‘Isn’t she,’ I replied through gritted teeth.
‘I apologise for calling you out of the blue after such a brief acquaintance, but I was wondering if you’d have breakfast with me –’
My heart bounced.
‘–I want to ask your opinion about something a little sensitive.’
‘Is this about Johnny Vogue?’ I asked.
There was a longish silence while he decided whether to be coy or not. Like me, he opted for the straightforward approach. ‘Yes,’ he said, finally.
I liked straightforward.
‘Actually, I was thinking about calling you,’ I said.
‘Oh?’
‘Same reason.’
‘Oh.’ He sounded vaguely disappointed, though I might have been imagining it. ‘Well, how’s tomorrow morning? Seven-ish?’
Seven-ish? Crap, how could I look good at seven-ish? ‘Fine,’ I said.
‘My PA will text you the details.’
‘The personal touch, huh?’
He laughed again. ‘You’re a straight shooter, aren’t you, Ms Sharp.’
‘It’s Tara, remember?’ I said. ‘See you tomorrow.’
After I hung up, I hopped up and down on the spot. It was only business, but I was going to see Nick Tozzi again. What would I wear? I needed to ring Bok right away for a wardrobe consultation.
Bok.
I groaned aloud. I was on probation. Surely Bok wouldn’t want to come to breakfast too? Maybe I just wouldn’t tell him. But then my clothes wouldn’t be right. I weighed up the pros and cons. Call me shallow, but having Bok hovering around me during breakfast with Nick was definitely coming in lighter than messing up my appearance. I’d ring him as soon as Los Trios had gone. Maybe we could fit in a shopping trip this afternoon.
In high spirits I waltzed back inside . . . and stopped dead.
Wal was stretched out on the couch, asleep. I mean ‘comatose’ asleep. He had to be! Otherwise he would’ve had a ringside seat to Harvey and Enid going at it hammer and tongs. Obviously one of Harvey’s pick-up lines had nailed it.
I averted my eyes from the disturbing vision of Enid, bosoms escaping from her bodice, sitting astride a much smaller, punier Harvey, and dashed in to get my handbag and LT.
‘Pull the door across when you leave,’ I shouted, and bolted.
Chapter 16
BY THE TIME I got to Mona I was gagging and laughing at the same time. After collapsing into the front seat, I waited until the wave of hysteria passed then tried to calm down and call Bok. He wasn’t picking up, so I scraped some muffin crumbs off the passenger seat and tossed them to the magpies, who spent their lives waiting patiently near my car for just that very thing to happen.
Birds seem to know when you’re a bird person. Some high-frequency message must go out from tree to tree, species to species, until the entire bird population of the world is alerted to the fact that you’re good for food. Maggies, galahs, corellas, lorikeets, willie wagtails and even crows seemed to know when the passenger seat of Mona was littered with last night’s pizza, or the morning’s croissant.
I watched the maggies squabbling over the crumbs and thought for a moment. I shouldn’t be leaving Los Trios alone in my flat but I simply could not go back in there. Another wave of giggling swept over me.
I tried Bok again. Still no pick-up, so I dialled Smitty.
‘Hi Smitts, can you spare me an hour?’
‘Hello darling. Do you need bail?’
‘Very funny. I’ve got a breakfast appointment tomorrow morning and I have to look good. Can you meet me at The Jam Factory?’
‘Hang on. I thought Bok had you on probation.’
‘He does.’ I sighed. ‘He’ll be coming with me tomorrow.’
Smitty let out a breath. ‘Oh, that’s a relief. Saturday is Triple F at our house.’
‘Pardonez?’
‘Footy, food-shopping and fifteen-minute fuck.’
‘Phew! Too much information, Smitts. Anyway I thought you went out Saturday nights to get in the mood.’
‘No, we do it before we go out because we’re always too tired when we get home.’
‘Oh.’
‘Is it anyone I know?’ she added. Smitty could change topic quicker than a grasshopper on crack.
‘Errr . . . I’ll tell you if you come and help me pick out something hot to wear.’
‘I’ll just check with Henny.’ While she explained my dire need to her beloved, I clipped on my seatbelt and started the car.
I heard a muffled, ‘Don’t be ridiculous, darling, Tara won’t land me in jail,’ before she came back on and said, ‘Henny sends his love. I’ll see you there in ten minutes.’
