Dead Men Don't Order Flake

by Sue Williams

  ‘Oh no. Been eating all day.’

  My stomach gave a rumble you could have heard in Muddy Soak. I hadn’t eaten anything since that boiled egg at lunchtime. It felt like hours ago, probably because it was.

  Leo filled up a plate with some of the contents from the pot on the stove and put the plate in front of me.

  ‘Thanks for all your help, Leo. I should really head off now.’

  He poured a glass of white wine and put it in my hand, as if I hadn’t spoken, then poured one for himself. He filled another plate with food and sat down in front of it. ‘Cass, come on, you need to eat something.’

  ‘Err, you sure there’ll be enough for Serena?’

  ‘What’s she got to do with it? Eat.’

  ‘Well, just a mouthful.’ I tasted the food. Tomato, chicken, peanuts, a little chilli. When had Leo become such a good cook? I tried not to shovel it all down too quickly. ‘What is this, anyway?’

  ‘Chicken mwamba. Got the recipe from a mate in the Congo.’

  A silence while I tried not to gobble.

  ‘I’d say your distributor’s shot, Cass.’

  ‘Yep, I’ll phone for a taxi in a minute.’

  ‘No rush. Anyway, you haven’t told me why this Fairlane was following you.’

  ‘Well, I thought I was working on a small, non-dangerous job for a bloke I felt sorry for.’ I explained about Gary, Natalie’s accident, her bag, the whole sinister breakin-development.

  ‘Jesus, Cass. I wish…’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Yeah. A lot of things.’ His voice was soft.

  Maybe it was the warm kitchen, the gentle tone in Leo’s voice, the wine or all three, but for some reason I teared up a bit.

  I blinked rapidly. Don’t be a bloody fool, Cass. The simple reality is that I should never have taken this job on. Should have just said ‘no’ and played it safe with iffy ferret dealers and Edna’s non-existent knicker thief. I pushed my plate away; suddenly not hungry and stood up.

  ‘Well, I’m off. Thanks, Leo. Appreciate it.’ I made a move towards the door, quickly wiping my eyes.

  A warm hand on my shoulder. ‘Cass, you’re upset. Don’t go. Not yet.’

  ‘I’ll head outside and call for the taxi. Better reception out there.’

  A hand on my other shoulder. Leo turned me around, looking down into my eyes. His face was serious. ‘I don’t like the idea of you heading off alone, not with this strange bloke around. Don’t go, please. You’ll be safer here.’ He pulled me close.

  I sucked in a breath. It felt way too good there against his broad chest.

  ‘Got to get back to the shop,’ I cleared my throat. ‘Busy day tomorrow…’

  He put his hand below my chin. Lifted my face towards his. There was a light dusting of blond stubble on his face.

  He stroked my cheek with a finger and it sent ripples through me. He pulled me closer, so close I could feel his warm breath on my face, as his lips brushed my cheek. His skin smelled like Imperial Leather, dust and sunshine.

  Our mouths seemed to find each other all on their own, in that dim, tea-lighted kitchen. A long, hot kiss that did something diabolical to my knees.

  My focus slipped away, far away, from phoning taxis. Leo’s lips were on my ear, my neck. His hands warm around my waist. The thought of those hands against my skin, under my shirt, between my legs.

  He unbuttoned my shirt-tent; fumbling, hurrying fingers. Kissed my neck, down, down into my cleavage. Reached around to unfasten my bra. His hands were warm against my breasts. I breathed harder. My hands slid down his waist, his hips. Onwards my hands moved, nothing to do with me, towards his zip. He groaned.

  There was a hammering at the kitchen door.

  10

  Quick-smart, I stepped back from Leo, way back, into my electric-fenced Cass immunity jurisdiction. Caught my breath. Buttoned up my shirt. Leo gave me a smouldering look, then turned abruptly towards the door.

  It swung open before he’d even touched the handle.

  ‘Mum? Are you in there? You all right?’ Six foot one of extremely unwelcome cop barged in and there stood Dean, a little breathless, dripping rain onto the floor. ‘Saw your car on the road. You OK? Who’s this bloke?’

  ‘Leo Stone.’ He held out his hand. ‘Showbag’s cousin. I’ve been away a while…’ He trailed off.

