Corinna Chapman 04 Trick or Treat by Kerry Greenwood

Author:Kerry Greenwood [Greenwood, Kerry]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Kerry Greenwood
Published: 2011-01-18T15:41:10.590000+00:00

CHAPTER TWELVE

It was such a pleasant lunch and as it drew to an end, it was time for a council of war. I shared with the meeting all I knew or had conjectured about LSD and soul cakes, and Kylie faltered: ‘That song, we did hear it about. A bit. Like we said.’

‘Yes, you would have if anyone did,’ said Jon, as quietly as if he was charming a bird onto his hand. ‘You and Goss go to some of the clubs, you live in the city.’

‘We never bought any,’ said Goss hastily. After an encounter with weight-loss herbs on which they had massively overdosed themselves, both girls were sticking rigidly to a traditional central nervous system depressant called a Mojito. ‘Anyway, we never really saw the dealer. If he was a dealer. We just heard the little song.’

‘Was it always the same voice?’

‘Huh?’

‘A high voice or a low voice?’ persisted Jon. ‘A man or a woman?’

‘The same,’ said Kylie, chewing a fingernail. ‘Yes, the same all the time. A very nice voice. A boy.’

157

‘More like Robbie than Justin,’ said Goss helpfully. ‘Always seemed to be round a corner.’ ‘Which clubs?’ Daniel was being very careful not to startle our little birds this time.

‘Around,’ Kylie shrugged. ‘Not the rough ones. The groovy ones, where you need good clothes and the door bitch knows how much your shoes cost. You know?’

‘I know,’ affirmed Daniel. ‘No one wearing a dress from Maison de Target is going to get past the guardian.’

‘Whatever,’ agreed Kylie. ‘Thanks for lunch,’ she added, and they drifted off to rehearse their lines again. All three of them.

Our little gathering was, at this point, supplemented by Ms Bray and her co-ey, who had managed to trip over Lucifer’s lead and was evidently enraptured. Lucifer, for his part, felt it his duty to personally taste test every single one of her nice silver buttons. She was delighted when he ran out of buttons, scaled her uniform, and perched on her shoulder, patting at her earring with one meditative paw as (being Lucifer) he plotted ambush on the remains of the feast. I could see the little ratbag calculating: one leap across to get onto the back of the bench, another spring onto Jon’s lap, then I could land smack in the middle of that large platter of smoked salmon and cream cheese crackers, which have hardly been touched.

The policewoman, who was not without trained forensic instincts, grasped his lead and suppressed him. For the moment.

‘Now,’ said Ms Bray, who having been given a chair, a platter of mixed delicacies and a glass of Meroe’s lavender and apple punch—and a little time to absorb some nourish-ment—was looking more cheerful. ‘I need to know all the things that you didn’t tell Jonesy and his mate.’

159

‘And the reason we should tell you is . . .?’ asked Jon.

‘Because I can sneak them into my report, which is incomplete, so no one will know that there was a suspicious delay. His report will have been made by now and you left things out.

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