Sharp Turn Page 8

  I exercised until I’d exorcised cooking oil and chiko roll from my pores, then dragged my spent carcass via the Vege Express back to Lilac Street. At the drive-through, I got vegetarian cannelloni and vegetarian lasagna; not because I didn’t like meat, but because I felt like pasta and I was too tired to get out of my car and go in search of anything else. A quick trip through the local bottle-o added a sixpack of Crown Lager and a two-litre bottle of ginger ale, all thanks to Bolo’s advance.

  The birds hung upside down and squawked for attention as I staggered past but I didn’t stop to play with them. Dinner was calling.

  Cass was asleep.

  I dropped the hot food on her lap. ‘Half each,’ I said before trooping back out to the shower.

  Cass had the plates and cutlery out by the time I returned. I unearthed my sleep-shirt from a neatly folded pile beneath the clothes rack. Who’da thunk Wal for such a neat-freak? Two beers and a huge plate of vege pasta later, I was able to speak again.

  ‘Thanks for helping out today,’ I said.

  Instead of my comment making her happy, it seemed to unsettle her. Her aura deepened from cinnamon to a burnt colour, and her mouth pinched into a line as though she was worried about what was coming next.

  To give her a moment, I leaned over and retrieved my laptop from under the couch where Wal had put it. We sat in silence until it booted up.

  ‘Look, do you want to help me for the rest of the week?’ I said. ‘You’ll get your forty bucks and I’ll make sure you get fed as well.’

  She nodded but still no smile.

  ‘You do need to ring your mum and tell her where you are though,’ I added.

  ‘No way.’ She almost spat it out.

  ‘How old are you?’

  ‘Sixteen.’

  As far as I knew, it was legal to leave home at sixteen but I’d double-check with Garth Wilmot, my ex. He was an accountant but he knew lots of other useful stuff.

  ‘Staying with me isn’t a permanent thing, right. Just until we can find you somewhere else,’ I said.

  Her frown deepened, and I saw a flicker of anger in her eyes.

  I rubbed my forehead. I was dead tired and suddenly not at all sure I wanted responsibility for a homeless teen who I barely knew. Worst of all, I was going to have to tell JoBob I had an unemployed kid from the Bunkas sleeping on my floor before they saw Cass’s piercings and rang the cops. Both those thoughts conspired to make me even more direct than usual. And I’d played enough competitive sport to know when not to play soft.

  ‘Listen. You came to me, remember. I’ll help you to find a place and some work if I can. If you don’t like that idea, you’ll have to find someone else to doss with.

  And lose the sulk. If you like what I’m saying, good. If you don’t like it, speak up, or use the door.’

  Listen to me. What a hard-arse!

  Cass’s aura flickered and it looked as if she might be preparing to spit out a mouthful of abuse, but then she settled back into the couch, shoulders relaxing.

  ‘Okay,’ she said finally.

  Crisis averted.

  ‘Right. Now I’m going to find you some more clothes and you can have a shower. Then you’re going to meet my parents. This is their house – garage and all. It needs to be okay with them.’

  ‘How come you’re still living with your oldies at your age?’

  ‘Circumstances.’ I tried to keep the grim look off my face.

  I put my laptop on the couch and went behind the screen to rummage for clothes. Wal’s epic tidying feat was quickly coming undone. Emerging, I handed Cass a pair of shorts I’d shrunk in the dryer, and one of my more figure-hugging tee-shirts. She was well covered but she was still smaller than me. I sent her off to get clean.

  While she was occupied, I opened my phone notes and transferred the information to my computer file. Then I added everything I could think of about our day at the race track, including the names of the people we’d met: Jase, T-Dog, Sharee and Lu Red. After that, I used Google to help me gather info on the four racing teams and their owners.

  Team Bennett was owned by Tony Bennett of Bennett’s Hardware chain.

  Team Chesley was owned by two local business identities: George Shakes, the diamond specialist jeweller, and Frosty Hardwick, proprietor of Steel Engineering. Apparently the team had been named after their favourite country and western singer.

  Team Riley was owned by Robert Riley, the tyre mini-tycoon.

  Moto-Sane was owned by Bolo Ignatius, sporting goods wholesaler.