  Dean gave him a suspicious look. ‘The dead bloke, right? Who isn’t dead.’ He looked at me. ‘Mum? I was worried sick when I saw your car. Is everything OK? Your face is all red.’

  ‘I’m fine, Dean. Thanks.’ Now he was motivated?

  ‘So what are you doing here?’

  ‘Ah, having dinner.’

  He looked at my clothes. ‘Why are you wearing those?’

  ‘Sit down, Dean, and let me explain.’

  Over a glass of wine—none for Dean, I’m on duty—I managed to explain the situation. The brown car situation, that is. There was no need to go into the confusion of the Leo situation. Obviously.

  ‘Anyway, Leo was kind enough to help me out.’

  ‘Well, you should have called me, Mum. Immediately.’ His mouth turned down. ‘Anyway, I’ll drop you home.’

  ‘Oh no, it’s miles out of your way.’

  ‘Yeah. I’d be happy to drive Cass home,’ Leo said quickly.

  Dean stared pointedly at the glass of wine in Leo’s hand.

  ‘Or you’d be welcome to stay here the night, Cass. And we’ll take a look at your car in the morning.’

  I smiled. A tempting idea, but hardly likely to be acceptable to Serena. In fact, nothing about this evening was likely to be acceptable to Serena. Leo might well have a bit of explaining to do.

  ‘No.’ Dean’s face was stony. ‘Not with this bloke out there after you. And we don’t yet know who he is.’ He gave Leo a glare.

  What did that mean? Did Dean think Leo was the driver of the brown Fairlane?

  ‘I insist on driving you home, Mum. I won’t hear any other suggestion.’

  Leo tried again, but there was no shifting Dean.

  It rained nonstop on the drive home.

  ‘I want you staying right away from him, Mum.’

  ‘The bloke with the brown Fairlane? Absolutely.’

  ‘Well, yes, him too, if he exists. But I meant that weird bloke calling himself Leo Stone.’

  ‘What? No, no, he’s definitely Leo.’

  ‘I don’t see how you can be so sure.’

  ‘I’m absolutely sure that’s Leonard Michael Stone. I went to school with him.’ No need to mention all the other stuff. The other non-stuff.

  ‘You haven’t seen Leo Stone in over twenty years. No one has. So who’d have a clue if this bloke was an impostor?’

  ‘Well, I would.’ There was no mistaking that was Leo. Those hands. Those lips. Christ, you’d think the feelings would have faded just a tiny bit after twenty years. So much for immunity.

  ‘Yeah, who else?’

  ‘Showbag. They’re cousins. He’d know.’

  ‘I mean who else in the sense of someone who could be considered reliable?’

  ‘So you’re saying I’m unreliable?’

  The headlights of a passing truck lit up Dean’s face for a moment. His jaw had a worryingly rock-hard look about it.

  ‘I’m just saying you don’t know this bloke. The whole set-up’s suspicious. Why’d he fake his own death?’

  ‘He didn’t fake it. There was a yacht accident…’ I trailed off.

  ‘Well, someone’s faked his reappearance, then.’

  Oh for God’s sake. The combination of two glasses of wine, unresolved sexual tension and Dean’s warped logic was making my head hurt.

  I slumped against the side window and pretended I’d gone to sleep.

  11

  The next morning I spent a good half-hour elbow-deep in sausage mince and reflected on Natalie Kellett. It was blindingly obvious there was something not-quite-right about her death: this wasn’t just another crash on Jensen Corner. Jac
inta obviously knew something. And I’d say there was a good chance the owner of that brown car was somehow involved. How to get answers, though? It would really help if I could get Dean energised. Maybe this batch of sausage rolls would do the job.

  I’d just taken the sausage rolls out of the oven when my shop bell rang. I put the tray down on the stove top and headed up the connecting hallway into the shop.

  Madison Watkins. She’d tied up her ferrets out the front, of course. Madison knows I don’t allow animals in my shop. Especially the frenzied, hissing kind. The unfortunate requirements of health and safety et cetera.

  She sashayed over, a pile of magazines tucked underneath an arm. ‘The usual, thanks Cass.’ She plopped the magazines on my counter.

  I gave her a smile, scooped up her dim sims and dropped them in the oil.

  Madison’s an overflowing-looking girl, fond of green eye shadow and clothes that strain to contain. Some people claim she’s been enhanced, but I’ve known Madison since she was born twenty-six years ago and I can attest that she’s just a person who stores her fat in the right places.

