Drowned Vanilla (Cafe La Femme Book 2) (2 page)

‘Hey, I have days like that,’ I told her. At Stewart’s startled look, I added, ‘Not the being pregnant part. General emotional wear and tear. I’m Tabitha, by the way. This is my café. Mostly.’

Melinda nodded, dabbing at her eyes again. Someone had given her a cup of ginger tea, which smelled so good I had to resist the urge to ask if I could have a sip. No stealing from pregnant women, Tabitha. ‘I know Lara and Yui from uni. They thought maybe you’d be able to help me.’

Help how? ‘Does this involve cooking or shopping? Those are my two special subjects.’

‘No,’ Melinda said hesitantly. ‘But … we can’t go to the police. Friend of ours has gone missing. We’re really worried about her.’

I looked at Stewart, who nodded. Which was a lot of help. ‘How long has she been missing?’

‘Five hours,’ said Melinda, and her lip started wobbling again. ‘I didn’t know what to do, but Yui was there and she said you had this stalker earlier in the year, and you were good at figuring out how to do things without the police, and…’ She started crying again, messily. Stewart handed her another napkin. ‘Sorry, I’m normally not this bananas, but I’m so very worried about her.’

Oh, hell. Is that what I had a reputation for now? Someone who solved crimes? That was nuts. Surely everyone knew I couldn’t be trusted with that sort of thing. If not, I was going to have to release some kind of memo. Tabitha Darling is not a private detective, but she’s quite good with coffee.

‘Couldn’t she…’ I said, and trailed off.

Melinda gave me a sharp look. ‘Yes she could have simply gone shopping, or run away for some mad romantic fling or any one of a dozen things. But she didn’t. I know Annabeth. She’s a predictable person. Quiet and nice and sweet and considerate and very, very predictable. Something’s wrong, and I have no idea how to help her.’

I gave Stewart a pleading look. He gave a small smile. The kind of smile that makes you go warm from skin to bone, and inspires even the slackest of lazybones to attempt virtuous deeds.

Or maybe that’s just the effect he has on me.

2

www.sandstonecity.org -
posted by random_scotsman

I’m back in sunny Hobart, Sandstone minions! My Random Scotsman tour of deepest darkest Tasmania has taught me several valuable life lessons, which I will now sum up for you:

1. Apparently the platypus isn’t just something that you people invented to lure in the tourists.
   
2. Asking for platypus is a good way to get thrown out of several leading 4 star restaurants across the state.
   
3. There really are towns on the north east coast with three pubs and no people.
   
4. You have a town called Penguin. I know this comes as no shock to you locals, but naming towns after nouns? What’s next? Paper, Rock and Scissors? (still getting over Moriarty and Bagdad, you sick, sick puppies)
   
5. Why do mainlanders (see I’m a real local now, I call them mainlanders) always complain about the weather? This is one of the sunniest places I’ve ever been. Admittedly all I have to compare it to is Glasgow, London and Melbourne, but still…
   

Thanks for all the great feedback about my postcards from the wild, but I’m back for good, settled into my squeaky chair and ready to dish the dirt on the City of Sandstone. You know you missed me…

Comments: 28

Stewart would have come along to Melinda’s place with us, but she patted him politely on the hand and told him no men were allowed. Which … okay. Interesting. I made Xanthippe join us instead, because she might be useful in discussing matters like missing people and stalkers.

Yes, I had a stalker once. Yes, I was — kidnapped, I suppose, for about half a day back in March. I was scared as hell, and it meant a lot that people started looking for me as soon as they realised I was gone. If there was a chance I could help someone else in the same situation, I wanted to do that.

One problem: I’m not actually any good at this. If you need to construct a tower of profiteroles or coordinate a vintage outfit, I’m your girl. But I only escaped my once-in-a-lifetime-abduction situation thanks to luck, stupidity, more luck, a handy half brick and some incredibly loyal friends. I wasn’t convinced I had the necessary resources to rescue someone else.

Also, I was not the police. Who are professionally equipped to deal with missing people. They don’t even make you wait twenty-four hours here in Australia.

There were many, many reasons why it was important to convince Melinda and her friends that they needed to talk to the professionals. Including my love life, but we’ll get to that later.

Melinda’s house wasn’t what I was expecting. Student share houses are rarely to be found in the elegantly restored properties of Battery Point. Sure, these houses were slums a hundred years ago, but since then they’ve been renovated, restored, skylighted, water-featured, and generally transformed into the natural habitat for high flying lawyers, doctors, retired politicians — you get the picture.

