Drowned Vanilla (Cafe La Femme Book 2) Read Online Free PDF Page A

heart of it.
    ‘I will, I totally will,’ said Annabeth. ‘I’ll borrow a phone and text them tonight. It was nice of them to send someone looking for me. I sort of thought they wouldn’t miss me that much.’
    ‘They were really worried,’ I told her. Huh. So much for the ‘she’s so responsible, never misses a shift’ Vanilla that Ginger and Melinda had been so certain would never walk out of her own volition. This girl seemed like a completely different person.
    ‘I feel so bad, omigod,’ she assured me. ‘I’ll call.’
    Fair enough.
    I made my farewell and headed back to the car. ‘She’s here, she’s fine, no drama, wasted trip.’ Don’t get me wrong, I was glad she wasn’t dead in a ditch or tied up in a cellar somewhere. But it still felt like it had been a pointless trip.
    ‘Not wasted,’ said Xanthippe. ‘We made some cash, and look.’ She pointed across the street where a huge orange sign proclaimed: Best Ice Cream Parlour In Tasmania. ‘See? Completely worth it. If you’re going to make ice cream, you have to research the competition.’
    In other words, she wanted an ice cream.
    ‘Fine,’ I said. ‘But you’re not allowed to pick vanilla.’
    ‘Fascist!’

4
    From: Nincakes
    Tabitha, what is that pink muck in the freezer?
    From: Darlingtabitha
    That is my attempt at bacon sorbet. LET US NEVER SPEAK OF IT AGAIN.
    From: Nincakes
    get it out of the freezer before I dob you into the health inspectors.
    From: Darlingtabitha
    If only I could think of some ethical and environmentally friendly way to dispose of it…
    From: Nincakes
    WHY ARE THERE SO MANY CATS IN THE COURTYARD?
     
     
    It was getting on for evening when I got home, all windswept and interesting. That was one way to spend a day off. I had no idea why Xanthippe was so hell bent on playing detective, but if it kept her out of my café it couldn’t be a bad thing.
    Anyway. We were done. False alarm, red herring, whatever.
    I wandered through my kitchen, thinking idly about what to cook for dinner. Something easy. French toast.
    Dinner. Holy crap. I ran for my staircase, scrambling up to my attic bedroom. As usual, the floor and bed were covered in random clothes. As was … becoming less unusual, there was also a police sergeant on my bed, wearing a suit and looking impatient.
    ‘I am SO sorry,’ I said, pouncing on him. ‘There was this whole…’ Hmm, non police people investigating missing girl was just the kind of thing that my … Person Who Is Not My Boyfriend tends to get cranky about. ‘Ice cream emergency,’ I said finally.
    Leo Bishop looked amused, which meant I wasn’t too late. Good to know. ‘You have more emergencies than anyone I know, Tish, and they’re always delicious.’
    I kissed him thoroughly, arms winding around his neck, and his hands sliding up my back. ‘Favourite ice cream flavour?’ I asked breathlessly when we finally came up for air. ‘You’re not allowed to say vanilla.’
    Bishop kissed down my neck, mouth all warm and teasing against my skin. ‘What’s wrong with vanilla?’
    ‘Oh you are kidding me.’
    He laughed. ‘It’s a classic.’
    ‘It’s a conspiracy is what it is,’ I muttered.
    He drew back, eyeing my ‘road trip in hot sports car’ Chanel dress. I loved it to bits, from its black and white scalloped bodice to its mad, flouncy flared skirt. The threads were starting to go a bit, and it had a piece of duct tape holding the hem together, but it was still gorgeous.
    ‘Is that what you’re wearing?’ Bishop asked. I could practically hear him trying to be tactfully enthusiastic. The fancy dinner we were supposed to be going to was not the place for creative fashion choices.
    ‘No, no, I have a real dress,’ I assured him, jumping up. ‘It’s on a coat hanger and everything.’ I’d searched ages for something a bit more conservative than my usual style, but still looked cute on me. Little black dress ahoy. ‘I even have boring shoes,’ I said proudly as