‘Sweet.’ I hung up and drove Mona out onto the street past an older model blue BMW driving the other way.
As I turned right onto the highway, my musings got interrupted by something in my rear-view mirror. The blue BMW had turned around and was following me. To check I wasn’t imagining things, I turned right at Queenslea Drive and took a long, winding loop back to Latte Ole and the Richview shopping strip. The car stayed with me. Not close enough to recognise the driver, but not trying really hard to go unnoticed either.
I parked underneath David Jones. The Beamer drove past me and went on to the lower basement level. Maybe I’d been mistaken, I thought, as I rode the escalator into the shopping complex. This whole Johnny Vogue/Nick Tozzi thing had me edgy, and the Harvey/Enid affair had me plain hysterical.
I tried to calm myself before I saw Smitts. Like Bok, she could pick up on my moods even quicker than she could switch topics.
Chapter 17
RICHVIEW SHOPS COMPRISED ONE multi-storey centre with a whole lot of ground-level boutiques and cafes sprinkled around the outside of it. The exclusive shopping area was bordered by the railway line on one side and the highway on the other. In summer, the ‘Rich’ centre was packed with people taking advantage of the airconditioning, but the rest of the year most shoppers liked to use the alfresco eateries around the outside. Mostly the boutiques were mortgage-your-house expensive, but a couple of factory-direct stores had survived from the early days – a bit like Euccy Grove’s welfare housing.
The factory directs were on the very top level where the architect and builders had had a communication breakdown and forgotten to put in windows. The owners had tried to sue, but in the end it was easier to drop the rent. The Jam Factory had been there as long as I could remember – give or take a few name and radical decor changes. These days it was techno-punk and minimalist.
‘T!’ a tiny figure barrelled into me and latched around my waist.
I patted the silky, Orica-styled hair with affection. When we were younger it had been wild and messy. Just like her. ‘Hi Smitty.’
She let go and stepped back to give me a quick appraisal. ‘What’s wrong? Your eyelid is twitching again. Last time that happened, you’d just found out that Mr Mauritius was bashing the pants off that slutty boarder of yours.’
She was right. When Pascal left me my eyelid had twitched for three weeks. Smitts, bless her tiny designer socks, had brought me a pair of sunnies to hide the tic – mine were lost – and a reflexology session at a day spa.
While we burrowed through the racks I told her about Enid and Harvey, and by the time I’d picked out a few items to try on, she was crying with laughter.
‘I’d better not tell Henny,’ she hiccupped. ‘I’ll be banned from visiting you.’
I laughed and disappeared into the change-room to fight my way into a striped tube-dress.
Smitty stuck her head around the curtain. ‘I can’t give proper advice until I know who it is.’
‘Nick Tozzi,’ I mouthed, so the shop assistants couldn’t hear. Richview was a VERY small shopping world. ‘He was at Johnny Vogue’s party.’
‘Nick Tozzi,’ she mouthed. ‘OMG. You mean Antonia Falk’s shag?’
‘Husband,’ I corrected. ‘And how many times have I told you it’s totally un-cool to speak
in acronyms.’
‘Well it’s damn useful,’ Smitty retorted. ‘And you can’t wear that to breakfast with a Tozzi. You look like a $1000-a-night girl.’
I looked in the mirror. ‘You mean an expensive hooker?’
‘More mid-range tart.’ She pointed to the white halter dress I’d grabbed as a maybe. ‘Try that one.’
With a sigh I peeled out of the tube and put on the halter.
‘Perfect,’ she said. ‘Elegant and sexy.’
‘I always feel like a princess in white, and not in a good way,’ I said.
‘Quit whining. I’ve only got half an hour left. Let’s grab a coffee.’ She closed the curtain.
Smitty’s deadlines were to the second, so I hurried. Just as I got my head and one arm through my t-shirt, I heard a female voice.
‘Jane Evans, is that you?’
‘I’m sorry,’ said Smitty in her most frigid tone. ‘I’m afraid I’ve . . .’
‘June Whitehead nee Barry.’
Who in the hell said ‘nee’?
‘June Barry,’ Smitty repeated loudly and slowly. ‘From school. Oh, yes, you married Whitey.’