This tall brick house didn’t look particularly fancy, but it wasn’t a deathtrap kennel either. ‘We’ll have to get you to sign a waiver,’ Melinda said apologetically as she unlocked the front door and kicked her shoes off. ‘We can’t let anyone in unless they agree to have their face broadcast online, and to preserve our privacy — no sharing our address, that sort of thing.’

‘Okay,’ I said slowly. ‘Why is that?’

Xanthippe pointed past my face, up into a corner of the little hallway, and I caught her scent — coconut and lime today. I wish she’d give up the fruit perfumes. Whenever I spend any amount of time with her I get the subconscious desire to make jam.

‘Webcam,’ she said in a low voice. ‘Yeah?’ she added to Melinda. ‘Either that or you have a really full on security system.’

‘Both, actually,’ said Melinda, passing me a clipboard. I signed the waiver, taking note of the wording. Xanthippe hesitated when I passed it to her, but she signed finally. Curiosity is her weakness. We have that in common.

‘Shoes,’ Melinda said, almost making it a question.

I slipped my sandals off easily enough, but Xanthippe took longer with her black lace up boots. To her credit, she managed not to look completely hacked off about this. We made our way through a living room to a large, sunlit kitchen and I saw Xanthippe’s eyes flick around, locating the cameras as we went.

‘So, this is The Gingerbread House?’ Xanthippe asked. ‘Unless there are more webcam houses in Hobart that I haven’t heard of.’

‘That’s us.’ Melinda pulled her poncho off before she started laying out cups and things for tea. You could definitely tell she was pregnant now — I’m not an expert in these things, but I’d say she was second trimesterish. There was a definite bump going on under her close-fitting top. ‘Call me Cherry, by the way. While the cameras are on.’

‘Cherry it is,’ said Xanthippe.

‘Okay,’ she said, boiling the hot water jug. The day was too hot for anything but iced tea, but I didn’t object. Rituals are important. ‘French Vanilla was supposed to be here until noon. It’s her shift. She’s always really good about it.’

Melinda had already told us that her missing friend’s name was Annabeth French — but French Vanilla? Cute, and a little obvious as a pseudonym.

‘Her shift,’ Xanthippe repeated.

Melinda nodded. ‘One of us has to be here at all times, for the webcams. Vanilla’s great with the rules, normally. She takes them really seriously.’ She pointed to the fridge. ‘We have a schedule. She’s not the sort of person to leave without a note, even if it was an emergency. And there was the power cut. Which is suspicious considering the timing, and it just makes me think that maybe it’s her stalker.’

‘I think I’m going to need a few more bullet points here,’ Xanthippe said slowly. ‘What exactly is going on?’

Melinda set a cup down with a clink. ‘Oh. Um. I’m not sure of the best way to explain it.’

‘Try,’ Xanthippe suggested.

‘Cherry, is that you home?’ called a voice from further into the house. A tall woman with a boyish haircut walked in, and took her top off. ‘Who are your friends?’ she asked, unfastening her bra and laying it on the couch, with her top.

‘Ginge, this is Tabitha,’ said Melinda, grabbing another cup. ‘And … Xanthippe? Yui thought they might be able to help us find French Vanilla.’

‘Cherry,’ said the bare breasted woman, sounding impatient. ‘She’s fine. You’re worrying about nothing.’

‘You’re the one who said you didn’t want to bring the police in here,’ Melinda/Cherry said firmly. ‘This is a compromise.’

‘She’s just gone off for a wander. She hasn’t even been gone overnight!’

Meanwhile I was trying not to stare at the woman’s nipples. Because that would be rude. But they were right there, what was I supposed to do, ignore them? Was ignoring them ruder?

Xanthippe accepted the cup of tea from Melinda with thanks. ‘Is it hot in here, or is it just me?’ she said archly.

The semi naked woman laughed, relaxing a bit. ‘I’m Ginger. This is for the cameras,’ she added, gesturing to her breasts. ‘Pays the rent, you know.’

I hid my face behind my own cup, not sure whether I was in awe or appalled. It would have sent me screaming into the night. I mean, I consider myself a recreational exhibitionist. I wouldn’t have as much fun with clothes if I stopped to think about the size of my thighs, and I certainly wouldn’t enjoy food as much as I do if my mind was constantly on the way my tummy sticks out in front during a scone-heavy week. And yes, anyone who spends any amount of time on YouTube probably has seen at least six seconds of my boobs with smiley faces painted on them (don’t ask!).

