Read Online Devil's Food by Kerry Greenwood - Free Book Online

removing glasses. He was a plump young man, very attractive, with curly black hair and soulful eyes like a cow. Round his right wrist he had a yellow rubber band which he kept snapping at every unoccupied moment. Some kind of new fashion, apparently. I recalled that the Raskols in New Guinea used to wear rubber bands made from car tyres — who told me that? That’s the trouble with arcane information. Bits of it stick in the mind like burrs in a sock, memorable beyond any use they might have had.
    We finished the meal and the young man cleared away. But I could have sworn that, as soon as he was out of sight of the door and the kitchen, in the little alcove where the side wall abutted, I saw him grab a handful of leftover bread, stuff the trimmings from the steak inside it and swallow it whole. It was a furtive, frantic bolting movement, more like a stray dog’s than a man’s. It jolted me, but it was over before I could draw Daniel’s attention to it. And it wasn’t as though it was important.
    Time for a heavenly gelato from Naevio, the gelati master. There were so many ice creams to choose from and they all looked so gorgeous that Limonello ought to provide a discreet gutter for their patrons to drool into. Cherry Ripple. Caramel and Honeycomb. Chocolate. Pistachio. I finally chose lemon and orange, and Daniel chose coconut and coffee. We licked them comfortably, strolling down the riverside, admiring the strange sculptures and wondering at how many people were loose on a working day. And why all those children weren’t at school. Not that I cared. They weren’t my children.
    It was still early when we came sailing back to Hebe, full and a little soporific.
    Therese Webb immediately rang the bell. She must have been watching for us to come in. I was not pleased to see her. But I opened the door. At least she wasn’t my mother.
    ‘Tea, coffee or a glass of wine?’ I asked.
    ‘A glass of wine,’ she said, sitting down heavily next to Horatio.
    I poured her a glass of chateau collapseau and had one for myself. Daniel sat behind me on the sofa and I leaned back into his embrace.
    ‘How do you know my mother?’ I asked. I don’t for a moment believe that curiosity slew any felines.
    ‘I knew her at school, where she was very nice to me,’ said Therese. She shrugged her tweed cloak off her shoulders. A lot of it fell on Horatio. He clawed his way to the surface, unnoticed by the weaver, and then stretched out on the fabric luxuriously. ‘We went to a very tough girls’ school, and I was bullied badly. You know?’
    I nodded. I knew. I still couldn’t contemplate an upright locker with equanimity, due to having been repeatedly stuffed into one by Julie, our resident bully.
    ‘No one bullied Jacqui!’ mused Therese proudly. ‘She told them where to get off! And she took me under her wing, for some reason. I’ve never known why. But she was always kind.’
    Not my experience of her. ‘So you kept in contact after she left school?’ I said.
    ‘Oh yes. She went to Nimbin, of course, met your father — they were so sweet together, like Babes in the Wood — and then they came back here to start a collective. Very strict. I couldn’t go and visit her there, my health wouldn’t permit me to sleep on the ground, but she sometimes came to visit me. I was always pleased to help her out with a little money or a place to sleep. Then I inherited quite a lot of money and decided that I’d leave my shop to be run by a manager and take some rest. My heart isn’t very reliable. I don’t know how long I’ll live. So I bought Arachne in this delightful building. I still weave, of course, but I really just wanted a rest.’
    ‘And then you got Jacqui back on your hands,’ I said ruefully.
    Therese twinkled. ‘Well, actually, dear, I’ve always been busy. I’ve worked every day all my life. I was getting very bored and fancying myself sick when Jacqui turned up, and now I feel fine. I need to have something to