‘Yes, I did,’ said the voice, ‘and you can tell that friend of yours to keep right away from my man. She’s here with you, isn’t she?’
All my instincts wanted me to stride out half naked and thump June Whitehead nee Barry in her big gob, but Smitty was cool as a cucumber.
‘I don’t have the slightest idea who you’re talking about. But I do think you should go home and take your tablets, dear.’
The shop girls tittered.
‘Tara Sharp is who I’m talking about! That bitch is sniffing around my Greg.’
‘Oh you poor deluded thing,’ said Smitty with sugary sympathy. ‘I’ll let you in on a secret. Tara Sharp wouldn’t bang Whitey if he was wrapped in hundred-dollar bills. The man’s a fugly idiot. Besides, she’s dating a Tozzi.’
I’m what?!
June made some snorting sounds that sounded like ‘rich bitch’ before stomping away.
After enough time had passed, I peeked around the curtain. ‘Is the coast clear?’
Smitty’s cheeks were as red as a fire hydrant. Her hands were planted firmly on her hips. ‘Appalling,’ she said, channelling our mothers. ‘The manners some people don’t have.’
The shop girls stared at us goggle-eyed. I could almost feel the wheels of the rumour mill start to spin, so I resorted to my cure-all. ‘Let’s eat.’
I paid for the dress with the last of my Social Skills Class money, and hoped Smitty would cover the bill for the cake.
We got the last table downstairs in the brasserie. I ordered a pot of tea for two, and two vanilla slices. Smitty was the vanilla slice queen.
‘Honestly,’ she said, sucking custard out from between the pastry. ‘Some people should be drowned at birth.’
I squashed my custard out and picked off the globs with my finger. ‘Why did you say I was dating a Tozzi?’
Smitty took a sip of tea. ‘Well you are. Tomorrow morning.’
‘It’s a work meeting with a very married Tozzi. And I don’t need another deranged woman claiming I’m after her husband.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I got an anonymous abusive call the other day. Something similar.’
‘It was probably her.’
I studied my glob of custard and sighed. ‘Probably was.’
‘Now where were we? Ah, Nick Tozzi.’
‘Smitts, I am not dating him.’
‘Pooh,’ said Smitty. ‘His marriage is never going to last.’
I might have rubbed my hands together with glee if my fingers hadn’t been sticky with custard – Smitty was always good for the dirt. ‘Do tell,’ I ordered.
‘Antonia’s a major coke addict. She managed to hide it until after the wedding though. But I hear she’s back to her old tricks.’
I thought about Nick’s reaction when he’d seen his wife at the Coke Road party. Smitty’s gossip explained a lot.
‘So why doesn’t she do rehab?’ I asked.
Smitts took delicate bites of the leftover pastry bits. ‘Who knows? She’s supposed to have picked up the habit when she was modelling overseas. Good way to stay thin. Anyway, it’s your turn. Tell me everything.’ she glanced at her watch. ‘And do it in fifteen minutes.’
I launched into a point-form version of how I ran into Whitey, his phone call asking me to have an affair, and the now-infamous party where I’d met Nick Tozzi.
Smitty listened with complete attention, sipping the last of her tea. When I finished, she sighed. ‘Your life is so much more interesting than mine, T.’
‘I don’t know that “interesting” is quite the word, Smitts. I mean, Bok’s got me on probation. Besides, you’ve got a husband and kids who adore you, not to mention enough money to take holidays. I’ve got . . . Brains, Hoo and JoBob, and I just spent my savings on a white dress.’
‘Is that your sneaky way of saying that I’m paying for afternoon tea?’
I tried for an offended look. ‘Well, considering that I’m your entertainment, I think it’s only fair.’
She reached into her handbag and pulled out her wallet. ‘Tara Sharp,’ she said sternly. ‘Will you ever grow up?’
Chapter 18
I COULDN’T GET NICK Tozzi off my mind all the way home. Was his marriage really as bad as Smitty had said? I mean, I’m not one to wish a divorce on anybody. Still, it’d be a shame to see such a good man go to waste.
As I pulled in to my local garage to fill up Mona, I noticed a blue BMW cruise past. Blue BMWs are like Smith’s in the phone directory around here, but it got me jumpy again.
