A Trifle Dead: Cafe La Femme, Book 1 (8 page)

Stewart threw me one of his warm smiles, not looking the least caught out, and Xanthippe waved. She said something in an undertone to Stewart, flexed her triceps at him, and left.

‘Morning,’ he said then, loping over in a grotesquely good mood. ‘I don’t suppose ye have any more Bev Darrows up yer sleeve? I could do with another quirky profile between all our buskers and murders.’

I sighed, letting him follow me back inside the kitchen. ‘My old primary school teacher is setting up a Romantic Poets Wine Tasting in Battery Point. “Have your merlot poured by a theatre student pretending to be Byron or Shelley.” I’ll write down the address.’

‘Brilliant, thanks.’

I scribbled it on a Post It. ‘Tell Suze I said hi.’

Stewart hesitated as he took the note. ‘Xanthippe said something just now.’

‘Oh, were you two talking? I thought I caught a whiff of artificial fruit.’ Smooth, Tabitha. Didn’t sound jealous at all, there.

He grinned at me as he stuck the note in his jeans. ‘I think she was trying to figure out if I knew if ye knew where that Darrow bloke was. Subtle woman.’

‘Her wardrobe does scream subtlety.’

‘She implied he might be in on this Trapper business, or know something about it.’

That surprised me. What was Xanthippe up to, implicating her ex like that? ‘Interesting thought. Barking mad, obviously.’

‘Obviously,’ Stewart said, and hesitated again, by the door. ‘Have ye seen the wall yet? I mean, it’s nae finished, so ye probably cannae get the whole effect—’

‘Oh.’ I’d forgotten. How could I have forgotten? I crossed the two steps to him, put my arms around his neck and hugged hard, smelling coffee and wool jumper and man. ‘It’s the best thing ever,’ I said into his throat. ‘You must paint more, immediately. I’ll clear the place out, send everyone home with their food wrapped in foil swans.’

‘I can wait til tomorrow,’ Stewart laughed. ‘I still get Sunday, aye? Ye could come keep me company. I’ll need yer advice on what colour nail polish Ursula Andress would wear.’

I leaned back, and beamed at him. ‘I’ve been waiting my whole life for someone to ask me that question.’

C
afé La Femme
closes an hour early on Saturdays, which is the least the universe owes me, quite frankly. Hobart falls asleep at about
4pm
on a weekend, and I was looking forward to my precious Sunday off. I headed home with a box of leftovers and a happy glow. The half-finished mural had been cheering me up throughout the afternoon, and I had almost avoided thinking about Bishop all day.

Two big questions: why did I let him kiss me, and why did I stop kissing him back? Pfah. Thinking—so overrated.

I let myself in the front door, and remembered all over again that both of the Trapper’s first efforts had been within a couple of streets of my house. Bad, bad thoughts. Very unhelpful.

What was Xanthippe on, to spread rumours that Darrow was the Trapper? Why was she out to get him? Sure, they were the world’s worst couple and when they broke up the earth basically trembled with the fallout, but that was years ago. I thought they were back to being friends.

Zee and I had a difficult relationship. We hated each other at school, for the first two years. It was loathe at first sight. We tripped each other, bitched and snarked at every opportunity, and on one memorable occasion got a detention for a slapfight in the quadrangle. But then … gradually we figured out that the school was full of girls who were top-of-the-class smart and good at netball, and girls who were destined to be dumb and popular and still pretty good at netball. And there were the girls who tagged along with whatever crowd they could, sucking up like crazy. And then there were the really netbally ones.

At the end of it all, there was Xanthippe Carides at one end of the classroom and me at the other, with absolutely nothing in common except that we kind of liked insulting each other, and other people, and we were the only ones who hated netball. Enforced group sports in track pants, no thank you. Then in Grade Nine, after the slapfight and a month of silence, Zee came over and sat next to me at lunch. The next day, I sat next to her.

When the next athletics carnival rolled around (running in
circles
? I think not), we hid behind the gym together, reading martial arts magazines (her) and the history of Coco Chanel (me). I made her watch classic movies, and she made me help her restore a vintage car.

We went to the same college for Grades Eleven and Twelve, but there was a wider assortment of cool people available by then, and we needed each other less. She took off soon after, running full tilt for the mainland like everyone else, returning for occasional bursts only to vanish again. She seems to have a different job every year—she’s been a PR rep, bodyguard, karate instructor and barmaid, among other things.

I didn’t even realise she and Darrow knew each other until that time I saw them arguing, snogging, breaking up and getting back together at a zombie theme night Darrow had set up in one of the more karaoke-friendly local bars, a few years back. It didn’t surprise me. Even if we didn’t live in a place dominated by those good old Mount Wellington ley lines, threads of connectivity binding us all together… Darrow is one of those people who knows everyone and if he doesn’t, he’ll strike up a conversation. They’ll be his new best friend within minutes.

Possibly I’m that sort of person too, which is why we get along so well.

