Dead Men Don't Order Flake (7 page)

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 band-aided 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?'

‘What do you want them for?'

‘I'm not at liberty…'

‘Well, I'm not at liberty to release my photos.' I pressed my lips together.

He sighed. ‘You know as well as I do that there are legitimate concerns about this man's identity. And/or his activities in the Congo. I'd have thought you'd want to help.'

‘Dean, you're wasting your time. He is Leo Michael bloody Stone. And, listen, you've got bigger things to worry about—i.e. the probable murder of Natalie Kellett. You need to reopen that investigation. Seriously.'

A pause.

‘You still there?' I said.

‘I am the person who decides when I reopen an investigation, not my damn mother.' He hung up.

12

My car was back in action and home by one o'clock: delivered in person by Marty of Marty's Smash Repairs. Not sure how I'd managed to get the Sunday royal service: presumably Leo pulled some strings. I spent a quiet hour in my back room, battering some whiting. After my two-customer lunchtime rush, I decided to go out.

I drove past a clump of mallee wattle, a shower of yellow beside the road. Sped past the Solar Logic site. Ex-site. That solar joint was pretty much the sole topic of conversation locally for a while.
The biggest solar thermal plant in the world, right here in the Mallee: dawn of a new economy for the region!
So the
Hustle Post
had trumpeted. They got in early, dubbing it ‘Hustle's Solar Flagship'. In fact, the site's actually 553 metres closer to Rusty Bore. Vern got out there and measured it.
It'll put Rusty Bore on the map
, he said more than once; a lot more than once.
You'll see
.

We saw all right. What happened was we got a new lot in government. A rapid swathe of cutbacks to anything mentioning the word ‘renewable'. World's biggest solar thermal farm scaled back—first to a pilot plant, then a feasibility study. Finally, Solar Logic shipped themselves and their solar farm off to China. Hustle's solar flagship was scaled back again, this time to an empty patch of orange dirt.

For a while, there was a shred of hope the place would become a community solar farm: first of its kind of Victoria. Especially when Vern announced that Rusty Bore was aiming to be Victoria's first carbon-neutral town. Announced to whoever came into his shop, that is.

I swerved around a goat wandering on the road, remembering it was thanks to Showbag and his goats that the community solar farm never took off. I can't believe so many people listened to his doom about ‘solar sickness'. His evidence was goats with headaches.
For real
, he said,
Blackie holds her head to one side whenever she's near a solar panel.
What a joke.

The wheat paddocks sailed by. Twenty minutes later I was in Hustle, pulling up outside the Garden of the Gods Extended Care Nursing Home.

Taylah was busy on the phone at reception, winding a strand of long dark hair around a pen. Behind her, a TV screen flickered. Words flashed onto the screen:
Self-obsessed, drug-ravaged gym junkie destroying lives
. I stood at the desk and waited.

‘Nooo,' Taylah's voice was low and breathy with incredulity. There was some moist clicking as she worked her Spearmint Extra. She glanced up. ‘Hold a tick, Glenny.

‘Hey Cass, I suppose you've, like, heard?'

‘Heard what?' I said absently, looking around for the register to sign in.

‘About Leo Stone faking his death.'

The phone rang and Taylah pressed a button. ‘Hello, Garden of the Gods Extended Care? I'm sorry but we're in the middle of a fire drill.'

Taylah found the register in a drawer and handed it over. ‘And he's a gun smuggler. Or diamonds, maybe. Or he's not who he says he is.' She rubbed her face. ‘Something, anyway.'

I sighed. ‘Yeah, no doubt Dean will have him locked up before the end of the week.' I signed the book.

‘Well, I hope he waits until after the festival. You know, in Muddy Soak. The Turning Leaf Spectacular.'

Muddy Soak is a town that's set itself up as the capital of nonstop festivals. In the last six months they've had the Yabby Pageant, the Olive Extravaganza, even a Fermentation Magnificence. Their out-of-control crime levels don't get mentioned in the glossy festival brochures, of course.

‘Hey, why don't you take Mr Jefferson there? For his birthday?' said Taylah.

I leaned in over the counter. ‘Actually, Taylah, I was wondering if you could help with something. I'm acting as…a kind-of consultant. Regarding Natalie Kellett. The car accident?'