But being constantly under surveillance? Complete strangers watching me constantly, perving on me and my friends, critiquing every crease and curve? I think I’d have a nervous breakdown in a week.

‘How long have you all been doing this?’ I asked.

‘Two years,’ said Ginger, helping herself to coffee (never mind my other hang ups, I would definitely not handle hot water that close to unclothed tits!). ‘Cherry and me, anyway. Vanilla joined us about…’

‘Eight months ago,’ said Melinda. ‘We had another girl here before that, Pepperminty, but she got engaged to this super conservative bloke and he got funny about the webcam thing. We even had to erase her from the archives to keep him happy.’

‘Can’t imagine why,’ I muttered.

Xanthippe kicked my chair. ‘Don’t be rude.’

‘What?’

‘We’re in their house,’ she said firmly. ‘Not nice to judge.’

She had a point, but I couldn’t help being squicked. ‘I don’t mean to be rude — I am sorry, Melinda — I’m really not used to being the straightest person in the room.’

Xanthippe looked at me, then shrugged and pulled her top off, revealing a black bra.

‘I can’t take you anywhere,’ I protested.

‘When in Rome,’ she said, laughing at me.

‘Yeah,’ Ginger said approvingly, leaning over to clink her coffee cup against Xanthippe’s.

Okay, I was officially out-cooled. Or something. ‘Can we get on with this?’ I said plaintively.

‘I haven’t told you about the stalker ex-boyfriend yet,’ said Melinda.

Xanthippe looked troubled. ‘There’s a stalker ex-boyfriend and you didn’t go to the police straight away?’

‘A stalker and an ex-boyfriend,’ Ginger corrected. ‘I don’t know if the stalker even counts as a stalker; he’s someone who has left creepy messages on our fan forums. And that doesn’t exactly make him a special snowflake — we get a lot of creep attention. The ex-boyfriend sends postcards. I don’t think they’re the same person.’

‘I do,’ Melinda said firmly. ‘It’s possible for the same person to use the internet and snail mail. The postcards stopped a month ago, and now Vanilla has vanished? So not a coincidence.’

‘She’ll be fine,’ Ginger insisted. ‘Honestly. You’re worrying about nothing. No reason to bring other people in on this.’

Stalker. Just the word unnerved me. If there was any chance that what had happened to me — or anything like it was happening to someone else… I hugged myself, feeling cold despite the hot day.

‘Tell me about the power cut,’ Xanthippe said in a businesslike voice.

Ginger went to sit at a desktop computer, calling up her webcam records. This was a good thing, because it meant her breasts weren’t quite so obviously … staring at me.

‘Cherry and I were out this morning. Vanilla was the only one here, and she knows that she shouldn’t leave the house empty. At 9:02 — an hour before I was due home for my shift — the power fritzed, by the look of it. Everything in the house went dead — we presume for four minutes. After which the cameras came back on … and Vanilla was gone.’

Melinda nodded seriously. ‘She looked settled, in the footage, doing her readings for tomorrow. No sign that she was planning to go out. She’s a history student. No one called the house this morning — she doesn’t even look upset.’

On the screen, we saw an image of a blonde in a button-up shirt (in December?) with blonde curls pinned into a messy bun at the back of her head. She sat on the couch, reading, and the shot was from behind so we couldn’t see her face. Her feet were bare. Was it deliberate that she wasn’t posing for the camera? Had she forgotten it was there? I don’t think I could forget, but maybe you got used to it.

The image went black.

‘Four minutes later she was gone,’ said Ginger. ‘We checked all the cameras. And her stuff. She took a pair of shoes. She left behind her mobile, her handbag, everything else.’

I leaned back, looking at Xanthippe. ‘What can we do? We’re not exactly experts at this sort of thing. Like for example, the police.’

Well, I wasn’t an expert. I wasn’t entirely sure what Xanthippe was or wasn’t qualified to do. The possibilities were endless.

‘Could check out Mr Postcards,’ Xanthippe said thoughtfully. ‘Unless he lives in Belgium or Queensland or something.’

‘A small town down south,’ said Ginger. Careful that the cameras couldn’t catch it, she wrote
Flynn
on a Post-it note, then the name
Jason Avery
. That’s where Vanilla comes from. His family own a fancy vineyard. It’s what, an hour’s drive?’ She shrugged. ‘I reckon that’s where she’ll be, to be honest. Where else would she go? But we promised…’