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  Neither Riley Senior nor Junior was there, so I grabbed the opportunity to talk to the mechanic. I cleared my throat and he looked up, wiped his hands on a rag and strolled over.

  ‘You want a lunch order?’ I asked.

  ‘Didn’t you come around here the other day?’ he said.

  ‘Yeah. Got chewed out by your boss.’

  ‘Old Man Riley can be a bit of a wanker. Sorry about that. I’m Dave.’

  ‘Tara,’ I said. ‘No sweat. Pretty tense time leading up to a race, I guess.’

  ‘Particularly this one.’

  Dave seemed almost to be talking to himself. His aura churned with dark, unhappy, brownish colours with some purple flecks. I’d learnt from Hoshi that purple indicated passion, but whatever good things this guy had going on were currently being swamped by the negative browns. I felt a sudden desire to touch his aura to encourage the purple to expand. I hooked my hands behind my back so as not to do something freaky.

  ‘I’ve heard your rider’s pretty good,’ I said.

  ‘It’s not all about the rider,’ he said abruptly, then gave me his order. ‘I’ve got to get back to work.’

  So much for squeezing information out of him. I keyed his name into my phone and moved on to Moto-Sane.

  Lu Red was half dressed in his racing leathers – the bottom half – revealing a lean and lightly muscled torso. He was staring at the shelves cluttered with cans of oil and containers of nuts and washers, while Clem, Bolo’s mechanic, drained oil from one container into another. Red’s girlfriend was nowhere to be seen.

  ‘Orders?’ I sang out.

  Red nodded, then gave me his – exactly the same as last time.

  ‘You want something?’ I asked Clem.

  ‘Sure,’ he said. ‘Two sausage rolls, a donut and a can of Coke.’

  And I thought I ate badly!

  The energy bouncing between the two men seemed less volatile today, though Clem still wasn’t overly friendly.

  ‘Your girlfriend want something?’ I asked Red, glancing around for her.

  He gave me an odd look. ‘Maybe she would, if she was here. She’s at work.’

  ‘Just thinking ahead,’ I said.

  ‘An enterprising sandwich vendor. Nice!’

  It was a condescending, arrogant comment but I let it slide. I said goodbye and hustled back to Cass.

  She had the whole thing under control: deep fryer boiling, the salads cut, and a thick brown sauce cooking in a saucepan on the hotplate.

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Beef gravy. I thought it’d be nice for the chips.’

  I stuck a finger in it and slurped a taste. ‘Yum.’

  ‘Find out anything new?’ she asked.

  ‘All riders are jerks,’ I said as I squeezed into the van. Mobile cafés were like European dress sizes – not designed for big people.

  The rush came, and lasted until just after 2 pm. I buttered, served and splashed oil and salt around until the last customer walked away. Then I left Cass cleaning up and went to watch the start of practice.

  Frank Farina was on the grid alongside Gig Riley. I recognised both bikes. Lu Red’s Honda grumbled down the pit lane to join them.

  Sharee was hanging out of her booth with her phone in her hand. As I got closer I saw that her face was flushed and her white skeleton earrings were jiggling. If I didn’t know better I’d say she had a guy in the bottom of the booth doing unseemly things to her. Watching bikes race could get a girl that way – all hot and sweaty.

  ‘Don’t block my view,’ she said, waving me to the side. ‘This is gonna be good.’

  A small crowd had gathered near the finish line, including Jase the security guard and Cass’s skinny apprentice friend, T-Dog. Riley Senior bore down on the observers and they automatically parted to let him through, his aura slicing ahead of him like a saw cutting soft cheese.

  Further along the railing was another smaller group. Clem and . . . Crack? It looked like my cousin had taken Bolo up on his offer.

  ‘They usually come out at different times. You know, avoid each other. This is a mind game, going up against each other in practice.’

  ‘Uh-huh.’

  I watched Lu Red line up next to the other two.

  The practice marshal gave them the all-clear signal and the three bikes were at the end of the straight before I could cough out their exhaust smoke.

  ‘You bet on the races?’ I asked Sharee.

  She shrugged. ‘Sometimes. Not this one, though. Could go any way.’

  ‘I thought Red was the fastest?’

