Raisins and almonds - Poisoned Pen Press (UK)
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Raisins and almonds - Poisoned Pen Press (UK)

Raisins and almonds - Poisoned Pen Press (UK) Raisins and almonds - Poisoned Pen Press (UK)

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Raisins and Almonds 10 ‘Miss Lee, eh? Never believed she done it. You want the boys? Dusty! Smithy!’ he bellowed, in a huge voice which shook the walls. ‘You talk to the lady,’ he ordered, as two young men came skidding into the shop. One was still carrying a tally. ‘We’re short a sack of sunflower seed,’ said one. Dot refrained from comment. Crime appeared to be endemic in the Eastern Market. She explained what she wanted for what felt like the thousandth time, and the shorter young man nodded intelligently. ‘You’re trying to eliminate the innocent, eh? That’s what Sexton Blake does, eliminate the innocent. Me and Smithy went to the shop about oh, I don’t know, tennish? On our smoko. We wanted a book on how to win on the gees, because we ain’t been doing too flash lately. Miss Lee sold us one, and we’ll be millionaires when Smithy works out his system, eh Smithy?’ Smithy nodded uneasily. ‘Was there anyone in the shop when you came in?’ ‘This weird female in a hat with a bird on it who was giving Miss Lee h…, er, having an argument about what an atlas was. I mean, everyone knows what an atlas is! And someone had just delivered a big box full of books—I stubbed my toe on it. Anyway, we looked around a bit, and then the hat went away, we bought our book, had a cup of coffee at Mrs. Johnson’s, and came back here. Then we had to take a horse to the farrier’s so we missed all the excitement.’ Mr. Miller sounded rather disappointed. ‘System,’ said their boss with infinite scorn. ‘Youse’ll both be in Queer Street with Smithy’s system. If there was such a thing, bookies’d be begging in the street, and yer don’t see that happening, do yer? Well, then.’ ‘Yes, Boss,’ murmured his subordinates, not very convinced. ‘And I want that quid back that I lent you out of me own kick. If that’s what you’re spending it on.’ ‘Aw, Boss, don’t be a Jew…’ wheedled one of the young men. Dot took her leave. She stood at the door, caressing the corn cat, which was a tortoiseshell, while she considered what to do next. It angled its jaw into her fingers and purred.

110 Kerry Greenwood ‘Nice kitty,’ said Dot. ‘Now, I’m going well. Only the clerk to find. We can get the carter from the dispatch note, it will be in Miss Lee’s ledger. No, I can’t see any line of enquiry which might lead me to the clerk. I wonder if Miss Phryne has thought about an advertisement? With a reward. That might bring him out of the woodwork.’ She looked down at a sharp hiss. The wheat cat had decided that if there was any patting going it wanted some too, and the corn cat was objecting to this intrusion into her territory. Dot stroked both, then drew the piece of butcher’s paper from her purse. The lady in the hat was called Mrs. Katz, and she lived in Carlton. Dot walked around the corner of the market into Bourke Street, past tailors and mercers and Rob’t Fulton, Chemist down the hill to Swanston Street, where she caught the number 11 tram. 999 Miss Lee paused in the construing of a difficult verb in The Gallic Wars to remember with a desperate pang that she was captive and in danger of death. The fact hit her like a physical pain and she clutched at her breast, feeling her heart knife. Then she returned her gaze to the page, and the prison guard heard her murmuring ‘Rego, regis, oh, Lord, protect me, God have mercy on me, regis…’ That one wouldn’t have to be dragged screaming to the gallows, thought the guard approvingly. She wouldn’t give any trouble to her executioners. 999 Simon Abrahams was sulking. Here he was, witty, handsome and young, possessed at last of a lover, a beautiful woman who had lain in his arms and ravished his senses, and she had deserted him. She had basely sent him away while she studied alchemy (of all things), enjoining him to be a good boy and not bother her while she was trying to make sense of a lot of medieval writings in illiterate Latin and

<strong>Raisins</strong> <strong>and</strong> Almonds 10<br />

‘Miss Lee, eh? Never believed she done it. You want the boys?<br />

Dusty! Smithy!’ he bellowed, in a huge voice which shook the<br />

walls. ‘You talk to the lady,’ he ordered, as two young men came<br />

skidding into the shop. One was still carrying a tally.<br />

‘We’re short a sack of sunflower seed,’ said one. Dot refrained<br />

from comment. Crime appeared to be endemic in the Eastern<br />

Market. She explained what she wanted for what felt like the thous<strong>and</strong>th<br />

time, <strong>and</strong> the shorter young man nodded intelligently.<br />

‘You’re trying to eliminate the innocent, eh? That’s what<br />

Sexton Blake does, eliminate the innocent. Me <strong>and</strong> Smithy went<br />

to the shop about oh, I don’t know, tennish? On our smoko.<br />

We wanted a book on how to win on the gees, because we ain’t<br />

been doing too flash lately. Miss Lee sold us one, <strong>and</strong> we’ll be<br />

millionaires when Smithy works out his system, eh Smithy?’<br />

Smithy nodded uneasily.<br />

‘Was there anyone in the shop when you came in?’<br />

‘This weird female in a hat with a bird on it who was giving<br />

Miss Lee h…, er, having an argument about what an atlas was.<br />

I mean, everyone knows what an atlas is! And someone had just<br />

delivered a big box full of books—I stubbed my toe on it. Anyway,<br />

we looked around a bit, <strong>and</strong> then the hat went away, we bought<br />

our book, had a cup of coffee at Mrs. Johnson’s, <strong>and</strong> came back<br />

here. Then we had to take a horse to the farrier’s so we missed all<br />

the excitement.’ Mr. Miller sounded rather disappointed.<br />

‘System,’ said their boss with infinite scorn. ‘Youse’ll both<br />

be in Queer Street with Smithy’s system. If there was such a<br />

thing, bookies’d be begging in the street, <strong>and</strong> yer don’t see that<br />

happening, do yer? Well, then.’<br />

‘Yes, Boss,’ murmured his subordinates, not very convinced.<br />

‘And I want that quid back that I lent you out of me own<br />

kick. If that’s what you’re spending it on.’<br />

‘Aw, Boss, don’t be a Jew…’ wheedled one of the young<br />

men.<br />

Dot took her leave. She stood at the door, caressing the corn<br />

cat, which was a tortoiseshell, while she considered what to do<br />

next. It angled its jaw into her fingers <strong>and</strong> purred.

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