  Her fingertips were covered with bandaids.

  ‘Just been nip-training Margie.’ She waved a bandaided hand at the ferrets outside, straining on their leads. ‘She’s, ah, a bit of a killing machine, to put it bluntly. I’m trying to teach her to accept others into her group, especially poor little Lucy. It’s not her fault,’ she added quickly. ‘Margie’s seen so much tragedy, poor darling. So you have to give her the benefit of the doubt.’

  I nodded.

  ‘The main thing is: she’s safe now she’s with me. Anyway,’ Madison pushed the pile of magazines towards me. Some old copies of Cleo. ‘Brought in some reading material. For the customers.’ She paused. ‘My God, what happened to your eye?’

  ‘Cupboard door.’ Time to change the subject. ‘Hey, Madison, you know Jacinta Thomas?’ Madison knows pretty much everyone, being a remedial masseuse in Hustle.

  ‘Jacinta? Yeah, that’s one woman who’s a mass of muscle knots. Her traps and delts are even worse than Vern’s. Speaking of him…I had this dream last night. You two were strolling along the beach, hand in hand, growing old together. It was just lovely.’ She sat down in one of my plastic chairs and crossed her long legs.

  I coughed. There were many, many barriers to Madison’s dream becoming reality, starting with the minor fact that the nearest beach is four hundred k’s away.

  ‘You know, Madison, I quite like being on my own.’

  That wasn’t entirely true. And last night, after the event—or non-event—with Leo, my own dreams were doing bloody overtime.

  ‘Oh well, why don’t you take a look at those magazines? Got them from Abby.’

  Abby volunteers in the Hustle op shop.

  ‘Good quiz, actually. Are you about to backslide into sex with your ex? Hey, that reminds me, I met Leo Stone yesterday…’

  I did my best to look casual. Madison’s too young to really know Leo, of course; he left when she was a little kid.

  ‘Apparently he had no idea we all thought he’d died. He wasn’t even on that yacht, he was in a pub in Cape Town, drinking beer.’

  I took that in. Leo doesn’t drink beer. Last I knew, anyway.

  ‘He’d had this row with the owner, Karen,’ said Madison, ‘about the dishcloth. Which one to use for milk spills, I heard. Anyway, he’d had enough of all her snippy rules and decided to piss off for a while. But then she sailed off without him.’

  I looked down at my pile of white paper and straightened it, ready for precision wrapping. There were times when I almost sailed off from Piero for much less. There have been innumerable occasions since then when I’ve wished I had.

  ‘So, anyway, about Jacinta—does she have a lot of friends?’

  Madison tilted her head. ‘Well, she doesn’t tell me much. But then there’s nothing like a good session of fold and hold for settling down a chatty patient. You don’t need new friends though, Cass. Everyone in Rusty Bore loves you, you know that.’

  I slipped a couple of potato cakes into her basket, courtesy of the management.

  ‘And you’re so good at looking out for everyone. Like the way you came up with that wording for Leo’s headstone. Actually, did Piero ever feel a bit…tense about that?’

  Best way to sidestep the nosy question is to fire out a totally unrelated one of your own. ‘And was Jacinta friendly with Natalie Kellett?’

  ‘Dunno. It’s possible.’ She leaned forward and cupped her chin in her hands. ‘That wording you came up with was just so…heartfelt. Nothing can take your memory away.’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘The inscription you wrote for Leo.’

  I picked up my cloth and dabbed at an imaginary speck on the counter.

  ‘So you and Leo, did you two ever…you know?’

  ‘Not quite and anyway, ancient history Madison. Slightly before that Permian extinction Brad’s always on about, and about as comprehensible.’

  ‘Strange Leo didn’t contact anyone back here, though. Not even Showbag.’ She looked thoughtful. ‘S’pose he must have been busy in the Congo.’

  I shook her dim sims in the oil.

  ‘And I heard…’ She leaned forward.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Well, something about diamond smuggling. Or guns. Or was it both?’

  ‘Sorry?’ I looked up.

  ‘Dean’s looking into it.’

  Bloody hell, Dean.

  ‘Thing is, I don’t want you hurt again, Cass. You’ve so often chosen the wrong…ah, I mean, you’ve just been really, really unlucky.’

