up.
‘No choice now,’ said Stewart. ‘Holiday’s over.’
‘Holiday,’ I said grumpily. ‘Half a week of insanity, more like. I’m going to murder Darrow when I see him again. No, worse. I will bake a peach meringue roulade and refuse to let him have any.’
‘D’ye think,’ said Stewart, and then cleared his throat. ‘Ye like Darrow a lot, don’t ye? He’s a mate.’
‘Yes. Not a cuddly on the couch, watching Doris Day movies when I feel bad kind of mate. But I’m used to having him around. He comes into the café a few times a week, when he’s not mysteriously disappearing. Hangs out, chatting to my customers. I make fancy French gateaux for him, and we have stupid conversations.’ I kicked the table leg. ‘I miss him and his laptop and his annoyingly beautiful coats.’
‘And yer not prepared to lose any more men in yer life,’ Stewart said pointedly.
I gave him my patented death stare. ‘You’ll save me a fortune on therapy.’
‘I’m only saying—it explains a lot.’
I got up and poured myself the last of the drip coffee, so Stewart couldn’t have it. He looked sad as I added milk and sugar. ‘Have I been acting completely off the show?’ I asked.
‘It’s hard to tell. I’ve only known ye a week. I don’t know what’s normal.’
‘I didn’t even start worrying until I found out Xanthippe was looking for him. Darrow, I mean. He often does vanish for weeks at a time, and it’s not like he owes me an explanation. He’s never been a hands-on business partner—he leaves the café stuff to me. But my rent isn’t transferred automatically. He always collects it in person. And he hasn’t missed this many fortnights before. He can’t be that scared of Xanthippe … well. Maybe he is. It was a very pretty car and no one knows better than him how long her vengeful streak can be.’ That didn’t explain why he had refused to sign the insurance papers, but I had my own theory about that one. Men are stupid.
‘Still,’ said Stewart. ‘There’s only so much ye can do until he comes back of his own accord.’ He looked more closely at me. ‘Tabitha, are ye glittering?’
‘New bubble bath. I tried to resist, but the call of the sparkly bubbles overpowered my senses.’
Stewart reached out, and touched my cheek. Glitter came off on his fingers. ‘I’m pretty sure most people would rinse this off.’
‘You must know some strange people. Are we going to call Claudina, or just turn up?’
‘We don’t want tae give her the chance to dodge us. Get dressed.’
‘Good plan.’ I got up, managing not to fall out of my kimono as I headed out of the kitchen.
‘Oh, and Tabitha?’
‘Yes?’
‘Why did yer dad call you Tish?’
I smirked at him, and bolted for the stairs. ‘Eavesdropper.’
18
For interviewing suspicious characters, I had chosen today’s outfit very carefully. It was what I liked to call my anti-goth ensemble—shoes, stockings, skirt, top, jacket, choker, handbag, nail polish, and three locks of false hair in my ponytail, all the same shade of powder blue.
Okay, possibly I just chose the whole outfit to match the nail polish I was already wearing.
We had to go through town to get to Claudina’s place, and that meant driving past the café. As we got close, I clenched the steering wheel a little harder than I should have, every inch of me screaming to run inside and wrap pesto bagels for the lunch crowd.
What had I been thinking? I didn’t stop trading when Dad died, and yet I’d done it for three days in the (misguided) hope of luring my missing landlord out of hiding? Very stupid, Tabitha.
Of course, I looked at the café as we passed. Something caught my eye. I flung the car into a bus zone on the next block, and parked messily.
‘Tabitha, we cannae stop here,’ Stewart said in alarm.
‘I’ll only be a sec.’
I ran back across the lights in my wedge-heels, past the café and around to the yard behind. ‘Locks!’
Lockwood the drug dealer was sitting himself down on my back steps when I called his name. He gave me a reproachful look and started levering himself up again. ‘I’m just hanging out for a bit, no funny business. I’ll move on…’
‘No,’ I said, out of breath. ‘I mean—I wanted to talk to you.’
He lit a cigarette, not meeting my eyes. ‘Café’s closed. You don’t have anything to bribe me with. Unless you’re going to give me cash for pills?’
‘I’m re-opening tomorrow. I’ll bring you coffee and a sandwich out here, every day for a week.’
He didn’t look tempted. ‘I’d rather have marshmallows. Or, hey. Some of those melty biscuits. Those are good. Are you and that cop on together?’
I blinked at the quick change of subject from sweets to my love life. ‘I’m not talking to you about Bishop.’
‘Fair enough, thought I’d check for facts before spreading the goss.’
‘Don’t,’ I said flatly. ‘I want to talk to you about The Vampire.’
That amused him. ‘So you’re not fucking a cop, you’re collecting evidence for him…’
‘Don’t laugh.’
‘Dang
erous territory, cutes. I find it pretty funny stuff. “Vampire.” Too much to hope for a more specific reference like Nosferatu? Would be classier.’
‘Do you have much to do with him?’
‘Nah. You know me, I’m small time. Limited supply and demand, special parties, enough to keep me in Cocoa Pops and Nintendo. But this Vampire bloke—he’s a corporation, near enough. A real professional, here six months and looking to expand, if you know what I mean.’
‘Do the police know about him?’
‘The police always know. But what are they going to do? They don’t know what his real name is. No one’s ever nabbed one of his couriers. He doesn’t pick innocent faces, he’s smart enough to know that the real innocents are too noticeable. He finds the people that no one ever notices—man’s an artist when it comes to delegation.’
‘You sound impressed,’ I accused.
‘Got to respect the fellers at the top of the food chain, babe.’
‘Do you know his name?’
Lock’s eyes were wary behind his glasses. ‘No one knows.’
‘You’re not going to tell me?’
‘Nuh.’
‘Anything you can tell me?’
‘It’s always the people you least suspect.’
‘That will be a real help. Was Julian Morris working for The Vampire?’
Now Locks looked at me as if I really had said some-
thing funny. ‘Tabitha Dah-ling. Such a nasty suspicious mind. I’ll want my coffee tomorrow. Don’t bother about the sandwich.’
I glared at him. He was too damn thin, that much was obvious even under the stupid moth-eaten coat that covered everything. Every time I saw him, I wanted to sit him at my kitchen table and give him a good square meal. ‘Take care of yourself,’ I said as I walked away.
‘Always do,’ Locks drawled, and lit another cigarette.
* * *
‘Is this it?’ I said a while later, when I pulled the car up outside Claudina’s place. It was a grey concrete slab that apparently passed for a block of flats, standing out in the centre of an otherwise attractive suburb of weatherboard houses and European trees. ‘I was expecting something more bohemian.’