  ‘He’s been a bit unsettled,’ she said, sounding like she was talking about one of her pets. ‘And Gig’s been offered a huge bonus by his dad if he wins.’

  ‘What kind of bonus?’

  ‘Big.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘Like a house. And you can’t write Frank off. He’s a crafty bugger, you know.

  Anything goes wrong and he’s there waiting to pounce.’

  ‘Chesley?’

  She shook her head. ‘Not this year. Bike’s a dud.’

  I let her chatter on until the bikes sounded at the back of the home straight. Gig came through the line first, followed by Frank. The Honda was nowhere to be seen. Glancing over at Clem, I saw him barking into a two-way radio. Soon after, the marshal came past and picked him up.

  ‘Not again,’ groaned Sharee. ‘What’s wrong now?’

  My phone rang. I stepped away from the booth to answer it and noticed the time. I had to hurry if I was going to make my parent-intervention meeting with Smitty.

  The call was from Tozzi so I let it ring out. I wasn’t ready to talk to him yet. My missed calls showed one from Ed as well. He could wait too, until I knew what I was going to say.

  Cass was waiting for me in the front seat of the truck, eyes already closed. I unhooked us from the power outlet and hit the road.

  I fished in my bag for my wallet when I stopped at a set of traffic lights. ‘Here.’ I slapped a hundred and twenty dollars of Bolo’s retainer on Cass’s lap. ‘Thanks for your help. You’ll get another forty tomorrow.’

  She turned the notes over carefully in her hand as though they might bite her.

  ‘They’re your wages. I’ve got a meeting at four at one of the beach cafés with a friend, and then another one straight afterwards with Bolo. Why don’t I drop you at the shops on the way there and pick you up on the way back? You might want to buy yourself some tee-shirts and undies. And a toothbrush.’

  There was an ominous silence. Cass didn’t like being told what to do.

  ‘You can’t keep washing the same pair every day,’ I added more gently.

  A sigh escaped her lips. ‘Yeah. I guess.’

  ‘Maybe you should call your mum too?’

  That got no answer.

  Chapter 15

  WE GOT BACK TO Lilac Street with enough time for me to shower and change into a pair of fresh jeans and a halter top. At the last second I grabbed a short jacket in case Smitty thought I was showing too much skin.

  I dropped Cass off at the Napoleon Street lights with a promise that I’d be back to pick her up. She didn’t have a phone, which made it all a bit tricky, but we agreed on a time and place. Ten minutes later, I was walking into the Beach Café, scoping for Smits.

  She was at a table on the beach side, wearing pearls and a cherry red aura, sitting ramrod straight. As I got closer, I saw that her hair was styled to within an inch of its life and her make-up was Clarins perfect. Smits’ aura was normally a lovely halo that was restful on my psyche, but today it was swirling like suds down a drain.

  When she saw me, it slowed a little and her face lit up. ‘T. So glad you made it before she did. Sit here.’ She beckoned me to her side of the table.

  ‘You don’t think it looks a bit intimidating? Like we’re ganging up?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said firmly. ‘And we are.’

  The waiter came past and I ordered cheesecake and a milkshake.

  ‘What do
you want me to do?’ I asked when he’d gone. ‘Threaten to take her out the back and smack her around with my beach bag?’

  ‘Not yet,’ she said slowly, as if considering it.

  ‘Hey!’ I punched her arm. ‘I was joking.’

  ‘Of course you were.’ She fanned her cheeks with a serviette.

  Smits was right off her game. Normally, witty repartee rolled from her lips. She was always the one with the comeback when I got mad and tongue-tied.

  ‘Smitty,’ I said, ‘chill.’

  ‘Crap, she’s here.’ Smits took a deep breath. ‘As you’d say, T, game on.’

  I looked up and saw the cheesecake and the demented parent arriving at the table at the same time.

  The cheesecake was strawberry and chocolate. The demented parent was well-fleshed and well-dressed, a matronly type in a tailored suit and understated expensive flats. Her hair sat in a bob and she wore minimal make-up. The diamond rock on her ring finger, however, belied the whole subtle look, flashing enough ker-ching for a Hollywood premiere. Her aura was a thick red-brown that made me think of raw chocolate-cake mix – without the yumminess. I guessed we were all around the same age but she made me feel ten years younger.

