Drowned Vanilla (Cafe La Femme Book 2)

by Livia Day

  I turned my head and my stomach hit my vintage pumps like it was weighed down with the Maltese Wombat as I recognised the man in the doorway of the hall. Leo Bishop, with a warm and relaxed smile as he surveyed the room, looking for me. When had he got here?

  ‘Shouldn’t you be happier to see your sweetie?’ Darrow said into my ear.

  I didn’t say ‘he’s not my…’ because really if I couldn’t cope with ‘sweetie’ I shouldn’t be sleeping with anyone. Or kissing anyone, come to that. What I said instead was: ‘Hide me.’

  The thing about Darrow is, when the shit hits the fan you can rely on him to rescue you without question. He swung me around and through the crowd, one arm slung over my shoulder. ‘Someday you can tell me the story.’

  I nodded enthusiastically. ‘Or not.’ And I fled through the back door.

  Away from Bishop. The man who shared my bed and gave me footrubs and had been incredibly, stupidly patient about the fact that I wasn’t willing to play girlfriend. Or, more importantly, to actually be his girlfriend.

  I wasn’t used to sleeping with someone who was so genuinely stable and commitment-worthy. I was used to flings with men who talked a good game but got easily distracted, or cheated on me while their mothers taught me to cook, or decided they fancied other girls more. Or I found someone I liked better, before it all went too far.

  Almost every relationship in my life had ended with the words ‘no hard feelings’.

  So basically my issue was, I had finally developed a better taste in men. #firstworldproblems eat your heart out.

  I didn’t know how to have the conversation where I told Bishop I was ready to move forward like a proper grown up, or the one where I told him it was time to call it quits. Maybe it would be better not to have any conversation with him ever again. Or maybe all this was in my head, and that one random kiss with Stewart had been a symptom of me freaking out about nothing.

  If it was really so random, I shouldn’t still be feeling it on my mouth.

  It wasn’t properly dark yet. The best thing about a Tasmanian summer is the long late days. That, and the ice cream. The town hall backed on to a green oval, and in the interest of getting as far from the wrap party as possible, I sashayed (you can’t do an ordinary walk in shoes like this) across the grass.

  Two lads looked up as I approached, and tried to conceal the fact that they were smoking something Unofficial. ‘Nah, it’s all right,’ said Shay French, relaxing. ‘Tabitha’s cool.’

  Ha, I was cool enough for teenagers to smoke weed in front of. Who said I was a grown up?

  I sat down on the grass with them, and swallowed down any comments about how nice it was to see that the two of them were talking again, or at least hanging out in the same general vicinity. Because I was not a maiden aunt.

  Jason held the joint out to me with a question in his eyes and I laughed. ‘Thanks, but I don’t think that will make my night any less confusing. I’ll have some of what you’re drinking, though.’

  They had a bottle of Coke, a bottle of Bundaberg rum and a stack of plastic cups. It really was like reliving my youth.

  Shay mixed me a drink and passed it over. I swallowed it down. Sweet. Sticky. Perfect.

  ‘So what sordid tales of teenage iniquity have I interrupted?’ I asked.

  Both boys shrugged. Stunning conversationalists.

  ‘You know that ice cream you made,’ said Shay. ‘Can you make ice cream out of, like, anything?’

  ‘That’s basically my mission in life,’ I confessed, then took another mouthful of the sticky drink. ‘I could make one of this. Well, not an ice cream. A sorbet, maybe. Or a granita.’

  Shay was grinning, much closer to the cocky kid I remembered from our first meeting. ‘What about beer?’

  ‘I could do it,’ I assured him. ‘It would be revolting, though. I’d have to add sugar for the freezing to work right, and it’s unlikely I’d end up with anything that actual beer drinkers would like. Or non beer drinkers, come to that. There have been some experiments with Guinness. I can see one of those micro-brew chocolate beers becoming something ice cream worthy.’

  ‘You cook, right?’ said Jason, inhaling deeply. ‘Shay reckons you cook.’

  ‘I’ve been known to scramble the odd egg. Also, I make the best minestrone soup known to man, woman or beast.’

  ‘I thought about doing that,’ Jason said thoughtfully. ‘I like to cook. We have a restaurant at the vineyard. I’d have to go away to do an apprenticeship. Do it properly, get the piece of paper and all.’

