Read Online Dead Men Don't Order Flake by Sue Williams - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Sue Williams
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She looked through me as though I wasn’t there.
Hopefully, today was one of Ernie’s good days. He lets his marbles come and go and sometimes I think it’s intentional. Maybe he could help me get into this dropped phone: marbles permitting, Ernie’s pretty good at getting into things he’s not supposed to. And he could have useful information about Natalie Kellett, as long as I managed to keep him focused.
Ernie was in his room, sitting in his armchair, facing the TV. He doesn’t like watching the TV in the communal lounge. Full of people who’ve lost it, he tells me. It wasthree in the afternoon and Ernie was in his dressing gown, the one I gave him last Christmas. His shoulder blades finned through the navy blue material. I hoped he was eating properly; he looked like he was getting thinner.
I put a hand on his shoulder. ‘Ernie, how you doing?’
‘As good as a dying war hero can be on his final flaming birthday. Spent alone, of course.’ He glared at me, his yellowed moustache quivering. His old-bone hands plucked at the red blanket spread across his knees.
I flicked through my mental calendar. ‘No, no, it’s not today. Your birthday’s Friday. And we’re going out.’ Although admittedly I didn’t have anything organised yet.
‘If I’m still alive.’
‘Of course you’ll still be alive, especially if I’ve got anything to do with it,’ I said in a brisk tone of voice. ‘And we’re doing something special.’
He humphed. ‘So where the hell were you yesterday?’
‘Yesterday?’
‘No need to flaming well repeat everything I say. I am compos, Cassandra Ariadne.’
Ernie’s one of the few people that knows the catastrophe of my full name. It was my dad’s great idea, that name. He loved anything classical, which wouldn’t necessarily be a problem—my sister’s called Helen—but I copped the whole Cassandra Ariadne.
‘You missed a ripper movie, one of those Trinity deals. My Name’s Not Bloody Trinity , I think. No bosoms though, not a single one,’ Ernie leaned down and snatched up a copy of the Green Guide from the pile beside his chair, rustled through it. ‘Anyway, your loss. Dunno what you were thinking. First Monday you haven’t been in since I don’t know when.’
‘Um, yesterday was Saturday, Ernie. Sorry, I had a bit to do in the shop.’
‘Oh, for God’s sake. Haven’t got time to listen to all your shopping rigmaroles. I’m busy: got a wheat farm I’m trying to run here.’ His hands were clenching and unclenching on the Green Guide .
I patted his hand. Maybe I’d confused him by coming in on the wrong day.
Normally, I go and see Ernie on Mondays: I close the shop, drive to Hustle and visit him for our regular appointment with the midday movie. He might not be quite as fit as he once was, but there’s no way Ernie’ll ever give up on those movies, him with a rustling bag of mini Cherry Ripes, me with a strong cuppa and a packet of Panadol. You need an adequate supply of Panadol to get through an afternoon with Ernie.
‘Let’s have a nice cuppa and watch one of your favourite DVDs.’
‘Don’t have time to waste on your films today. I’m occupied.’ He dropped his Green Guide on the floor, a theatrical kind of motion.
Ernie spends his days in his room, or lurking outside by the roses on his walker, smoking. No way he was occupied. ‘What with?’ I said.
‘None of your bloody business.’
I pulled up a chair beside him; sat down. ‘Ernie, I’m in urgent need of your help. If you have time, that is.’
Was I going to have to tell every single person I knew about Natalie Kellett? One of those people was bound to go and say something inflammatory to Dean. Time for some emergency lying. I leaned in closer. ‘It’s an important technical question.’
He gave me a suspicious look. ‘You got any of your Anzac biscuits on you?’
‘I’ll pop in with some tomorrow. Promise.’
He sniffed. I took that as acquiescence.
After a cuppa and
Hopefully, today was one of Ernie’s good days. He lets his marbles come and go and sometimes I think it’s intentional. Maybe he could help me get into this dropped phone: marbles permitting, Ernie’s pretty good at getting into things he’s not supposed to. And he could have useful information about Natalie Kellett, as long as I managed to keep him focused.
Ernie was in his room, sitting in his armchair, facing the TV. He doesn’t like watching the TV in the communal lounge. Full of people who’ve lost it, he tells me. It wasthree in the afternoon and Ernie was in his dressing gown, the one I gave him last Christmas. His shoulder blades finned through the navy blue material. I hoped he was eating properly; he looked like he was getting thinner.
I put a hand on his shoulder. ‘Ernie, how you doing?’
‘As good as a dying war hero can be on his final flaming birthday. Spent alone, of course.’ He glared at me, his yellowed moustache quivering. His old-bone hands plucked at the red blanket spread across his knees.
I flicked through my mental calendar. ‘No, no, it’s not today. Your birthday’s Friday. And we’re going out.’ Although admittedly I didn’t have anything organised yet.
‘If I’m still alive.’
‘Of course you’ll still be alive, especially if I’ve got anything to do with it,’ I said in a brisk tone of voice. ‘And we’re doing something special.’
He humphed. ‘So where the hell were you yesterday?’
‘Yesterday?’
‘No need to flaming well repeat everything I say. I am compos, Cassandra Ariadne.’
Ernie’s one of the few people that knows the catastrophe of my full name. It was my dad’s great idea, that name. He loved anything classical, which wouldn’t necessarily be a problem—my sister’s called Helen—but I copped the whole Cassandra Ariadne.
‘You missed a ripper movie, one of those Trinity deals. My Name’s Not Bloody Trinity , I think. No bosoms though, not a single one,’ Ernie leaned down and snatched up a copy of the Green Guide from the pile beside his chair, rustled through it. ‘Anyway, your loss. Dunno what you were thinking. First Monday you haven’t been in since I don’t know when.’
‘Um, yesterday was Saturday, Ernie. Sorry, I had a bit to do in the shop.’
‘Oh, for God’s sake. Haven’t got time to listen to all your shopping rigmaroles. I’m busy: got a wheat farm I’m trying to run here.’ His hands were clenching and unclenching on the Green Guide .
I patted his hand. Maybe I’d confused him by coming in on the wrong day.
Normally, I go and see Ernie on Mondays: I close the shop, drive to Hustle and visit him for our regular appointment with the midday movie. He might not be quite as fit as he once was, but there’s no way Ernie’ll ever give up on those movies, him with a rustling bag of mini Cherry Ripes, me with a strong cuppa and a packet of Panadol. You need an adequate supply of Panadol to get through an afternoon with Ernie.
‘Let’s have a nice cuppa and watch one of your favourite DVDs.’
‘Don’t have time to waste on your films today. I’m occupied.’ He dropped his Green Guide on the floor, a theatrical kind of motion.
Ernie spends his days in his room, or lurking outside by the roses on his walker, smoking. No way he was occupied. ‘What with?’ I said.
‘None of your bloody business.’
I pulled up a chair beside him; sat down. ‘Ernie, I’m in urgent need of your help. If you have time, that is.’
Was I going to have to tell every single person I knew about Natalie Kellett? One of those people was bound to go and say something inflammatory to Dean. Time for some emergency lying. I leaned in closer. ‘It’s an important technical question.’
He gave me a suspicious look. ‘You got any of your Anzac biscuits on you?’
‘I’ll pop in with some tomorrow. Promise.’
He sniffed. I took that as acquiescence.
After a cuppa and
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