  Bolo’s business had to be his connection with Nick Tozzi. I yawned. This was boring but necessary grunt-work. Reading auras could only tell me so much. I had to be looking in the right direction in the first place.

  That made me think of Madame Vine and the two women I’d promised to speak to: Kate and Louise. I surfed the MSN and Yahoo websites for reports on the murder but it was all international news. A quick check of the West Australian newspaper online didn’t reveal much either. So far it had been kept out of the media, which meant Madame Vine had some decent contacts. Or the cops were sitting on it.

  Cass returned with her hair wet and her face scrubbed. Aside from the piercings along the sides of her ears, she looked soft and sweet. I needed to introduce her to JoBob now!

  ‘Right,’ I said, offloading the laptop again and picking up a full basket of washing. ‘Come on.’

  She trailed me out of the flat, up around the pool and in through JoBob’s back door.

  ‘It’s Mr and Mrs Sharp,’ I whispered to her as we stepped inside.

  Dad was at his favourite post in the family room: recliner rocker, feet up, Fox Sports News on and the paper handy. When he saw I had company, he dropped the footrest and stood up. ‘Tara?’

  ‘Dad, this is a . . . friend of mine, Cass. She’s staying on my couch for a few days.’ I felt like a kid asking permission to have a friend sleep over.

  ‘The couch?’

  This came from Joanna, aka Mommie Dearest, aka Commandant-General of Manners and the Proper Way Things Should Be Done. I turned and saw her poking her head around from the laundry where she was ironing starch into Dad’s jocks. I led Cass across the room to meet her.

  ‘Hi, Mum. This is Cass. She’s . . . err . . . in between places at the moment. Thought she might sleep on the couch in the flat for a few days.’

  I waited for the raised eyebrow and icy disapproval as Joanna eyed Cass off.

  Cass sniffed the air. ‘That casserole smells great. What spices has it got in it?’

  Joanna’s eyebrow, which had begun its ascension to great heights, dropped back into place. ‘Moroccan,’ she said. ‘Tomorrow night’s dinner. Do you like to cook, Cassandra?’

  I had no idea if Cass was short for Cassandra, but from here on in it would be. I could just hear Joanna: ‘Tara’s young friend Cassandra from the east.’ Not the eastern suburbs!

  Surprisingly, Cass didn’t seem to mind the longer use of her name. In fact, her cheeks warmed and her aura expanded. ‘I don’t know much but I like it,’ she said shyly.

  My mother had a two-toned turquoise and red aura that ran around her body in defined streams. The turquoise signified her energy and presence and the red showed her predilection for material things. When I was younger, the streams were vivid and fierce, like bright rings of light. The last few years, though, I’d noticed a mellowing of their intensity, which made it easier for me to be around her. On some days I even saw flashes of yellow, which, according to Mr Hara’s aura charts, suggested Mum was changing a little, allowing some joy into her life. Dad was semi-retired now, so maybe that explained the yellow. Certainly right now her aura was shooting out bolts of it. Here was the woman who’d made me wear gloves to church as a teenager asking a Goth girl with multiple ear piercings and purple hair about cooking!

  ‘I wish Tara would take an interest in food,’ Joanna said with a sigh.

  ‘I like to eat it,’ I said quickly.

  Unbelievably, both of
them rolled their eyes at me. I didn’t like the way things were going. Not one little bit.

  ‘Why don’t you come for dinner tomorrow night, Cassandra? I’ll copy out the recipe and give it to you.

  It’s one from Masterchef.’

  ‘I love that show,’ said Cass. ‘Especially the celebrity one.’

  Joanna beamed approval.

  And there it was – a meeting of minds. Just like Liv and Wal had connected over heavy metal and Monopoly.

  ‘Tara, get some fresh sheets. Your father will get the fold-out bed from the closet and carry it down,’ Joanna said.

  Dad and I looked at each other in astonishment, then, with only the faintest shrug of his shoulders, he went off to do as he was bid.

  While Cassandra and Mum talked about their favourite Masterchef contestants, I snaffled some sheets from the linen closet and some food from the fridge. Cheese, yoghurt and half a deep-dish apple pie would do it.

  Dad came back rolling the fold-out bed and the three of us trooped back down to the flat. When the bed was set up and made, Dad waved good night and left us to it.

  ‘Your mum’s fully sick, eh?’ said Cass.