  ‘Jane,’ she said and sat down.

  Her voice was so plummy I swear I could taste the syrup.

  ‘Victoria Tarrant. This is Tara Sharp.’ Smitty pronounced it Tar-ah.

  ‘Hi, Vicky,’ I said, blithely shortening her name.

  The stare she gave me could have stripped paint. I suddenly felt like a twelve-year-old schoolgirl about to be chastised by my most loathed teacher, Mrs Rolly. Victoria’s jowls even wobbled the same way. That wasn’t a good thing. Mrs Rolly had always brought out my worst side.

  ‘Now, what are you going to do about your son, Jane?’ she said, leaning her forearms on the table.

  ‘I apologise for Joe’s behaviour,’ said Smitty in a cool voice. ‘But it wasn’t unprovoked. He tells me that Reece peed on his shoe in the toilets and then called him “piss foot”.’

  Nothing like private-school kids for excelling in crass. The burden of guilt I’d been carrying around about teaching Joe to punch disappeared.

  ‘Gross,’ I said. ‘Sounds to me like Reece got his just deserts.’

  ‘Reece would never say or do something so disgusting,’ Victoria responded haughtily. ‘I demand an apology or I’ll seek to have your child removed from the school.’

  Smitty’s hair just about straightened out of its blow-wave in anger. ‘I will not apologise.’

  ‘Then I’ll have my husband speak with the board. John is a close personal friend of the chairman. He’ll be here any moment,’ said Victoria.

  Just as she finished speaking, a man walked into the café. He was balding and middle-aged with the sort of paunch that came from too many business lunches and airplane flights.

  Victoria waved and he wound through the tables to reach us. It wasn’t until he got closer that I recognised the Zegna suit.

  He didn’t really look at me until he’d sat down next to his wife. Then the irritated and slightly pompous look on his face gave way to sweaty alarm as recognition hit him. He cleared his throat in a choking kind of way.

  ‘John, darling, this is Jane Evans and her . . . friend Tara Sharp,’ said Victoria as she slipped a possessive hand onto his shoulder and dusted invisible specks from his coat. ‘I’ve just explained to them how you’re close friends with the chairman of the school board.’

  ‘Oh, no need for introductions, Vicky, we’ve seen each other around. In fact, quite recently, I think,’ I said, smiling innocently at her husband.

  Victoria shot John darling a questioning look.

  ‘Now that John is here, I’m sure he’ll agree that this is just a storm in a teacup and that the best idea would be to talk to your son about his bullying,’ I added.

  I made sure my expression told him everything he needed to know: that I would totally spill about seeing him at Madame Vine’s.

  ‘Our son’s bullying?’ spluttered Victoria.

  John grabbed her flailing hand and covered it with his own. ‘Ms Sharp is right, Victoria. I do think this has been blown out of proportion. Why don’t we just agree that it was an unfortunate incident and put it behind us? We’ll speak to Reece, and I’m sure Mrs Evans will speak to her son, and nothing like this will happen again.’

  ‘But . . . but . . .’ Victoria never got to finish because John gently pulled her to her feet and led her away from the table.

  Smitty watched them walk through the door, then turned, grabbed my face in her hands and yanked me forward for a kiss on the cheek.

  ‘What the fuck just happened?’ she asked.

  ‘Just another example of why you love me. I saw him twice at a brothel in Leederville earlier in the week.’

  Smits’ face went from puzzlement, to comprehension, to pure glee. ‘I won’t even ask what you were doing in a brothel.’ She beckoned the waiter. ‘Another slice of cheesecake for my friend.’

  By the time I met up with Bolo in the car park overlooking Cottesloe Beach, I felt nauseous. A bucket of chips for lunch and two whacking big slices of cheesecake with Smitty for afternoon tea had sent my calorie intake stratospheric and my liver into contortions. I’d need to lock myself in the gym for a day to work it off.

  ‘Tara?’

  Bolo was standing at my driver’s window so I beckoned him around to the passenger side. He got in and stared out over the Indian Ocean while I swept pie crumbs off the section of seat between us and threw them out to the seagulls.