I made myself a cup of tea and switched on my dad’s beloved old police radio. To most people, it’s just a heap of static and codes, but for me it’s about picking up on all the gossip.

My housemate Ceege came home from his shift at the call centre, yawning in yesterday’s grey t-shirt. I waved at him, and he made a peanut butter sandwich before logging on to his computer, and
World of Warcraft
.

I lay on the couch, and toyed with a knitted cupcake cushion. ‘Ceege?’

He didn’t respond.

I sighed loudly, to let him know it was serious. ‘Cee-eege…’

‘Hush, woman,’ he said, not looking up from his screen. ‘My guild’s about to meet at the tavern, and I’m figuring out what to wear.’

‘But I’m having a crisis,’ I wailed. ‘Can’t you leave your gay elves for a minute to come and talk to me?’

‘We’re not gay, we’re metrosexual. I can talk to you from here. What’s your trauma?’

‘I snogged Bishop today. Well, he started it. But I wasn’t exactly a helpless bystander.’

Ceege laughed softly.

‘It’s not funny.’

‘It’s so funny, Tabitha. Have you told your mum yet?’

‘Shut up.’

‘She’s gonna book the celebrant.’

‘Shut up, shut up.’ I buried my face in the cushion. ‘I need more girl friends who don’t work for me. Boys are useless at this.’

‘Tabitha’s in lurve with a policeman…’

‘Police officer,’ I corrected, the cushion muffling my voice. ‘And I am not hooking up with a man in uniform. No way.’

‘You are so hot for the uniform,’ he chuckled.

‘One more word, and I’ll tell Katie about your Harry Potter fanfic. I’ll give her your pseudonyms…’

There was a cough from above me. I peered up, around the cushion. Ceege was holding a packet of Tim Tams, just out of reach. ‘I’ll make you a deal. We stop talking about your sick, twisted love life right now, and I’ll give you the biscuits.’

‘I could make my own biscuits if I wanted biscuits,’ I said prissily.

‘You’re fooling no one. I’ll give you the Tim Tams, and I get to kick uninterrupted dragon butt with my metrosexual elf friends. Okay?’

‘Eh, works for me.’ I accepted the bribe for what it was, and ripped the packet open with my teeth. ‘I do
not
have a thing for men in uniform.’

‘Whatever helps you sleep at night, Tabs.’

Several Tim Tams later, I staggered off the couch (whoa, chocolate rush) to have a shower. The police radio was still squawking as I walked through the kitchen, and I gave it a kick as I went.

H
ot water solves
almost any stress. Baths are best, but if I make the mistake of having a bath during daylight hours, I’m there until bedtime. Couldn’t afford the time today, so a shower it was. I turned my neck into the hot spray and thought, blissfully, about nothing at all for at least ten minutes.

‘Tabs.’ Ceege rapped on the shower door.

‘Perve! What are you doing in here?’

‘Like I care about your wet bits. You left your radio on.’

‘Turn it off yourself.’

‘It’s not that. There’s something major going on over in Landsdowne Crescent. Like an armed siege kind of thing.’

The water didn’t feel hot on my skin any more. I turned the tap off, trying not to panic. We’re a little touchy about sieges, here in Tasmania. ‘And?’

‘Your Bishop is right in the middle of it.’

I leaned my head against the glass door. I was never going to trust chocolate scone days ever again.

O
f course I went
. Where else was I going to go? I spent my teens working alongside my mum, making sandwiches at bushfires and soup for crisis victims. It’s what Darling women do. Well, Darling women who don’t rebel at fifty and start wearing tie-dyed skirts with bells on.

I didn’t take sandwiches. He didn’t deserve them. If Bishop came out of this alive, I was going to kill him.

West Hobart is a steep, multi-hill suburb between our little city and the first bushy slopes of the mountain. Most days, it’s green, leafy and cheerful, despite the freezing wind that cuts straight from Antarctica. Most days, West Hobart isn’t full of police cars, ambulances, incident tape and red-faced, irritable women in sweaty tank tops and track pants who had been rudely interrupted in the middle of their yoga, pilates, step-aerobics and pole dancing classes.

The press had surrounded the aerobics centre by the time I got there—TV crews, a few newspaper journalists, and two very indignant bloggers who were trying to convince a couple of police officers that they were legitimate press. I waved at Stewart, but he didn’t see me. Neither did Simon. I tried to catch the attention of Inspector Bobby, who came right over.

‘Hello, love. Don’t worry, all sorted. Bishop’s fine.’

‘Who’s worried?’ I said. ‘Do I look worried?’ I ignored the fact that he was acting like I was Bishop’s girlfriend—most of the station had been doing it for years. My only consolation was that it annoyed him way more than it annoyed me. ‘What’s going on?’

I resisted the urge to ask how close it had been.

‘Come on, Tabby, you know I can’t tell you anything.’ Inspector Bobby patted my arm. ‘It wasn’t guns, thank gawd. I’ll send Bishop over when he’s got a minute.’

‘Don’t do that,’ I said in a panic. ‘I’ll catch up with him later. In fact, don’t even mention I was here.
I was never here
.’

