Sharp Turn - Marianne Delacourt [17]
I glanced into the rear-view mirror as Ed squinted at the screen and noticed a dark sedan that had been behind me since leaving Sable’s parking area.
‘It’s from Wal Grominsky. He says, Keep a watch out for anyone tailing y –’ I planted the accelerator and ran the red light, ripping a sharp left off the highway soon after.
‘– ou,’ Ed oophed out. He fell hard against his door and yelped with pain but I didn’t have time for apologies. In fact, I didn’t say a word for half-a-dozen more hairpin turns and a backtrack around the water tank on top of the Mosman Park hill.
Ed rubbed his shoulder. ‘What the –’ ‘I thought someone was following me,’ I explained as I turned down Mr Hara’s driveway, then off into the garden so I could park Mona behind a large lavender bush.
My heart was pitter-pattering and I fussed with my beach bag to hide the slight shake in my hands.
‘Who?’ Ed asked.
Hoshi’s veranda light flooded into the car and I could see he was looking at me oddly. I gave him a large smile and played for distraction. ‘By the way, Bok wants you to do a swimsuit spread for his magazine.’
Ed stared hard at me, then got out of the car and came around to my side. Before I knew it, he’d opened the door, clicked open my seatbelt and pulled me out. My legs were still a little weak and I buckled.
He caught me and held me close. ‘Tara, are you going to tell me what’s going on? Or do I have to make it up for myself?’
‘The police found a guy floating belly up near the wharves in Fremantle. He was involved in my last job. I’m just being . . . careful.’
‘Wha-at? Belly up? You mean dead?’
Ed’s voice could get quite high when he was shocked. Not girlish exactly, but definitely not macho.
The front door was flung open, saving me from further explanations.
‘We’ll talk about this later,’ whispered Ed, as Mrs Hara huffed out onto the veranda.
‘Tara Sharp, why are you parking in my lavender bush? Tell me why I should not chop your tyres into little pieces,’ she demanded.
Crap. I grabbed Ed by the hand and dragged him over to her, positioning him so she got a full view of his beautiful face.
‘Sorry, Mrs Hara, I need to keep my car out of sight.
I brought my friend Edouardo for dinner. I hope that’s okay. You met him at my Aunt Liv’s a while ago.’
Her thunderous expression changed into a smile as bright as a lighthouse beam. ‘Aaah, Edouardo, from the old country. Si. Are you Italian?’
‘Spanish,’ he said apologetically. ‘Half.’
‘Never mind, you still like to eat,’ she said, crooking a finger and waddling off into the house.
Mrs Hara’s waddle was deceptive. For a large woman she was nimble on her feet when she needed to be, and silent. A large Italian ninja. One time she’d caught Hoshi and I eating chocolate biccies and emptied out all his saki bottles as punishment.
Eireen Tozzi scared me, but Mrs Hara turned my brain to brine.
Hand in hand, Ed and I followed her down the hall of their modest cottage in a not-so-modest suburb. You got that sometimes in Perth: incongruities in suburban planning. Not that the Haras didn’t have money. They just didn’t like the tax man to know about it.
The kitchen was a homey room, ordered but bursting with furniture, utensils and delicious aromas. My mouth watered at the smell of lasagna and garlic bread. The window ledge had been given over to a row of blue and white china ducks; not Mrs Hara’s favoured Wembley Ware, but nearly as ghastly. The marron plate that had cost me my Mandarina Duck handbag to buy sat in pride of place on a lace doily in the centre of the kitchen table. Seeing as I’d just endangered Mrs Hara’s lavender, it was probably the only thing standing between her butcher’s knife and me.
Oh, and Ed, of course. Beautiful men always put Mrs Hara in a better mood.
Mr Hara sat at the kitchen table flicking channels on the TV positioned on the wall near the fridge. ‘What put the wind up you, Missy?’ he asked without taking his eyes off the news.
‘Hi, Hoshi.’ I sat down on the chair next to him.
He turned his ageless Eurasian face to me