  Shay looked away, as if they’d had this conversation many times before.

  ‘Your dad wouldn’t let you go?’ I asked. Couldn’t be many nineteen-year-olds who actually wanted to step into the family business.

  ‘Dad reckons if I leave town I’ll just keep on going,’ Jason shrugged. ‘That’s what happens around here. The kids leave.’

  ‘I’m leaving,’ Shay said abruptly. ‘Soon as I save up enough. This place is dead.’

  ‘It could be amazing if people stayed,’ Jason argued. ‘Put in the effort, build the community into the next generation.’

  Shay rolled his eyes. ‘No one wants to make the effort, mate. No one except your dad. The most exciting thing that happened around here in the last three months was when Burgers McCall figured out how to make caltraps with his dad’s welding equipment and covered Main Street in them, ripping up half the town’s tyres. You could Dark MoFo the crap out of this town, and there would still be no jobs on Monday.’

  I opened my mouth to suggest that a film crew had taken over their main street today, and the recent murder also had to count as something out of the ordinary. Then I decided that was really, really tactless and shut my mouth again.

  More people were wandering out from the party. Shay and Jason exchanged a look and quietly stubbed out the joint, tucking the remainder of it in to Shay’s backpack.

  ‘My lips are sealed,’ I said firmly, refilling my cup. ‘I almost never tell things to police officers. At least, I’m trying to give it up as a bad habit.’

  ‘Taaaabitha,’ came a cry from one of the meandering groups of party escapees. Xanthippe made a good attempt at crossing the oval in her high heels, then collapsed at the last minute and put her head in my lap. ‘Are you hiding?’

  ‘Yes,’ I said truthfully.

  ‘Good for you. Should be more of it.’ She grinned up at me. ‘We made a movie!’

  ‘I’m very proud.’

  ‘Also, your hair looks excellent.’

  Oh, I was so behind on the recreational drinking. I made ‘gimme’ sign language to Jason, who filled up my cup again. ‘I’m impressed that Darrow hasn’t got himself run out of town yet. Surely his powers to irritate and offend can’t have entirely abandoned him.’

  ‘Are you kidding?’ said Jason as he settled the bottle of Bundaberg back on the grass. ‘Greg Avery said yes to letting the circus come to town, and no one says no if Greg Avery wants something. Greg Avery was pleased as punch to get the chance to whack on a fedora and pretend to be a mafia boss — it’s like his wet dream.’ There was something creepy and disturbing about the fact that he was saying the full ‘Greg Avery’ instead of, you know, ‘Dad’.

  ‘Ha,’ said Shay, taking the bottle back. ‘Mrs Avery is my wet dream.’

  Jason leaned over and smacked him. ‘No perving on the stepmother, you wanker.’

  A few town girls in borrowed glam dresses and very non-period lipsticks walked past, keeping a distance between us. They glanced over at us a lot and whispered to themselves in between checking their glittery candy-coloured phones, and it was pretty certain that Jason was the centre of their attention.

  He scowled and looked at his feet.

  Shay glared after the girls. ‘Snobs,’ he muttered. ‘A month ago they were climbing over themselves to make you notice them.’

  ‘That was before I was a murderer, right?’ Jason said flatly, no trace of humour.

  Xanthippe rais
ed her eyebrows at him and then at me. ‘You know what I feel like, Tish? Walking. Let’s walk.’

  ‘You have to take your head out of my lap first,’ I told her.

  ‘That shows a lack of imagination,’ she said, but rolled her weight off me. ‘How about you fellas show us that lake of yours?’

  I shot her a look because really, asking to see the place where their sister/girlfriend was found dead was beyond rude, even for Xanthippe.

  The boys didn’t seem to be bothered, though. ‘It’s not far,’ said Shay.

  ‘Awesome. Bring the bottles.’ She took off ahead of us, walking unsteadily. And that was the point at which I realised she was faking it. Zee is not an unsteady drunk. The more she drinks, the stiller and calmer and more watchful she gets. It’s eerie.

  Okay, then. She wanted to see the scene of the crime. Avoiding the girl detective game hadn’t been doing me any favours. I could play along. Or at the very least, keep an eye out for the boys who were in no way prepared to deal with the wiles of Ms Xanthippe Carides.