  ‘Yeah, well, I’m pretty much immune to men these days.’

  ‘How’s that possible?’

  ‘Mind control. And Leo’s involved with someone. Serena,’ I added, possibly undermining my declaration vis à vis immunity.

  ‘I don’t think they’re actually involved. It’s just a business arrangement—he imports, she sells. She runs that gorgeous shop, Afrika, in Muddy Soak.’

  ‘Sounds like he gave you the whole life story.’

  ‘Oh, I didn’t ask him. You know I’d never snoop into anyone’s personal business. No, Abby mentioned it. And the thing is, you’re vulnerable. Abby says predators always sniff out the wounded in the pack.’

  Wounded? Abby needed to focus more on her own life and a little less on those of others.

  ‘But why’d Abby call Leo a predator?’ she said.

  ‘He’s, well, not the one-woman type.’

  Stone men, can’t trust any of ’em—had been Ernie’s advice all those years ago.

  And then in it flicked, unasked for: that bloody memory. Me and Leo, breathless, out the back room off that kitchen. That disaster of an engagement do at the Hustle Golf Club. I should never have had that glass of wine. And the DJ should never have put on ‘Heaven’. Leo followed me into the kitchen: Give you a hand with the prawn cocktails, Cass. He closed the door, pulled me close. Our song, he whispered into my ear.

  That prawn cocktail assistance fast developed into a whole lot of hot, hungry kissing, a dropped tray of canapés, Leo’s warm breath on my neck, his hands underneath my white shirt, my skin tingling.

  That was the moment Glenda Fitzgerald chose to walk in.

  Not a good look for Leo, caught with the caterer in, well, a slightly compromised situation. At his own engagement do. By his future mother-in-law. And, I squirmed remembering it, not that great for me either, given the awkward fact that I was married.

  I gave up the catering trade after that.

  I shook my head, as if the movement could rub out the memory. That’d been chapter two of my and Leo’s non-history. I should probably make sure there were no more chapters.

  ‘Well, I can see why they’d go for him,’ said Madison. Her eyes went glassy, like she was watching something slo-mo in her mind. Leo taking off his clothing, quite possibly.

  I wrestled Leo’s naked image out of my thoughts. Wondered for a tick if Madison
’s comment meant she and Brad were off again. It’s not always easy keeping track of their relationship, which is precarious at the best of times. Brad’s an almost-qualified marine biologist and certified organic vegetarian whereas Madison is into introduced predators, so they’ve had a few differences, especially since they went long distance. And Brad had been away most of the past year, since he started his course in Warrnambool.

  ‘I mean, if I wasn’t utterly devoted to Brad,’ she added quickly. ‘And isn’t it great he’s coming home next week?’

  ‘Is he?’ I hooked up her order to drain.

  ‘Err, yes, he’s got that couple of days off.’

  Brad never takes time off. Seemed a bit odd.

  ‘Anyway, about Jacinta: you reckon she and Natalie Kellett were close?’

  ‘Oh, my God!’ Madison stood up and marched quick-smart over to the counter. She put her arms up on the glass top, bangles jingling. ‘You’re looking into her car smash, of course! I always thought there was something weird about that accident.’

  ‘Weird in what way?’

  ‘Well, the way those two tragedies were so close together. I was waiting for the third. What was his name—that poor guy who died a week or so after Natalie? Whatsisname…Will something. Yeah, Will Galang.’

  Once Madison left, trailing ferrets, I got on the blower.

  ‘Dean. Did you happen to talk to Jacinta Thomas after Natalie’s death?’

  ‘I don’t know how many times I have to tell you this. I’m not at liberty to…’

  ‘Well, she knows something.’

  ‘We all know something, Mum.’

  ‘I’m not talking about next week’s bloody Tattslotto numbers. She knows something about Natalie Kellett’s death.’

  ‘I hope you haven’t been harassing people again?’

  I ignored that. ‘You need to talk to her. Also: what about this Will Galang? His death got anything to do with Natalie?’

  ‘You mean the bloke who died on Jensen Corner?’

  ‘What? Exact same spot as her?’

  ‘Exact same spot as a lot of people.’

  ‘Did they know each other?’

  ‘Doubt it. He wasn’t a local. Anyway, good thing you called, Mum. Have you got any old photos of Leo Stone? School photos, maybe?’