‘Well that was a colossal waste of a day,’ I said, plonking my butt on to a chair at the kitchen table. One of the joys of being adopted into this household was the insistence, when timetables and schedules allowed, of family dinners together, with civilised conversation over good food and, more often than not, wine. The reason I’d been adopted was Maggie, my former Mataura flatmate and current fellow boarder who, fortunately for us both, had very amenable relatives. Her Aunty Jude was shaking up, cocktail-style, what I assume was some kind of dressing for the salad. Her concoctions were always delectable, and she had a vast collection of cookbooks on hand if she ever lacked inspiration. My nose was being wooed by the aroma of roasted chicken with a hint of what I thought was smoked paprika, and my stomach gurgled in anticipation. Uncle Phil was busy consulting the oracle that was the wine fridge – yes, this household could boast its very own, purpose-built, wine fridge. God, I loved Maggie’s family. Although, if I was going to be picky, their commitment to culinary delights didn’t extend to a dedicated chocolate fridge.

‘I thought you guys would have been flat out on the job today,’ Maggie said as she placed the salt and pepper grinders in the centre of the table. ‘I heard there were nasty things going on around the gardens.’

‘Nasty isn’t the half of it. Urghhh,’ I shuddered. ‘It brought back all the wrong kind of memories. What is it with me and having to deal with dead young women in rivers?’

‘Well, you do seem to get more than your fair share. Any more and you’d call it a speciality,’ she said as she slid on to the neighbouring seat. Maggie had been my flatmate back in our Mataura days and like me had decided to upgrade to first class and Dunedin after our lives in the little town went up in smoke. Once we’d gotten back to a more stable financial situation we’d probably look for a flat again, but for now we were both enjoying mates’ rates at her aunt’s.

‘I can think of better specialities. Not that I got to specialise in anything today other than running around after the minor stuff, while everyone else got the good jobs. If this had been Mataura, I would have been the one interviewing the poor girl’s boyfriend or flatmates, or anyone for that matter. God, I’d have even settled for talking to her postman, not getting the crap jobs, as usual.’ My voice sounded whiny. Not good. I promised myself to watch that.

‘Well you are the junior, so to speak, so you’re at the bottom of the pecking order. What do you expect? You should be glad you’re not sweeping floors and making the coffee,’ she said, with a cheeky grin.

‘I do make the coffee.’