Drowned Vanilla (Cafe La Femme Book 2) (11 page)

See, Stewart, I could be patient. Really truly. Even if it made me want to chew through a table leg.

‘She was so sad and lost,’ said Alice, and her voice cracked a little. ‘God, she was nineteen, you know that? I mean, she was younger then. Nineteen when she died. Doesn’t that just suck beyond belief? She didn’t even make it to
twenty
.’

I knew what she meant. I wasn’t quite feeling my thirties bearing down on me yet, but Shay French had made me feel like an elderly schoolmarm. How did you cope with a dead sibling before you were out of your teens? Never mind poor Annabeth herself, who would miss out on so much.

‘She was miserable,’ Alice said, and her hands kept twisting over like she wished she could keep them busy with something. She was a knitter, I remembered that from watching the archives. Maybe she’d be more relaxed now if she had needles and yarn in her hands. ‘She sat there, looking devastated, her suitcase leaning up against her table, not drinking her coffee. And I thought, wow. There’s someone even worse off than me. So I went over and asked if she was okay.’

I heard a movement by the kitchen door and turned my head to see Stewart, with a cup of newly stolen double espresso and a quizzical expression on his face. He gestured for us to keep going.

‘That’s him, isn’t it?’ Alice said in a quiet voice. ‘Random Scotsman, from Sandstone City.’

How did she know that? Stewart didn’t have a picture of himself on the blog. Had she been watching us, or was this all coming from Google?

I gestured him over, and he approached with caution, dropping to the patchy grass at our feet. ‘Anything ye say is off the record unless ye dinnae want it tae be.’ Like I said, he was about as ruthless as a slice of chocolate cake.

‘An interview on Sandstone City would be far more compelling evidence to make the police stop looking for you as a missing person than me putting a word in to my … friends at the station,’ I added. Even now, even under these circumstances, I was not going to bring out the ‘boyfriend’ word.

Alice hesitated a bit longer, and then nodded. Stewart pulled out his phone and set it recording, placing it up on the table between us. ‘Dinnae mind me,’ he said. ‘I hae coffee.’

Alice looked warily at the phone for a few moments, then continued, still looking at me. Just the two of us. Friendly old Tabitha, you can tell her anything.

‘I’m not the sort of person who does that — just goes up to a person and starts talking to them about their life,’ Alice said finally, eyes on the phone. ‘I don’t think Annabeth is … was that sort of person either. But I surprised her, and she needed someone to talk to. She poured everything out to me — how her family had this idea in their head about how she would go off to uni, because her marks were better than anyone had expected. She would be the first person in her family to get a degree, and they were all so proud of her.

‘But she didn’t want that. She was obsessed with being an actress, and she had a boyfriend, this older guy who had plenty of money and had bought her the plane ticket to Sydney. He offered to support her while she went to auditions and tried to get into film school. She deferred her uni course and just — went. But she had an hour until her connecting flight, and she had been thinking about how miserable her family would be, how they would freak out when she told them she had given up everything they wanted for her, for this guy, to try for this mad acting thing. And what if it didn’t work out? What if he dumped her after a month, how stupid would she look? What if she didn’t make it as an actress?’

Alice shrugged uncomfortably. ‘I’m a fixing sort of person. I can’t sit back and not suggest things when people tell me their problems. And … I didn’t have anywhere to go, anywhere to be. We kept talking, and we came up with this mad plan. I would go to Hobart and find somewhere to live, and she could tell everyone back in Flynn that address. I would be her … alibi. She could try out the acting thing, and if it all fell in a heap she could just come back to Hobart and start her degree a semester late.’

I could see Stewart itching to ask questions. I put one in for him, to keep the story going. ‘But she stayed the whole year?’

‘Yes. The bloke didn’t let her down, at least I don’t think he did. She didn’t get into the school she wanted, but she was taking classes and getting a few auditions, and she wanted to keep going a bit longer. We decided she would tell them at Christmas, and we could stop the charade then. I … hadn’t decided what to do about that. I mean, I had friends in Hobart who knew me as Annabeth. I didn’t want to slip away from them.’

Stewart met my eyes, and I didn’t blame him for being cynical. Alice/Vanilla had done exactly that, and we still didn’t know why.

