Free Dead Men Don't Order Flake by Sue Williams Page A

listening, are you? You could find that watch. If you could be bothered. A proper detective would.’
    The phone battery went flat and I put the damn thing away. This is why I tend not to ask Ernie historical questions. He might forget what he’s had for dinner, but he never lets go of a grievance.
    ‘Come on, let’s get you dressed.’
    I stood up, rootled through his wardrobe, looking for a blue shirt. Pretty much everything Ernie wears is navy blue.
    ‘Now, this is the million-dollar question: what are we gunna do on your birthday?’
    Taylah had mentioned the Turning Leaf Spectacular. I wondered briefly what the difference was between the Falling Leaf Festival they had there last year and this year’s Turning Leaf Spectacular. A more excitable naming committee, possibly.
    ‘How about we go out for lunch in Muddy Soak?’ I laid his shirt on the bed; hunted through a drawer for his trousers. ‘We could eat outside, bit of autumn sunshine.’
    ‘So I have to eat me meals on the footpath now?’ He stared moodily at the wall.
    ‘Ah, no, we’ll eat indoors. Then go for a nice drive and look at the autumn leaves.’
    ‘Leaves are for old people, Cass.’ He got up and shuffled over to the bed. ‘Might as well shoot me now.’ His voice was sad and wobbly.
    I said nothing. Sometimes the harder you try with Ernie, the more you upset him.
    ‘You know what I’d really like for my birthday?’ He peeled off his pyjama top and flung it on the bed. He pulled on his shirt. ‘My watch. Bet it’s still in that flaming party cave.’

14
    I got home to find two cars parked out the front of my shop. Claire’s red ute, and a battered Land Rover. Dark blue. I straightened my dress, reflex-patted down my hair. Breathe, Cass, just breathe.
    I headed inside: no smell of anything burning. Maybe Claire had managed today without any new BBQ chicken emergencies. She was standing by the coat rack, slipping into her multi-coloured jacket.
    ‘Can’t stay, Cass, Sophia’s expecting me. Anyway,’ she nodded towards the plastic chairs. ‘I’ll leave you to your visitor. He’s managed to survive, despite Jess’s best efforts.’ Claire smiled.
    In one of those plastic chairs, the plastic chairs I’d been studiously avoiding looking at, sat a broad-shouldered bloke; blond hair. Jessie was whacking his leg with a yellow plastic paddle. Jess has an endearing kind of whack. If you know her.
    ‘Come on Jess. Leave poor Leo alone.’ Claire gathered up Jessie and her plastic paddle. ‘Really sorry about your jeans,’ she said to Leo.
    He smiled. ‘No worries.’
    Claire and Jess headed out the door and I stood there a moment, feeling awkward. ‘I see you’ve met Jessie, then.’
    ‘Yeah. Been a while since I’ve received such a thorough beating.’ He grinned.
    I ducked in behind the counter, slipped on my floral apron.
    He stood up, sauntered over to the counter. There were Jess-sized chocolate handprints on his knees.
    ‘You OK, Cass? Got your car back all right?’
    ‘Yep. I hope you didn’t drive all the way up here just for that?’
    ‘Oh, it’s not far. And no more trouble from that brown Fairlane?’
    I shook my head.
    ‘Good. You’ll call me if you have any more problems, won’t you?’
    Was that a look of pleading in Leo’s blue-green eyes?
    ‘Course.’
    He put his arms on the counter, leaned forward, a movement that made his T-shirt stretch all the tighter across those shoulders.
    ‘Listen, Cass. I know we…err, I stuffed things up. And I know it was all a long time ago.’ He paused. ‘Well, in the Congo, I had a lot of time to think.’
    ‘Right.’ I busied myself polishing the pristine lid of my pickled-onion jar.
    ‘And when I saw that article online that mentioned Piero had died…’ He paused. ‘I’m sure you already knowthat’s why I’ve come back. To see if you and I could…’
    He reached over the counter and took my hands in his.
    ‘What do you say, Cass? Any chance we could…start