  I paused mid-forkful of apple pie. ‘Yeah, like vampires are fully sick. So you really dig cooking, huh?’

  Cass shrugged. ‘Yeah. Like I said before, I used to do it at home for Lilly. Mum doesn’t eat much.’

  ‘Lilly’s your sister. The one who’s in gaol?’

  Cass began to pick ferociously at her fingernails. ‘She was clean for a whole year. Her loser boyfriend got her using again. One day I’m gonna make him pay for it.’ She looked like she wanted to cry but fought it back. ‘Are we starting early again tomorrow morning?’

  I nodded. ‘I have to suss out the rest of the team members. You can do the van preparation while I snoop around.’

  ‘Sounds good.’ She lay down on the fold-out bed and rolled onto her side away from me. ‘Night.’

  ‘Night,’ I replied, turning off the overhead light and switching on my bed lamp. When I’d finished wolfing down the remains of the apple pie, I dragged my arse off to the bathroom to brush my teeth.

  My reflection told me I was looking a bit rough, but not nearly as rough as Madame Vine had looked. I wasn’t sure how I was going to do it, but somehow I had to help the poor woman.

  Chapter 10

  SOMEHOW WE MANAGED to make it to Jim’s for the van handover by seven fifteen the next morning. Seven hours’ sleep beat the heck out of three, so I felt marginally better. A Perky’s hot Danish each and two large takeaway coffees helped.

  By Scarborough, my mind had begun to multiply questions. I hadn’t heard from Ed since the other night – what did that mean? How was Wal settling into the new flat? And how the hell was I going to find out before Sunday who was sabotaging Bolo’s team?

  In fact, so many things were bothering me that once we’d parked the van and I’d plugged in the power I went for a walk to calm down. Cass seemed happy to chop lettuce without me, so I headed down to the track.

  Sharee wasn’t at work yet and the booth was closed. I read some of the posters stuck to the outside. Most of them advertised upcoming events: Formula Ford and the return of the V8s. There was a poster for a circus, and a couple of handwritten ads – one selling second-hand furniture because the owner was leaving town before the end of the year, offering a bargain on a plush sofa and a Balinese-style queen bed. I liked the price but the ad was dated August, which probably meant they had been sold already.

  My phone rang. ‘It’s Nick, Tara.’

  My heart and insides did their usual flip-flop. ‘Hi. I was going to call you today.’

  ‘You first then,’ he said.

  ‘Wondered if you had time to talk to me? About the Bolo case, I mean.’

  ‘What about dinner tonight?’ he said after a pause.

  ‘Fine.’ I felt instantly nervous. I enjoyed being around Tozzi but I didn’t want him thinking I might be a quick fix of ‘whatever’ while his wife was away. The fine line we were treading between work, friendship and flirtation needed to be directed back towards the work end. ‘Business, of course,’ I added.

  ‘Of course. Anything else?’ he said in a deeper voice.

  ‘No. Your turn.’

  ‘Mine was a personal question. Now that we’re catching up later, I’ll ask you then.’

  ‘Oh, okay.’ OMG, the waiting would kill me!

  ‘I’ll pick you up at seven thirty,’ he said.

  ‘No. Let me pick you up.’ Antonia was away so there’d be no chance of running into her if I went to Tozzi’s house.

  ‘Okay. But make it from Eireen’s. I have to go over and hang a picture for her.’

  Eireen, Nick’s tiny but terrifying mother, and I got on well, in a pour me another sherry, young lady kinda way.

  ‘Sure,’ I said, turning away from the booth to walk back towards the pits.

  Nick hung up without saying goodbye. Almost immediately my phone rang again.

  ‘Tara?’

  ‘Ed?’

  ‘Yeah. Who else?’

  Apprehension twisted my insides. ‘I thought maybe you’d put me on your Dangerous Hazards list,’ I said lightly.

  ‘Well, yeah. But that was a while ago.’

  We both laughed. That was good.

  ‘Martin’s got me that swimwear job and I was wondering if you’d come with me?’

  Me. At a male swimwear shoot? My mind boggled. ‘Sure, but, uh, why?’

  ‘Sounds kinda lame, I know,’ he said, ‘but it’s my first one. I’ve done underwear before, but that was in a studio. This is at the beach. I just wanted some company.’