‘Is that why ye got in touch now?’ he asked in his low burr. ‘Ye dinnae want tae leave yer friends not knowing what happened tae ye. So Tabitha and I can tell yer story, and ye can slip off back where ye came from without havin’ tae look them in the eye and tell them why ye lied all these months.’

Alice looked taken aback. ‘I — I don’t know. I didn’t want them to think anything bad had happened to me. And I’m not going back where I came from,’ she added vehemently. ‘I wouldn’t … I don’t know what I’m going to do, but not that.’

There were so many more questions I wanted to ask. Had she really joined The Gingerbread House on a whim, like she said on the website? Why had she left The Gingerbread House so suddenly? Did she really not know anything about what had happened to Annabeth? It was too much of a coincidence that she was killed at the same time that the girl pretending to be her disappeared. Wasn’t it? Did Alice know the name of Annabeth’s boyfriend, the mysterious older bloke who had been so generous in setting her up in her dream career?

Why would anyone running away from what sounded like a nasty domestic situation choose to become even slightly internet famous?

One thing I knew for certain, though — it shouldn’t be me and Stewart interviewing this girl, it should be the police. Alice had made the wrong decision in coming to me. Xanthippe was the one who could be relied on to go under the radar if you wanted her to. I had learned the hard way that I didn’t want to be involved in anything that had ‘murder mystery’ stamped on it. Not without backup.

Bishop would be furious if he found out I had kept something like this from the official investigation. And he would be right. My rebellious days were over, well and truly.

‘Are you okay with answering a few more of Stewart’s questions?’ I said finally. ‘I need tea. Possibly some little cakes. There’s no situation that can’t be improved by very tiny food.’

‘Tea would be great,’ said Alice with that sweet smile of hers.

I brushed Stewart’s shoulder with my hand as I left, hoping he wouldn’t be too cranky about what I was about to do. It wasn’t like he wouldn’t have the exclusive anyway.

‘A customer was asking about the ladybird biscuits,’ Lara said as I came inside.

‘We’ll get restocked on Friday.’ I slid my phone out of my pocket. ‘Can you make me a pot of peppermint tea? Plate of little cakes?’

‘I suppose I can manage it,’ she said, giving me a cheeky look. ‘Entertaining in the courtyard, are we?’

‘Yep, my life is so very full of excitement.’ I waited until Lara disappeared back into the café before I hit my speed dial.

Bishop answered promptly. ‘I only saw you a couple of hours ago. Not playing hard to get, are you?’

‘I thought you might like to know that French Vanilla is sitting in my courtyard,’ I said, without any of the usual banter.

‘You’re kidding.’

‘Bishop, it’s me we’re talking about. Do you doubt that something this random is happening?’

‘Sadly, I can’t. Shall I send someone over?’

‘Well, you know. She appears to have some information on Annabeth French’s death that the police might be interested in, but if you’d rather save on manpower you can always read about it on Stewart’s blog later.’

‘I’ll come over myself.’

‘Now who’s playing hard to get?’

‘Try to resist kissing me when I’m on duty.’

‘I’ll hold myself back.’

I slipped the phone away and went back outside to find Stewart doing that thing he does where he sits and gazes soulfully at a woman, and she spills her secrets. Or something. He had promoted himself to a chair and was making serious eye contact with Alice, who lapped it all up.

It was his story. The best thing I could do was hang back and try to be unobtrusive. Sadly, I had forgotten one major detail.

The kitchen door opened behind me as Lara brought out a tray that smelled strongly of peppermint. ‘One pot of … bloody hell, Annabeth?’

Oh, crap. Seriously. How had Alice not factored in the fact that this city (and this café in particular) was full of people who knew her? Or thought they knew her.

Alice stood up like a frightened animal. She was going to run, and Bishop was going to accuse me of a prank call and one way or another, badness was going to ensue.

‘Everyone stay calm,’ I said, just as Xanthippe strolled into the courtyard. She took in the scene quickly, and her eyes narrowed as she recognised our guest. ‘This is not what it looks like,’ I said hastily.

Except it totally was.

Xanthippe stared at Alice. Everyone was staring at Alice. ‘It’s amazing who’ll come out of the woodwork for one of your salad sandwiches,’ Xanthippe said finally. ‘How did you manage this, then, Tish?’
Why was I not invited
, was implied.