I looked in my rear-view all the way home. In fact I was so busy looking behind me that I didn’t notice the marked police car in JoBob’s driveway until I’d almost run into it. I got out clutching my shopping bag, my heart thumping, wondering if Wal had woken up and tried to assault Enid and Harvey. What now?
To my relief, Fiona Bligh and Bill Barnes were loitering near the galahs. At least it wasn’t Cravich and Blake.
‘Howdee do,’ I called as I ambled down the driveway towards them. ‘’Sup?’
Bligh continued looking intently in the cage but Bill gave me a big wave. ‘Hi Tara,’ he said. ‘We’ve brought Brains her treat like we promised. No one home at the front, so we found our own way in.’
‘OK.’ I smiled brightly at him, but a little alarm bell went off in my head. Were these two scoping me out? ‘That’s nice of you.’
‘Do they both like treats?’ asked Bligh. She had her finger in between the wires trying to entice Brains with a fruit stick.
‘Sure,’ I said, ‘but be careful of Brains because she likes to –’
‘Aaagh!’
‘– bite,’ I finished, lamely.
Bill burst out laughing.
Fiona tucked her hand under her armpit and glared at me. ‘We wanted to talk to you too. Got somewhere we could go?’
I nodded nervously. Surely Enid, Harvey and Wal had gone? ‘OK This way.’
They followed me out the end of the driveway and across to my flat. I hesitated at the door. ‘Just let me make sure all my undies are put away,’ I said, then rolled my eyes at Bill. ‘Girl on her own, you know.’
Bill grinned but Fiona Bligh wasn’t buying it. ‘You’re not thinking of hiding drugs are you, Tara?’
‘I’ve already told you, that’s not my thing. Just give me a moment to make my bed.’
I slid the door open, stepped in, and slid it shut behind me. To my amazement the place was immaculate. Not immaculate the-way-it-was-before-Enid-rocked-Harvey’s-world, but immaculate like an army of cleaners had been through: not an item of clothing or a cushion out of place. I inhaled a lung full of air-freshener and noted the empty rubbish bin. WTF? Dazed, I opened the door for the cops.
Bligh stepped in first, sniffing the air, followed by Bill, whose quick scan of the room lingered on my bed and lacy pillow slip.<
br />
I pointed to the couch. ‘Take a seat if you want. Now, what did you want to talk about?’
Bill dropped his butt down but Bligh stayed standing. I liked Fiona, but she had a bit of a stiff attitude. Her turquoise aura got grey streaks through it when she was like this. Bill’s, on the other hand, was permanently fuzzy and soft, like a halo of green fur. I’m not sure he’d picked the right profession.
‘Where do you buy your petrol?’
‘Huh?’ I said. ‘Wherever’s cheap. Why?’
‘What about the servo on Forest and Gugeri?’
‘Sometimes. Not often.’
‘When did you last buy it there?’
‘I’m not sure,’ I said, confused. ‘Why do you care?’
‘Sam Barbaro pumps petrol there.’ She said flatly, studying my reaction.
‘Good for him. But what’s that got to do with me?’
‘Had you ever met Sam Barbaro before the night of the attempted burglary?’
I stared at her. ‘I’ve already told you I’d never seen him before in my life. I don’t make a habit of hanging out with burglars.’
‘No need to get smart, Sharp, just answer the question.’
‘No, never before,’ I said solemnly. ‘Why?’
‘He’s been bailed. We don’t know who really put up the money but Peter Delgado is fronting it. He represents Johnny Viaspa, in case you didn’t know. There’s been some talk at the station that you might have been an accomplice, not a hero,’ Bill blurted out.
‘Bill,’ admonished Fiona. ‘Zip it.’
‘You don’t believe that, do you?’ I gasped at Fiona. ‘Cripes, why would I want to be robbing Euccy Grove grannies? And where would I get bail money?’
‘Not just any granny,’ said Bligh. ‘Eireen Tozzi.’
‘What?’
‘You didn’t know who it was?’
I shook my head, dumbfounded, not enjoying the curdling feeling in my stomach. ‘No idea. I only saw the picture of me and Whitey. That was enough. Didn’t bother to read the article.’
After a moment though, I grinned. ‘No wonder he ran for it. She’s got a reputation for being a tough old goat.’
Sharp Shooter Page 8