  ‘I have some feedback for you,’ I said.

  He nodded. ‘Shoot.’

  His aura was acting weird, buffeting into me as if it were stormy waves and I was the beach. He was clearly stressed. I put it down to the death threat.

  ‘Found out a few interesting things about the other teams. Riley Senior is so determined to win that he’s offered his son a house.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘And Bennett Hardware is minutes off going into liquidation.’

  His eyebrows lifted. ‘I didn’t know that. Tony always plays things very close to the chest.’

  ‘Desperation’s always a good motive,’ I went on, ‘but from what I can see, I think winning this race and keeping the sponsors on board will be too little too late for Bennett’s. I’d be inclined to count them out. They’re about to crash and burn.’

  He nodded again, grinning at my choice of expression.

  ‘What about Chesley?’ he asked.

  ‘Still working on that one. Can you tell me what the fight between Clem and Riley’s wrench, Dave, was about?’

  ‘You know about that?’ He ran a hand over his bald head. ‘The two of them used to work together. There’s some bad blood between them from back then.’

  ‘Did you check out Clem’s background before you hired him?’

  He shrugged. ‘He’s good at what he does. That’s all I needed to know.’

  That didn’t seem right. Bolo was a businessman. I couldn’t imagine he wouldn’t do a reference check.

  ‘Is there a problem between you and Red’s girlfriend?’ I asked. ‘I saw you arguing at the track.’

  His face reddened. ‘No problem really. She’s just . . . a nuisance. She distracts him. I was asking her to keep her distance when he’s at practice.’

  ‘You can do that?’

  He gave a rueful smile. ‘Not according to her, hence the argument. I figure I’m paying him top dollar to perform. Track practice is just like working in an office. You don’t get to hang out with your partner at the office all day, do you?’

  ‘Ah, not normally,’ I said, thinking of hanging out with Ed at the photo shoot.

  ‘Thanks for the Bennett information. I need to know about Chesley asap,’ he said.

  ‘Working on it. I’ll call you tomorrow. The other thing is, I’ve got a guy who can be your bodyguard if you’re worried about the death threat.’

  ‘Thanks. I’ll thin
k about it.’

  His aura was still restless but it had stopped crashing into mine. He got out of Mona and hustled back to his BMW 6 Series. With a quiet purr of engine ignition, he was gone.

  I glanced in the rear-view, preparing to pull out, when I noticed that the dark sedan that had spooked me twice before was parked only a couple of lengths behind me.

  This time I made an impulsive decision not to run away and did a quick three-sixty turn out of my parking bay, heading straight at the suspicious car. The driver, who was hunkered down behind the wheel and wearing a cap, saw my intention and screeched out of his spot, accelerating south down the beach road.

  I chased after him, but got caught behind an old Kombi van. With traffic coming the other way, I couldn’t overtake.

  The sedan turned left into the road that ran through the middle of Cottesloe golf course. Not prepared to lose him, I overtook the Kombi on the left side and pulled a sudden left-hander. Seconds later, a police siren went off.

  Crap! I pulled over feeling absolutely pissed off.

  Not only had I lost my tail, I was about to get booked.

  The officer who climbed out of the squad car and walked up to my window was an all-too-familiar figure.

  ‘Hello, Constable Bligh.’

  ‘Tara.’

  We stared at each other in a weird kind of stalemate.

  ‘You were speeding and overtaking dangerously,’ she said finally, and pulled her biro from her top pocket. ‘Can you tell me why?’

  I glanced in my mirror. Bill Barnes was sitting in the car with his head bent over a packet of fries. ‘Umm . . .’ I had nothing. ‘I was . . . in a . . . hurry?’

  ‘You appeared to be chasing that dark sedan.’

  ‘What sedan?’

  ‘The one that was speeding down this road ahead of you.’

  ‘Another car was speeding? Why did you let them go and stop me?’

  We eyed each other steadily. I sensed she wanted to say a whole lot more. Instead, she wrote me a ticket.

  Thrusting the fine in the window, she leaned in close. ‘I’ve already given you a friendly warning, Tara. Don’t get mixed up in this stuff.’