  Plus it allowed me to avoid the adorable, delicious man in my life, and the conversation I had to have with him.

  We weren’t the only ones heading across the oval in the direction of the lake. A few straggler kids and film students meandered in that general direction, or were already making themselves comfortable on the grassy bank when we arrived.

  ‘Popular hangout?’ Xanthippe asked.

  ‘Yeah,’ said Shay. ‘It’s somewhere to go.’

  ‘Hmm,’ she said, still unconsciously swaying on her heels as her sharp and suspiciously incisive gaze swept the lake. ‘Not for privacy, obviously.’

  ‘Depends,’ said Jason, looking around uncomfortably. I didn’t blame him. The place had a sinister vibe to it now. ‘It’s a big lake.’

  Xanthippe swung around, almost giving the game away as she looked at him with a firm, unblinking stare. ‘So this isn’t where…’

  ‘No,’ Jason said sharply. ‘You have to walk about ten minutes that way, around the curve and beyond those gum trees. Can’t miss the spot, there’s a shitload of flowers and junk set up there. Cards. People pretending to care.’ He dug his hands in the pockets of his jeans. ‘Go see for yourself if you want to.’

  ‘Okay then,’ said Xanthippe, and swayed for effect.

  ‘I’ll show you,’ said Shay, giving Jason a weird look. ‘Don’t want you to fall in or anything.’ How sweet. He actually believed Xanthippe was off her face. Either he was being protective or he reckoned he could cop a feel, but either way he was in for a surprise.

  Jason just shrugged, dropping down by the lake’s edge and setting up the plastic cups again. It was probably my job to stick around here and make sure he didn’t drown or give himself alcohol poisoning. I gave Xanthippe a finger wave and watched her totter deliberately away with Shay sticking close to her.

  I accepted another eye-wateringly strong Bundy and Coke from Jason. ‘So your dad liked the idea of Darrow’s film?’

  Jason shrugged, the cynicism apparently worn away. ‘He likes anything that distracts from newspaper articles about me and Annabeth or our families. So yeah. Your bloke Darrow turned up a couple of days ago, and got Dad on side by talking up the positive press for Flynn. Worked like a charm.’

  ‘Darrow is so not my bloke,’ I said quickly.

  Jason looked mildly interested. ‘Which one’s yours, then?’

  ‘That is a complicated question.’

  ‘You’re talking to someone who had two girlfriends at the same time who were pretending to be each other,’ said Jason with a welcome flash of humour.

  ‘This is true,’ I agreed. ‘I can’t beat you at complicated.’ I wasn’t sure I bought the idea of Darrow charming Daddy Avery and the town of Flynn into this chaotic madness. There had to be more to it than that. I mean, he’s good, of course he’s good. Darrow could talk a cup of coffee into believing it was dandelion and burdock. But conservative middle-aged businessmen are not his target audience, and they don’t tend to fall for his charming wiles the way the rest of us do.

  The gaggle of girls further down the shore of the lake were doing that giggly screechy thing that signals the beginnings of group hysteria. It made me feel old. They were looking over at us again, and at their phones, and it made me feel oddly protective of Jason. Poor kid. Last thing he needed was his misery showing up on Instagram.

  I wriggled my toes inside my vintage pumps. It was one of those rare hot summer days in Tasmania where the heat still lingers into the evening. I wanted to dip my feet in the lake to cool off. I’d have to take the authentic 1940s style stockings off to do that, though, and Jason had probably been traumatised enough for one day without getting a flash of my garter belt. ‘It’s cool that your dad was willing to costume up with the group. My father would never have loosened up enough to do something like that.’

  ‘Eh,’ said Jason. ‘I reckon Pippa pushed him into it. She’s all about bringing Flynn kicking and screaming into the twenty-first century.’ He laughed unexpectedly, eyeing my costume. ‘Well. You know what I mean.’

  I had seen Jason’s stepmother in passing throughout the day, dressed up in black and white movie vamp style, her dark hair in starchy ringlets, and stocking lines pencilled up the backs of her bare legs. She couldn’t be more than twenty-five, and seemed pretty tech savvy. She was the one who had been helping everyone upload their smartphone footage to Darrow’s computer, and making sure they all used the right hashtags to document the day via Twitter. ‘She’s younger than your dad, yeah? How long have they been married?’

