Sharp Turn - Marianne Delacourt [30]
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