A Trifle Dead: Cafe La Femme, Book 1 (18 page)

Claudina didn’t look comforted. ‘What sort of woman?’

‘Trust me,’ I said again, heading for the door. ‘You’ll be as safe as houses. I’m going out to make a phone call—you two watch the movie. There’s a good bit with Jimmy Stewart coming up. And eat those scones before they get cold.’

I
t was
nice to be outside the flat for a few minutes, to breathe slightly fresher air and look at the mountain again. Always worth checking that it was still there. I dialled Darrow’s number, and waited until the answering machine picked up. ‘Zee? I know you’re still sponging off my missing landlord. Answer the phone!’

Xanthippe picked up. ‘Found him?’

‘Not yet. Got some leads, though,’ I lied shamelessly. ‘I’ve got a job for you. Fancy being a bodyguard to a terrified witness?’

‘Are you going to pay me?’

‘With actual money? Of course not.’ I hesitated, not entirely ready to sell my soul to the devil. But Xanthippe didn’t eat cake, which was my usual currency of choice for bribery and corruption. There was only one choice. ‘I’ll find Darrow for you. This week.’

‘Tish, you haven’t exactly had much success at that so far…’

‘I’m close.’ Lies upon lies.

‘Lies upon lies,’ said Xanthippe. Whoa. She was good. ‘Who am I supposed to be protecting, and from whom?’

‘Julian Morris’s former flatmate,’ I said. ‘From the Trapper, and possibly my stalker.’

‘I’ll be right over.’

I gave her the address, and hung up with a sense of accomplishment. Now all we had to do was hand custody of Claudina over to Xanthippe before she found out about the Doris Day movies.

S
tewart was depressed
as we left Claudina’s. ‘This has no’ been a bloggable day. Next time I start pursuing an actual news story, remind me there’s more hits to be had from coffee fairs and meringue porn.’

‘You can take pictures of what’s left of Darrow after Xanthippe catches up to him. Will that count as news?’

‘Only if it gets really bloody.’ He leaned against the car window. ‘Better throw myself on Simon’s mercy and see wha’s going on at the office.’

‘I should do some prep work for tomorrow—try to get back into Nin’s good books.’

‘Good luck wi’ that.’ Stewart didn’t say much else until I parked the car in my usual spot, on the loading zone near Café La Femme. ‘Coffee break first?’ he said hopefully.

‘You haven’t done any work yet. Come back down in an hour.’

‘Slave driver,’ he said, and loped off towards the building.

I took my time, working my brain back into kitchen mode, figuring out what I could do today to make less work for tomorrow. Yesterday’s bakingfest would help somewhat, those cakes were still good.

The kitchen door was unlocked. I didn’t even react to that until I was inside. It was normal for Nin to get to work before me. But she wasn’t due in until the morning. ‘Nin? Is that you?’

Silence from within. I know at that point I should have yelled up the stairs for Stewart, or called Bishop, but I had been relying on those two too much lately, so I didn’t. Instead, I walked through the kitchen and pushed open the door to the main café.

Eight-year-old Kevin Darrow sat at one of my tables near Stewart’s mural-in-progress, doing what looked like homework. ‘Gah!’ I said. ‘What are you doing here?’

The boy glanced up, and past me. I turned to see a familiar, well-dressed man in a gorgeous coat standing at
my
café counter, drinking
my
coffee. ‘Darling. Mind telling me why my café has been closed for the past three days?’

I looked at Darrow for a long moment, not entirely sure that he was real.

The thing about Darrow is—he’s delicious. There’s nothing pretty about him. He’s built of strong features: wide hands, prominent nose, dirty gold hair, caramel eyes, confident mouth. He doesn’t wear
clothes
like normal people, he wears Clothes with a capital Everything. Silk shirts, linen waistcoats, handmade suits, expensive shoes. He was once spotted in an eighteenth century cravat, and damned if it didn’t suit him.

Not your average Aussie bloke.

‘Well?’ he asked, in his chocolate-melted-into-cream voice.

‘It’s not your café, it’s my café. Where have you been?’ I demanded.

‘Hiding from Xanthippe, obviously. Do you
know
the mess I made of her car?’ Darrow gave me one of those smiles he uses to get anything he wants.

I couldn’t let him get away with it. I couldn’t slip into our usual banter and pretend that everything was normal. ‘Cut the crap. What’s going on?’

Darrow’s smile slipped a little, but only just. ‘You know she’s moved into my house? That woman’s got persistence. Remind me why we broke up? Once she’s got over trying to kill me, I may have to hire her. She’d make a kick-arse bailiff.’

I slapped my palms flat on the counter. ‘Darrow, talk to me. You went missing, and someone got murdered, and the police have been asking questions about
you
.’

My landlord laughed at me. ‘If you’d just screw Bishop and get it over with, maybe he’d stop trying to pin crimes on every bloke you talk to. Sexual repression is a sad, sad thing.’

I scowled at him. ‘That’s what Stewart keeps saying.’

‘Who’s Stewart?’