  ‘Not even a year. He’s scared she’ll get bored of lamington drives and Friday Night bingo and run back to the big city. Between them they’re all about the idea of turning Flynn into one of those shiny cappuccino tourist towns. Dad is obsessed with Cygnet and how wicked trendy they are now. Cygnet has like Bollywood festivals and major events every other weekend. Every time he drives through that town you can hear his teeth grind about how full the cafés are. The other day I actually heard him muttering ‘ten art galleries, ten art galleries’ under his breath.’

  The girls peeled off their faux film noir outfits now, jumping and splashing their way through the water, laughing as if this was the funniest, most original thing they had ever done.

  Hell, they were babies. It could be true.

  Not just stockings now, dresses were coming off, and there was more splashing. Also some whirling. Surely this had to cheer Jason up? But no, he looked as grim as ever, and barely seemed to have noticed the semi-naked young ladies.

  ‘I wish I knew where Alice was,’ Jason said finally. ‘Not just — you know, to help with my case. The alibi thing. But I miss talking to her. She hasn’t been responding to my texts since the day she disappeared.’

  It didn’t seem to occur to him something bad might have happened to her. ‘She left her phone at the house when she disappeared,’ I said. That was a point. How had the police not seen evidence of Alice and Jason madly texting each other, if she had left her phone at the house on the day she left?

  Maybe they did know the connection. Maybe I was reinventing the wheel, wasting my brain energy even thinking about this stuff. The police were on the case, probably five steps ahead of me and Xanthippe. Leave it to them. Have another drink.

  ‘We might be able to find Alice,’ I suggested, out of nowhere.

  Jason gave me an odd look. ‘You’d do that?’

  ‘She’s your alibi. Someone has to find her. I don’t suppose your dad would help?’

  ‘He might make a financial contribution,’ said Jason. ‘Pippa’s good with computer stuff, she might be more use.’

  ‘Also, we have Xanthippe on our side, with her wily wiles,’ I told him. ‘That’s practically a team of crack troops, you know.’

  ‘I thought you didn’t want to get involved.’

  ‘I tried not being involved. Someone blew up my kitchen, my friends all stopped speaking to me, and I ended up snogging someone
who is not only not my boyfriend, but also not the person who is specifically not my boyfriend.’ I took a deep swallow of Bundy and Coke. Gah, it tasted like sweet fermented tar. ‘Not being involved is not working for me.’

  The girls were screaming again, and it took me more than a few moments to realise that it wasn’t the shrieky ‘ooh aren’t we daring, semi-skinny dipping on a hot evening with a boy in the vicinity’ screams of earlier, but something entirely different.

  Jason went after them first, splashing through the water to where two or three of them screamed and grabbed at each other, setting the others off, crying as much as laughing and screaming, and doing their best to get the hell out of the lake even if it meant climbing over each other to get there.

  I stood on the sidelines, and it was only when Jason turned to me with a sick expression on his face that I realised what that bobbing shape in the water actually was.

  There was another corpse floating in Lake Serenity.

  17

  BUTTERSCOTCH FOR SHAY

  (COMFORT ICE CREAM FOR STRESSFUL SITUATIONS)

  Custard:

  6 egg yolks, beaten

  1 cup cream

  1 cup whole milk

  1 cup thickened cream

  2/3 cup sugar

  1 tablespoon (REAL) vanilla extract

  Sauce:

  125g butter

  1/2 cup brown sugar

  2 tablespoons golden syrup

  1/2 cup cream

  CUSTARDY BIT:

  You’re going to need a double boiler for this. Trust me, no other way. Also you need a tin or pan of cold water standing by, big enough to rest the top part of the double boiler in it after the cooking part.

  Pour the pouring cream and milk into the top part, and let the water underneath simmer slowly. While that is happening (don’t let it go too long, you want it just hot), whisk the sugar into the egg yolks. Then take a good big spoonful (big cooking spoon not teeny eating spoon) of the hot cream and whisk it into the eggy mix. Seriously. Not scary. You can do this. Pour it all into the pan and stir constantly while it all cooks. You know it’s done when you stick a spoon in and the custard coats it in a nice surface. Take the pan off heat and pop it straight in that pan of cold water. Remember it? Yep, that’s the one.