Free Who Killed Jimbo Jameson? by Kerrie McNamara

kilos, permanently straighten my hair and find something clean to wear. And buy some moisturiser, deodorant and make-up and actually use it. But what did I say? “That’s a good idea, Jack. Seven o’clock will be fine.”
    Yeah, right.
    Meanwhile, Boo had used the whole afternoon to sparkle her apartment, plump up thecushions and, I noticed, change the bed linen. There were even lilies in the vase that she borrowed from me last year. It all looked so effortless. Her apartment was a candle-lit mantrap, complete with roast lamb and vegetables and the Buddha Bar mood music that I gave her for Christmas last year. “If she serves chocolate ice cream for dessert I will rub her cute little bunny nose in it,” I muttered under my breath.
    Constable Jack had showered and changed and looked and smelt delicious. Worn, clean blue jeans and boat shoes, no socks, and a pale blue and white striped cotton shirt with the sleeves pushed up and the top three buttons undone to give a peek of gold chest fur that I could floss my teeth with if given the chance. He looked so clean. So bloody healthy. And to top it off, he had great manners.
    â€œThese are for you, Boo, and I thought we could share this with dinner.” He presented her with a small but charming bunch of palest pink baby roses and a bottle of Henschke Tilly’s Vineyard, and she dimpled and blushed and batted those damn eyelashes again. I hate her.
    I must admit that the lamb was perfectly cooked by Boo and perfectly carved by Constable Jack. The vegies were perfect and the salad was perfect and Jack’s wine was absolutely sublime. My offering, grabbed from the odd-bin from the bottle shop, went quite well with the chocolate mousse and I behaved perfectly, considering that I was most definitely the third wheel and had attained a state of advanced invisibility.
    Boo prattled on about how much she loved the beach and was going up the North Coast next month and how she just loved the simple life and wasn’t it a shame about Byron Bay…and he lapped it up, the fool. They always lap it up. She plays dumb and blonde and helpless and reels ’em in. He wasn’t at the dribbling stage yet, but it was early in the night.
    â€œOh, my god, I forgot why you’re here tonight. You wanted to know more about Lynnette and the others. Let’s move into the lounge room and we can talk.” Oh, she’s good, I thought, as she manoeuvred Jack onto the three-seater lounge and sat down next to him, leaving me with the choice of the single chair with the busted spring or the beanbag. Damn it, I thought. I may be The Invisible Woman, but at least I’m going to be comfortable.
    She kicked off her shoes and crossed her legs so that her perfectly pedicured feet were angled towards her unsuspecting prey.
    â€œSo. More about Lynnette.” She took a ladylike sip of wine. “She was famous for doingsomething that I’ve forgotten but that was a long time ago. Anyway, she came back to Australia and met Jimbo and it was on. They’d fight and then they’d make up and then he’d go off and she’d chase him and they’d make up again. And it would all start again. Once she poured paint all over his Roller. I also heard that one night she danced on his Merc in her high heels, which was all she was wearing. That was when he owned the theatres.
    â€œThen they moved up to Hong Kong but that didn’t last because she was insanely jealous of every woman who even looked at him. That was when she shot him.” Another sip of wine.
    â€œThen she got pregnant with Daire and he divorced Bethany, and they got married the first time. Lynnette’s parents were really religious and went off their brains that she was marrying a divorcee, so he tried to have his first marriage to Bethany annulled even though they’d had Jace, so you can imagine how Bethany felt about that. Anyway, that didn’t work, and Lynnie’s