Sharp Turn - Marianne Delacourt [9]
‘Witty,’ I said. ‘And no. I’m investigating some incidents up at Wanneroo Raceway.’
Bok gave a mock gasp. ‘You and racing cars! Lordy, lordy! What fool hired you?’
‘Motorbikes, actually.’ I heard my voice getting plummy, like Smitty – my default tone when Bok started needling me.
‘Even better,’ he said.
‘Well, at least I have a job and a date.’
‘Oooh, please don’t sting me, Queen Wasp.’
I laughed, not able to stay mad at him for long. ‘You don’t have any handbags you don’t want, do you?’ Bok kept a box of supplier gifts in his office.
He gave an exaggerated sigh. ‘I’ll look through the treasure chest. Be good and I might find something nice. What about Guess?’
‘Nah. Too flashy,’ I said.
‘Louis V?’
‘Too staid.’
‘Picky, picky. What about Miu Miu?’
‘A satchel?’
‘Uh-huh.’
I gave an excited yelp. ‘Yes, please!’
‘Well, only if you promise to keep out of trouble. All that Johnny Viaspa business gave me grey hairs. Hey, did you see him in the West Australian today? He’s sponsoring a charity event at Perry Lakes. One hand’s giving money for SIDs research while the other’s selling drugs to teenagers. How twisted is that?’
My call waiting started up. ‘Gotta go. I’ll pass the message on to Ed.’ I pressed ‘accept’ and hung up on Bok. ‘’Lo, Tara Sharp speaking.’
‘Ms Sharp, my name is Bolo Ignatius. Nick Tozzi said you might be interested in doing some investigative work for me.’
Bolo Ignatius? That was a helluva name. Was he kidding me?
‘Hello, Mr Ignatius. I certainly am. Where and when can we talk?’
‘Call me Bolo. Are you free this evening? I’m keen to keep this investigation discreet so would prefer not to meet at my office.’ He spoke quickly, as though he was about to run off somewhere.
‘What time and where?’ I said.
‘Before dinner – say 7 pm? At the Cocked Dog?’
‘If you want to keep it discreet, may I recommend Sable’s?’ My cousin Crack and his girlfriend had just opened up a bar and drawing a clientele was slow work. ‘It’s in North Fremantle behind the Stoned Crow.’
‘Excellent,’ he said. ‘See you there at seven.’
My call waiting was bleating again. ‘Bye . . . err . . . Bolo.’
Bolo! Sounded like I was putting out a police alert.
‘Tara Sharp speaking.’
‘Missy, that you?’
‘Mr Hara!’
‘Hey, Missy, you come for dinner. Tonight?’
‘I’d love to,’ I sort of fibbed, ‘but I have a business appointment at seven. Sorry!’
Mr Hara was my occasional boss and mentor. He’d taught me how to use my . . . ahem . . . gift for seeing people’s auras and was the reason I now ran Tara Sharp’s Paralanguage and Kinesics Agency. Hoshi’s wife could cook like the devil, so eating there was food heaven. She also hated me, which meant I was always worried that I might find slivers of glass in my cannelloni.
‘Eight is fine. Bring your friend Bok Choy and some wine,’ said Mr Hara, and hung up.
Bok Choy? That was nearly as good as Bolo. I couldn’t wait to call Bok back and invite him. Before I could, though, there was a knock at the door. What the . . . ? Suddenly the whole world wanted to talk to me.
I peeked around the curtain, not wanting to be caught out again. To my relief it was JoBob, or one half of them anyway – the vampire half.
My mother, Joanna, had turned ‘wounded sensibility’ into an art form. She could also out-snob the best of them when she chose to by using the I’m-the-granddaughter-of-a-former-Lord-Mayor-of-Perth card.
‘Tara, darling, we’ve been invited to dinner over at the Dewars’ on Saturday night. Make yourself available, won’t you?’
Her requests never really bore any resemblance to . . . requests.
‘Will Phillip be there?’ I asked.
She patted her blonde rinse and tried to look at her reflection between the smudges on my window. ‘I have no idea. You really must clean this glass – it’s appalling. And take the birds out for me. Your father has to go into the city and my hip is aching.’
And she trotted off, leaving me in a sweat. The Dewars were one of Perth’s Five Families and entrenched Euccy Grove socialites. My mother had been trying to marry me off to their son Phillip for years. She didn