Free Sharp Turn by Marianne Delacourt Page B

right. The qualifier for the National Championships. Anything else?’
    ‘Moto-Sane should win – they’ve got the best bike and rider – but the guy says they won’t get it together on the day. Riley’s his favourite to win. He reckons there’s a thing going on between those two teams.’
    Funny Bolo hadn’t mentioned that. ‘He say why?’
    She shook her head. ‘I didn’t ask. Didn’t want to seem too nosy straight up.’
    ‘Fair enough.’ I reached into my bag and brought out a pen and notepad. ‘We’d better get to work. Do you want to write all that down so we don’t forget it?’
    She shook her head. ‘I’ll remember.’
    ‘But you might not,’ I insisted.
    She put her hands behind her back like a little kid. ‘Yes, I will.’ The freckly spots in her cinnamon aura became pronounced.
    I was about to push the issue when I remembered her reaction when I’d given her my card after she’d helped me out with some surveillance at Burnside Station. I’d thought then that she couldn’t read, but I’d forgotten it until now. And if she couldn’t read, maybe she couldn’t write either.
    ‘Make sure you do,’ I grumped to cover my realisation.
    Cass got to work buttering rolls, chopping lettuce and filling the bain-marie. She seemed right at home preparing food. Meanwhile, I made an awful mess practising how to use the milkshake maker.
    ‘Don’t put so much milk in it,’ she suggested.
    I bit back a retort because she was right. ‘You worked in a restaurant before?’ I asked.
    She shrugged. ‘Maccas for a while. I did the cooking at home too. Mum doesn’t like it.’
    I eyed her with growing respect. ‘You wanna make up Jase’s and Sharee’s orders?’
    ‘Sure.’
    I read them out aloud as if I needed to hear them myself.
    As she got to work stuffing chicken into rolls, I jotted down a note on my phone about problems between Riley and Moto-Sane. ‘Did your new friend say anything else about the teams?’
    She resealed the lettuce container and shoved it in the fridge. ‘He wishes he was working for Moto-Sane. Apparently they pay really good.’
    ‘ Well ,’ I corrected automatically. Maybe there was a little of my mother in me after all. ‘Has he got a name?’
    ‘T-Dog.’
    I shot her a look. ‘T-Dog?’
    She shrugged. ‘That’s what he said. He’s on a job-skills scheme. Apprentice mechanical assistant class two or somethin’. Means he gets to clean the oil trays and sweep the pits.’
    ‘Okay. Moto-Sane pays well,’ I said, thumb-typing. ‘That’s good work, Cass.’
    She flushed.
    ‘Now I need to find out all the names of the people working for the teams and do some digging.’ That probably amounted to about twelve or fifteen people. I was beginning to wish I’d taken the hourly rate.
    I slipped my phone back in my pocket and ripped open a packet of potato gems, tipping them into the deep fryer. Oil spat everywhere and the whole van filled with smoke.
    ‘Quick, turn it down!’ Cass coughed.
    By the time I’d found the knob, the gems had crisped into little black nuggets. I scooped them out and revved the exhaust fan to max.
    We waited for the van to clear, then Cass offered to take over the chip-making.
    Sharee came for her food. Then Jase. He handed me two pit passes. ‘You’ll need them to get in.’
    I thanked him, and suddenly we had a queue.
    Whenever we got a short break, I was busy washing up while Cass handled the food. By the time the worst of the lunch rush had been and gone, I was hot, covered in oil and hoping I never saw another deep-fried potato scallop again.
    So why was I scarfing down a chiko roll? Maybe to distract myself from the memory of Audrey dead under a sheet on Madame Vine’s veranda.
    I had just switched off the bain-marie when Bolo and another short guy turned up at the serving window. Bolo glanced at Cass while I looked over the short guy. He was wearing tight jeans that showed off his skinny butt and legs, a clean tee-shirt that had