I was sitting in the Leo's Spaghetti Bar in Melbourne, downing another glass of house red, when in she walked.
Small and blonde, she meant business as she plonked a scarlet stiletto on the table. It looked like no other stiletto I'd ever seen or worn. Its heel had been crafted into a blade, a thin, sharp steel stiletto plunging into a wooden mount.
Running her fingers over the shoe's worn leather she said, in a low voice, 'I want you to find out the story behind this mysterious thing. What does it signify? Is there more than one? Is it just a fancy weapon?'
I asked the obvious question: 'Why do you want to know?'
'I'm a sucker for a good mystery,' she said.
So we got to talking terms. She admitted to being a publisher in town on business. Couldn't promise much by way of payment but said if I played it right, I might see my name in print. She left her card and sashayed out into the St Kilda night.
I turned the scarlet shoe over. Etched into the base were the words: It's criminal what a girl has to do... to get a good read.
I cornered a snitch at the next table and waved the scarlet stiletto under her nose. 'Ever seen one of these?'
'It belongs to one of the Sisters.'
Sisters? This stiletto didn't look like anything a self-respecting nun would wear.
'Sisters in Crime,' she said. 'They conspire to inspire women's crime. They're doing it now, as usual, in Leo's back room.'
I headed straight there, hoping to catch these conspirators in the act. They were there all right; 12 of them. I considered roughing them up or calling for back-up; but my quest for the truth proved much easier: they wanted to come clean.
Turns out Sisters in Crime Australia has no suspicious motives; their idea of crime is purely fictional.
They scheme only on behalf their members: 500 like-minded women who strangely fit no-known profile.
These Sisters, and a few brothers-in-law, range from young to old; some work for pay, some work at home, some are retired; they include teachers, solicitors, academics, nurses, librarians, social workers, union organisers, cops, pathologists, mothers, judges, even crime writers. And they come from all over Australia.
'But what's with this?' I waved the bladed red shoe.
'Too much wine,' said the ringleader, 'and we decided that a scarlet stiletto was the one thing a discerning woman writer needed in order to walk the mean streets.'
I looked blank.
'You write the right story. You get a shoe. That's all there is to it.
Ah, a competition. It was all falling into place.
'We're in our second decade,' the ringleader continued, 'and we still love the way the award's name combines the extreme femininity of the stiletto shoe with the deadly speed of the stiletto knife and the sauciness of scarlet women.'
So there was more than one shoe; and apparently the quest for these trophies had led a lot of women down some very strange roads.
It was time to report in. I rang the client's number.
'Women have been committing tales of murder all over Australia!' I exclaimed. 'The only mystery is how they've gotten away with it for so long.'
'I had a feeling this would turn out in my favour," said my client, the publisher. "Get me their stories; I want to spread the word!'
Carmel Shute 2007
National Co-Convenor
Sisters in Crime Australia
http://www.sistersincrime.org.au
Thanks to the publishers, bookshops and writers whose sponsorship allows us to get away with so much.