‘New best friend.’ I leaned over and smacked Darrow between the eyes. ‘The old one dumped me.’

‘Ow!’ He batted my hand away. ‘No violence, please.’

‘I was worried about you, you complete tool.’

Darrow took my hand. ‘Didn’t mean to make you worry, Darling. I needed some time out. Went off to the mountains for a while. I would have been back a week ago if it wasn’t for Xanthippe sniffing around.’

‘And the taxi?’

‘Research.’ He hesitated, looking appealingly vulnerable for about five seconds before the old cocky Darrow reasserted himself. ‘I’m writing a book,’ he announced. Ridiculously pleased with himself. Bastard.

There was one question that had to be asked. ‘Am I in it?’

‘Obviously. All fourteen of the characters are based on you. Especially the murderous old ladies and cheeky Cockney schoolboys.’

I squeezed his hand, not wanting to give in and be friendly too soon, but I’m a soft touch, and we both knew it. ‘So you haven’t been sneaking around, building traps and administering heroin overdoses to random buskers, or stalking women with electrified ping pong balls?’

Darrow stared at me. ‘Is that what the police think?’

‘It’s what Xanthippe thinks.’

‘That bitch.’ Heh, the ‘why did we break up’ talk hadn’t lasted long. ‘Listen, Darling. Kev told me about the ball in your handbag. Someone’s targeting you personally. You know I wouldn’t do that.’

‘Of course not,’ I said quickly. ‘But you know something, don’t you?’

My door banged open, in the kitchen. ‘Tabitha?’ Bishop’s voice called out from there.

‘Damn—I’ll get rid of him,’ I promised in a whisper. The last thing we needed was those two in a room together. I pushed my way through the door into the kitchen to greet the noble representatives of Tasmania Police. ‘Café’s still closed, boys.’

Constable Gary, leaning against the fridge, smiled at me in his usual friendly puppy dog way. ‘Hi, Tabby.’

Bishop, by the door, didn’t snap or glower. For a minute I wondered if he was an imposter. ‘Tabitha. You all right?’

‘I’m fine,’ I said brightly. ‘Action stations to re-open tomorrow. I might even toss a few steak pies in the oven for old time’s sake. Don’t tell Inspector Bobby, though, I don’t want to be responsible for yet another police divorce…’

‘Have you received any further strange parcels, or messages?’ Bishop asked, very businesslike.

‘No,’ I said.

There was a pause, while we both waited for the other to say something snarky.

‘Gary, wait outside, will you?’ Bishop said.

I made Gary wait a moment while I hacked off a large piece of the apple pie to take with him. He went, cradling it in his hands like it was something precious. I love a man who knows how to appreciate my food.

‘I’m sorry about this morning,’ I said very fast, the second Gary was out of the door.

Bishop’s reflexes were poor, for a police officer. He only got as far as ‘I’m so—’ in the same time. Which was cute, but I still totally won. ‘I am taking this stalker threat of yours seriously,’ he said, after we concluded our apology sprint. ‘Just because I don’t think it’s related to the Trapper case…’

‘I know. I should trust you to do your job.’ And I mostly did. I was feeling guilty now, about keeping Claudina’s evidence secret from him, but what could I do? She had to be the one to change her statement again. I couldn’t do it for her.

‘I—’ Bishop ran his fingers through his hair. When it was longer, he would have tugged at the curls, but it was too short for that right now. A shame—I rather liked those curls of his. ‘I don’t know if Clayton is right,’ he admitted. ‘But I don’t have the clout to go against him, not without any more evidence.’

I shouldn’t have said what I did to him earlier. What did I know about solving crimes? I didn’t have any evidence to help, not yet. I’d keep my mouth shut until I did. ‘I’ve been horrible to you,’ I admitted. ‘Without Dad around—’

‘You don’t have him to push against any more,’ Bishop said. ‘It feels like—you’ve been trying to push against me, instead.’

I was horrified. ‘I’m not looking for a replacement Dad.’

‘Good! Because that would be—’

Unsettling, to say the least. ‘Icky, and wrong. It explains all the shouting, though.’

‘I used to wonder why he shouted at you all the time,’ Bishop said, sounding depressed. ‘I thought maybe he didn’t understand you…’

‘He understood me.’

‘But you’ve been acting like such a brat, and he wasn’t here to do the job—’

‘Hush, I get it.’ I stepped a little closer, and tilted my head to one side. ‘That explains the shouting, Senior Constable Bishop. It doesn’t explain the snogging.’

He looked embarrassed. ‘I wanted to remind you that I’m not … your dad. Or your big brother, or anyone remotely related to you—this is all pretty twisted, isn’t it?’

‘Hell yes,’ I said, and leaned forward to take his lower lip between my teeth. He went very still, and I nibbled my way around to the side of his mouth. Then, just as he tried to kiss me properly, I slid away to press my teeth lightly against the side of his neck.

Bishop made a small noise, and stroked the base of my spine, his fingers creeping under the hem of my top.

I concentrated on his neck for a little while. Such a nice neck. I mapped it, all the way up to his ear.