  ‘I’m working up at the racetrack all week,’ I said, trying not to show how pleased I was.

  ‘The shoot’s Friday afternoon at four.’

  ‘Should be fine. I finish here before that.’

  We talked a few more details and he hung up just as I got to the occupied garages in the pit lane.

  This time I began with the Moto-Sane team. Bolo stood anxiously inside the roller door, watching over his mechanic’s shoulder as the guy peered into the petrol tank of a black Honda CBR 1000cc street-legal sexy beast. Lu Red stood to one side next to an attractive blonde.

  ‘I think there’s something in there,’ said the mechanic.

  Red and the woman exchanged looks while the guy continued prodding about inside the tank.

  ‘Got it,’ said the mechanic, carefully retracting a pair of long-nosed pliers. Clamped between their ends was a piece of fuel-drenched rag.

  ‘What the fuck!’ said Red. ‘For shit’s sake, Clem.

  How did you manage that?’

  The mechanic straightened up, his face flushed. His tan aura flattened into a hard brown. ‘You think I did this? What do you think I am – a fucking idiot?’

  He thrust the pliers forward and dropped the rag onto Red’s sneakered foot. Fuel splashed onto the woman’s sandal and she gave a little squeal.

  ‘You fuckin’ –’ began Red.

  ‘Hi,’ I said.

  They all froze and turned around.

  ‘Anyone like to put in an order for food from the van?’

  Bolo gave me a strained smile and nodded. ‘C-come in. It’s Tara, isn’t it?’

  I pulled my phone from my pocket and stepped up close to the bike. Red kicked the soaked rag away with his foot and the mechanic retreated to the back of the garage.

  ‘Would you like something too?’ I asked the woman brightly.

  Up close she was beautiful. Her face was perfect but for a thin scar that tapered from one corner of her mouth down under her chin. She had straight, silky blonde hair, a tiny waist and killer nails. And the way her aura was interacting with Lu Red’s, it seemed the pair had something going on.

  ‘No. My boyfriend might, though,’ she purred, putting a possessive hand on Red’s arm.

  Her ploy was so see-through I wanted to laugh. She’d picked me for a groupie and was marking her territory.
I wanted to say, ‘Puh-lease, I only date men over six feet tall,’ but I kept my mouth shut this time and looked at Red.

  He was staring at Clem with an expression sourer than JoBob’s lemons. ‘Uh, yeah. Chicken and mayo on wholemeal. No butter,’ he said.

  ‘Drinks?’

  ‘Coke.’

  ‘Righto. What time did you want to pick it up?’

  He glanced at his watch. ‘Looks like I might make it out to practice after all. So I’ll take it early. Eleven thirty.’

  I nodded and turned to Bolo.

  ‘No, thanks,’ he said.

  I gave Clem another quick look. He had his back to us, his head buried in a crate looking for something.

  ‘It’ll be waiting for you,’ I said to Red.

  After leaving the stall, I took a couple of steps around the corner and stopped. Within seconds their voices were raised again and the argument continued. Red blamed Clem for being lazy and useless. Clem came back at him saying that Red was too busy sniffing after her to know what was going on. Bolo chimed in with some ‘Calm downs’ and a promise to get to the bottom of it, then it all quietened down.

  By the time I got back to the van, Cass was having a D&M with a scruffy teenager wearing a dusty uniform.

  ‘Hi, Cass,’ I said. ‘Hi, T-Dog.’

  The boy’s mouth sagged open. ‘How’d you know my name?’

  ‘You just look like a T-Dog.’

  He gave me a scared look, mumbled something about having to sweep the pit office and scarpered.

  Cass screwed her face up at me. ‘You freaked him out.’

  ‘Faint heart never won fair lady,’ I countered, but she didn’t seem to have a clue what that meant.

  We got into the van and did the rest of the food prep while I told Cass about the argument I’d overheard at Moto-Sane.

  ‘So the rider’s blaming the mechanic for putting a rag in the petrol tank?’ she said.

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Maybe it was an accident?’

  ‘Try telling Bolo that.’

  Sharee appeared to drop in her order, interrupting our discussion. She was wearing a bright-red tee-shirt that said ‘Bike Me’. Today’s earrings were red guitars.