muffins this morning. Slow news day.’
‘You’re going to get typecast as the food reporter,’ I said. ‘Thanks.’
Stewart shrugged. ‘Simon’s away covering the comics convention at the Town Hall, so he asked me tae hang around and keep an eye on the police investigation for follow up posts.’
‘Do mysterious deaths really make Hobart seem like more of a happening place?’ I suppose it beat landscape pictures of the mountain and cartoon Tassie Devils.
‘Sadly, it does.’ Stewart leaned in, regarding me closely. ‘So, Tabitha Darling. What do ye know now that ye didnae know yesterday?’
‘Do I have Nancy Drew written on my knickers now?’
‘I wouldnae be shocked if ye did.’
‘I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.’
He grinned and shook his head. ‘Think ye can tempt me with modern literary references and yer underwear? I’m no’ that easy.’
The trickle of customers suddenly swelled to a torrent, and hardly any of them were police officers—except good old Gary, of course, who had probably been sent ahead to check the menu for pies and report back to his superiors. ‘Come back after two,’ I told Stewart. ‘I’ll bribe you with food.’
‘I feel oddly cheated,’ he replied, with a wicked grin.
----
A s soon as the lunch crowd eased, I abandoned Nin and Yui to immerse myself in the possibilities of custard combined with berries, cherries and other sources of deliciousness. I left some sponge cake soaking in homemade lemon-and-raspberry juice jelly, with a good splash of limoncello. I had a cherry curd chilling in the fridge. The new shot glasses were freshly scoured, washed and gleaming on a tray.
Oh, and I had already eaten my own body weight in fresh fruit. It’s a bad thing to skip lunch on experimental recipe days.
It wasn’t working. The shot glasses made for great bite-sized trifles, but you could hardly squeeze enough fresh raspberries in to make the enterprise worthwhile. By the time Stewart turned up, I was depressed about the whole thing. Also a bit queasy, and craving salty things.
‘So what do ye have for me?’ he asked, from the doorway of the kitchen.
‘Margarita talked to me. Of course, she talked to Bishop first, which makes it less of a victory.’
‘I have no objections tae the police being as well informed as I am,’ said Stewart, stealing a handful of cherries I was about to drown in three different kinds of brandy. ‘They’re no’ exactly our main competition.’
‘Which police officer gave you the information about the Trapper in the first place?’ That was one thing I had been wondering about. Bishop would not be happy about one of his people spreading rumours.
‘Called himself Victor,’ Stewart shrugged. He sat on Nin’s favourite stool, and ate more cherries. ‘Constable, I think. Youngish.’
‘I don’t know a Constable Victor.’ But then I didn’t know Heather, either. Things were looking up. I might eventually become a total unknown to Tasmania Police. When I was fifty. ‘What happened to protecting your sources?’
Stewart gave me a funny look. ‘He didnae ask to be anonymous. The postal worker in the cage did.’
‘But you didn’t quote Constable Victor directly in your stories?’
‘I’m no’ stupid. Even saying “a police source” would have yer Bishop breathing down my neck. Giving Constable Victor’s name would make certain I get no more information from him, ever. Tabitha, why on earth are ye putting jellied sponge in those perfectly good shot glasses?’
‘It’s supposed to be teeny weeny trifle,’ I said. ‘But there’s no room for whole raspberries or cherries.’
‘Does it hae tae be trifle?’
I stared at him. Brilliant. Thinking outside the box. ‘Truly, you are a prince among Scotsmen.’ I started another jelly, only this one was made from raspberry juice, lemons and—after a moment’s thought—some champagne left in the fridge from the last private party I’d let Lara and Yui hold
‘You’re going to get typecast as the food reporter,’ I said. ‘Thanks.’
Stewart shrugged. ‘Simon’s away covering the comics convention at the Town Hall, so he asked me tae hang around and keep an eye on the police investigation for follow up posts.’
‘Do mysterious deaths really make Hobart seem like more of a happening place?’ I suppose it beat landscape pictures of the mountain and cartoon Tassie Devils.
‘Sadly, it does.’ Stewart leaned in, regarding me closely. ‘So, Tabitha Darling. What do ye know now that ye didnae know yesterday?’
‘Do I have Nancy Drew written on my knickers now?’
‘I wouldnae be shocked if ye did.’
‘I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.’
He grinned and shook his head. ‘Think ye can tempt me with modern literary references and yer underwear? I’m no’ that easy.’
The trickle of customers suddenly swelled to a torrent, and hardly any of them were police officers—except good old Gary, of course, who had probably been sent ahead to check the menu for pies and report back to his superiors. ‘Come back after two,’ I told Stewart. ‘I’ll bribe you with food.’
‘I feel oddly cheated,’ he replied, with a wicked grin.
----
A s soon as the lunch crowd eased, I abandoned Nin and Yui to immerse myself in the possibilities of custard combined with berries, cherries and other sources of deliciousness. I left some sponge cake soaking in homemade lemon-and-raspberry juice jelly, with a good splash of limoncello. I had a cherry curd chilling in the fridge. The new shot glasses were freshly scoured, washed and gleaming on a tray.
Oh, and I had already eaten my own body weight in fresh fruit. It’s a bad thing to skip lunch on experimental recipe days.
It wasn’t working. The shot glasses made for great bite-sized trifles, but you could hardly squeeze enough fresh raspberries in to make the enterprise worthwhile. By the time Stewart turned up, I was depressed about the whole thing. Also a bit queasy, and craving salty things.
‘So what do ye have for me?’ he asked, from the doorway of the kitchen.
‘Margarita talked to me. Of course, she talked to Bishop first, which makes it less of a victory.’
‘I have no objections tae the police being as well informed as I am,’ said Stewart, stealing a handful of cherries I was about to drown in three different kinds of brandy. ‘They’re no’ exactly our main competition.’
‘Which police officer gave you the information about the Trapper in the first place?’ That was one thing I had been wondering about. Bishop would not be happy about one of his people spreading rumours.
‘Called himself Victor,’ Stewart shrugged. He sat on Nin’s favourite stool, and ate more cherries. ‘Constable, I think. Youngish.’
‘I don’t know a Constable Victor.’ But then I didn’t know Heather, either. Things were looking up. I might eventually become a total unknown to Tasmania Police. When I was fifty. ‘What happened to protecting your sources?’
Stewart gave me a funny look. ‘He didnae ask to be anonymous. The postal worker in the cage did.’
‘But you didn’t quote Constable Victor directly in your stories?’
‘I’m no’ stupid. Even saying “a police source” would have yer Bishop breathing down my neck. Giving Constable Victor’s name would make certain I get no more information from him, ever. Tabitha, why on earth are ye putting jellied sponge in those perfectly good shot glasses?’
‘It’s supposed to be teeny weeny trifle,’ I said. ‘But there’s no room for whole raspberries or cherries.’
‘Does it hae tae be trifle?’
I stared at him. Brilliant. Thinking outside the box. ‘Truly, you are a prince among Scotsmen.’ I started another jelly, only this one was made from raspberry juice, lemons and—after a moment’s thought—some champagne left in the fridge from the last private party I’d let Lara and Yui hold
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