Stewart and Simon weren’t part of the gaggle of press any more. I found them behind one of the ambulances, Simon keeping a lookout while Stewart took discreet pictures on his smart phone.

Several paramedics came out of the aerobics centre that was apparently named the Jiggle It Fitness Hub (it amused me no end that the press would have to repeat that name with a straight face over and over again), pushing a uniformed figure on a gurney. I tried to see who it was, but I was distracted by the sight of a grim-faced Bishop walking alongside. He looked like he was having a really bad day.

What I
didn’t
do was cross the police tape and throw myself into his arms. So proud of me.

‘So,’ I said, tapping Simon on the shoulder and scaring the hell out of him. ‘How do you have an armed siege without guns?’

‘She used Olympic standard archery equipment,’ Stewart muttered, leaning out a little further to get clear shots. ‘Luckily, she’s not an Olympic standard archer. She’s one of the instructors here, resident expert on something called Bellycise.’

‘Completely barmy, then.’

‘I wouldnae care to judge.’

A woman was brought out next, flanked by police on both sides. She had apricot hair under the towel they were using to cover her face from the cameras. She wore a Jiggle It Fitness Hub t-shirt, harem pants and designer sneakers. A third uniform carried a large evidence bag with a bright green bow and several arrows inside.

Stewart pulled back before the paramedics reached the ambulance. ‘We should be away. Action’s done. I’ve got crowd reaction, and some contacts to follow up.’

‘Excellent,’ said Simon. ‘It’s like the city put on a bizarre crime spree this week, just for us.’

‘So glad you’re having fun,’ I said crossly. The two of them skipped around the ambulance before the paramedics reached the back doors. I didn’t move fast enough, and the sight of the figure on the gurney slowed me down. ‘Gary!’

Bishop’s head whipped around. ‘Tish, what are you doing here?’

I ignored him, my eyes on my favourite hungry constable, who was pale under his bright freckles. ‘Gary, did you get
shot
?’

‘Just a bit,’ Constable Gary said, looking sick. His arm was heavily bandaged.

‘Out of the way, please,’ said one of the efficient paramedics, and I stood well clear.

‘I’m not happy, Gary,’ I called as they loaded him into the ambulance. ‘Heroics are very unsexy. Don’t do it again!’

He laughed weakly. ‘I’ll try not to.’

I blew him a kiss, then turned to look at Bishop. There was no avoiding it, really. ‘I happened to be passing by.’

‘Uh-huh. That radio of yours is not supposed to be used by non-police personnel.’

‘I don’t know what radio you mean, except the one my dad left with me, which is in storage. Don’t even know which box it’s in.’

Bishop nodded slowly. ‘You okay?’

I punched him lightly on the arm. ‘I heard “armed siege”. What do you think?’

‘It wasn’t exactly that.’ Bishop shook his head, thoroughly pissed off, though not with me for once in his life. ‘We were brought in by a hoax call from someone who said she had information on the Morris case. As soon as she saw us, that fitness instructor turned around and went into a storeroom. We were about to send someone in after her when she came out with her bows and arrows. No one even knows what her issues are.’

Bishop rolled his eyes in the direction of the ambulance, as they closed the doors. ‘I was talking her down, nice and calm. Gary didn’t say a bloody word to her, and halfway through, she shot him for no reason! Poor bastard didn’t even twitch. Lucky her hands were shaking, she only got him in the arm.’

I couldn’t stop looking at him. He was weirdly calm, like this was the sort of thing he dealt with every day. Which, I guess it was. There he was in one piece, all dark and chiselled. Apparently I did have a thing for men in uniform. Damn it. I reached up and put my hands on his face, and kissed him.

Probably the most chaste kiss I’ve given anyone since I was about fifteen, I might add. No tongues. Barely even mouth. But then Bishop leaned his forehead against me, and I sighed a happy little sigh. This was nice. It felt right.

The ambulance rolled away, leaving us in full view of all remaining members of the press.

‘They just took pictures of us, didn’t they?’ Bishop said, his face still touching mine.

‘Pretty sure they didn’t.’

Of course they did.

S
o
, yeah, our paper’s somewhat parochial. Local weather girl gets married, it makes the front page. Anything to do with Princess Mary of Denmark (born around here, went to Taroona High school, don’t you know) is more important than federal politics. I don’t think I know anyone who hasn’t been worthy of at least a half page spread in the Hobart
Mercury
at some time in their lives, whether it’s winning a science prize at school, or picking up litter on the beaches for Clean Up Australia Day.

Still, it was a shock to the system to see my intimate embrace with a certain Senior Constable plastered in colour across the front of the
Sunday Tasmanian
.

Too late now to wish I’d blowdried my hair before running out to make a fool of myself in public. I looked like a drowned rat, cradled against Tall, Dark and Uniformed.

All I could do was close my eyes and pray that my mother didn’t see this newspaper. I would never be able to convince her that Bishop and I weren’t an item now.