‘I don’t know,’ I said desperately. ‘These things happen to me.’

‘I need to go,’ said Alice, sounding frantic.

‘Go?’ demanded Lara. ‘Melinda and Libby are sick with worry about you. Where have you been?’

‘Good question,’ Xanthippe agreed. ‘Also, where do you think you are going?’

They were both good questions, and I just bet Stewart wished he had asked them earlier. Alice no longer looked like a willing and enthusiastic interviewee.

‘You have to tell Libs and Mel you’re okay,’ Lara persisted. ‘They thought you were
dead
.’

French Vanilla burst into tears.

The ultimate girl rule is that when someone starts crying, you stop giving them a hard time.

Xanthippe and Lara looked at each other, equally startled and helpless. Stewart moved into the kill with his nice bloke routine, patting Alice on the arm as she sobbed. ‘Tabitha, have ye got any tissues?’

If I went inside, more catastrophes were likely to occur. I’d come back and find that the courtyard was also full of jugglers on unicycles, and Green protestors dressed as giant koalas, and…

A familiar blue light flashed at the entrance of the courtyard, reflecting off the gritty yellow sandstone. Oh boy, this was going to be fun.

Bishop strolled into the courtyard with Constable Heather at his side.

Stewart grabbed his phone, slipping it casually into a pocket of his jeans so it wouldn’t be immediately obvious that he had been recording a conversation with the murder suspect. He gave me a reproachful look.

Xanthippe was spittingly furious. ‘Tabitha, you arranged a meeting with French Vanilla without telling me
and
you brought in PC Plod?’

‘Charming as ever, Xanthippe,’ Bishop said mildly, his eyes on French Vanilla. ‘You’re going to have to tell me your name, miss.’

‘Alice,’ she said, shaking visibly. Her eyes were wide and frightened. Why was she so afraid of the police?

‘Alice what?’ Constable Heather asked in her ‘I’m so much nicer than Bishop’ voice.

My kitchen exploded.

12

TABITHA'S LUSCIOUS LEMON LICK

Ingredients:

1 part Limoncello

3 parts Lemonade (i.e. the clear fizzy commercial stuff, a good way to use up that flat half bottle of S***te left over from last time you ordered a pizza.

Instructions:

Pour 1 part limoncello to 3 parts lemonade into a wine glass. Place glass in freezer. After 30 minutes, remove glass and stir with swizzle stick. Or chopstick, if clean. Rinse, repeat. After about 3-4 hours of this, should be perfect consistency.

Yes, it’s a lot of hassle to go to for one cocktail. Yes, it’s totally worth it. Yes, you can do a bowlful, to be ladled into several glasses at the end. But where’s the romance in doing it that way?

Prep time: 30 seconds, repeated every half hour until you crack and drink it even though it’s still a bit runny and not perfect yet.

Suitable for that late, hot evening, a romantic date, or to unwind if you’ve spent the whole day cleaning up after some ARSEHOLE blew up your kitchen.

No, really. My kitchen exploded.

Bright orange sparks hit the windows in a burst of light and acrid smoke. The windows held. Everyone stared in shock, and then I made a dash in entirely the wrong direction, according to Bishop who grabbed hold of me around the waist, holding me back.

‘Tabitha, stay out!’ he yelled.

‘Nin is in that kitchen, and thousands of dollars of equipment and Lara, get
in
there and see what’s going on!’ I howled. Lara was closer to the kitchen door than I was, and had the added benefit of not having a large police officer hanging on to her around the waist.

She did what I asked, throwing open the kitchen door and releasing a wave of disgusting smoke. Good waitress. She had her priorities right.

‘Goddamn it, Tabitha,’ Bishop roared.

I kicked him in the shins hard, which he obviously wasn’t expecting, struggled out of his grip, and ran after Lara.

The kitchen looked — okay. Surprisingly okay. The windows over the sink had blown out, and the whole place smelled like burning plastic. Nin stood in the inner doorway between the kitchen and the main café, looking furious.

‘What the hell happened?’ I demanded.

‘There was this
boy
,’ she said, in the tone of voice she usually reserved for people who choose prepackaged frozen meals. ‘I don’t know how he sneaked into the kitchen, he crashed into me when he ran out — ’ and she threw up her hands, gesturing to a mess of something on the kitchen counter.