‘Tabitha?’ he said, sounding a long way away.

‘Mmm?’

‘Will you have dinner with me, tomorrow night? Actual “eating and talking” dinner?’

I was a fraction away from nipping his earlobe when the question sank in. ‘You mean, like a date?’

‘Yes.’

I leaned back to look at him. His eyes were darker than I had ever seen them before, and he was still stroking my back. This was so much more pleasant than screaming at each other, but terrifying at the same time. ‘That’s crazy talk.’

‘I know.’

‘Okay, then.’ I was about to go back for his ear when reality crashed back. Darrow was in the other room, and he had something important to tell me about my ping pong ball stalker. ‘You’d better go now,’ I said quickly. ‘Um. Because otherwise I will have to ravish you on the kitchen table, and I’m far too busy for that sort of thing.’

Bishop laughed, and tugged my ponytail. ‘Do you have someone to stay with you tonight?’

For a minute, I thought he was propositioning me, but then I remembered. Stalker. Right. ‘Yep. Ceege. All good. Tomorrow, then?’

Bishop laughed again, and
oh
that was a gorgeous sound. As he left, I resisted the urge to lick the back of his neck.

I locked the door behind Bishop, and ran into the café to finish the conversation with Darrow. He, of course, had skipped out the front door with Kevin while I was distracted.

One of Kevin’s exercise books still lay on the table where he had been working, with the words LATER scrawled across the cover.

‘
H
e knows something
,’ I howled at Stewart. ‘Darrow knows, and he couldn’t wait five minutes—’ while I pashed a police officer in my kitchen ‘—to tell me about it.’

‘Tabitha, I’m working,’ Stewart protested, barely looking up from his computer.

I paused. ‘Excuse me, what now?’

‘Simon didnae care I was running around with ye as long as I brought in the stories, but I havenae written a single post since the coffee fair, and now there’s a list o’ people I need to call and make appointments with—’

‘Oh. Actual work.’

‘Ye didnae even bring me coffee,’ he said sullenly.

‘Fine. Make it all about you.’

Stewart leaned back in his chair. ‘Ye cannae do anything about Darrow until he turns up again, right?’

‘Right.’

He waved a hand airily at me. ‘So cook something. It will make ye feel better. I’m going to be stuck here most of the afternoon. If Darrow wants to tell ye anything, at least he’ll be able to find ye.’

Wow. He was actually telling me to go back to the kitchen. ‘If you’re going to be sensible, I don’t think we can be friends any more.’

‘Do ye want me tae stay over tonight?’ he asked, when I was almost at the door. ‘I mean—will Ceege be home?’

For a second I thought I had just received my second proposition of the day, then I remembered. Stalker. Funny how I kept forgetting that part. Apparently denial is the only way to get things done. ‘He might be, but I’m never sure. I’d like it if you could stay. If it’s not a bother…’

‘S’fine, but I’ll have to go by me place to pick up clothes first. Around six?’

‘Okay.’ I waved a finger at him. ‘There won’t be nearly as many snuggles on the couch, though. I don’t want to make Bishop jealous.’

‘You always want to make Bishop jealous.’

He did have a point. Sadly. ‘That was before we were dating,’ I said with a nod.

Stewart looked sceptical. ‘Ye stopped bitching at each other long enough for Bishop to ask ye out?’

‘For dinner,’ I said, trying not to sound like I was still in high school.

‘You’ve known him for how long?’

‘Ten years.’

‘And you started flirting with him how long ago?’

‘Pretty much straight away.’

‘With actual intent?’

‘Six years.’

Stewart shook his head. ‘And he still wants to buy ye dinner first. Man’s a fucking saint.’

‘You are simply jealous because you don’t have a date with a hot policeman.’

‘Oh, aye. Green with envy. Run away, Tabitha. Leave me be.’

He was hiding his extreme heartbreak suspiciously well, what with those shooing motions and everything.

I
spent
the afternoon catching up with my regular suppliers by phone, and cooking up a storm for tomorrow’s reopening. I was in a Bavarian mood, and happily made herb soup, marinated vegetables for a salad, and constructed an epic pork and cabbage casserole.

The kitchen smelled amazing by the time I packed all the food away in the fridge, and I found myself thinking fondly of Bavarian Bruno, the third worst boyfriend in the world, and his gorgeous mother Hélène, who let me work at her restaurant and taught me everything I ever needed to know about sauerkraut.

I wondered about Bishop’s mother Elena, and how many Greek recipes she had shared with me over the years. Damn it, he might not have anything but an Aussie accent, but he still fit the pattern. That thought was more depressing than it should have been.

By 6
pm
, I had scrubbed the café spotless, and finished all the prep work for a nice, easy day tomorrow. I had checked that Nin, Lara and Yui were all clear on who was taking what shift for the rest of the week, and was feeling pretty cheerful by the time I closed up and headed over to pick up Stewart from his manky flat. I took Kevin Darrow’s exercise book with me, in case Darrow and his kid sidekick turned up again.