Kookaburra Gambit

Twenty-Four

Lonnie was rightly pleased with himself. It had been his idea to wire me twice. Ron Udell had discovered the obvious transmitter and destroyed it. The second one, a tiny thing disguised as a button on my shirt, had continued to transmit everything that was said in the room.

Apart from that, Lonnie and Bob, staking out the coffee shop, had seen Tami arrive in her white Mercedes. After she'd gone in to meet me, Lonnie had casually stopped to tie his shoelaces next to her car so that he could surreptitiously fix a global positioning device to the vehicle. That meant they could follow us at a distance, without any worries they would lose me.

Ariana had handled the law-enforcement side, liaising with a friend high up in the LAPD and using a contact in the FBI to set up the arrests.

Brother Owen made bail, huffing his innocence of all charges, which included fraud, smuggling, extortion, and tax evasion. The L.A. Times published their series exposing the Church of Possibilities early, to coincide with the publicity. Tami Eckholdt and Ron Udell were said to be cooperating fully with the authorities in their inquiries.

In Australia, Ralphie Bates had been arrested on the initial charge of insurance fraud.

With a compassionate thought for the unsuspecting casino operators, I'd put my Aunt Millie on a flight to Las Vegas.

Alf and Chicka Hartnidge were in talks with several industry executives with the view of having another movie studio take over the Oz Mob project.

At Kendall & Creeling, everything was back to normal. Buoyed by the possibility she'd still get to play Penny Platypus, Melodie was busy refining what she fondly believed to be an Aussie accent.

This had driven Fran to distraction. She and Melodie had a yelling match in the kitchen, and Harriet and I had to separate them.

Fran, snarling, marched off in one direction, Melodie, peeved, marched off in the other.

"I'd say Fran will blow her foofer valve if she doesn't look out," I said.

"Her what?" said Harriet.

"Foofer valve. It's just a saying, like you might remark that someone's gone berkers, and to watch out, because they're likely to blow a gasket…or a foofer valve."

Harriet looked at me dubiously. "If you say so," she said. She walked off, shaking her head.

Actually, there was something that wasn't back to normal at Kendall & Creeling. It was the way Ariana was treating me, as if I might suddenly embarrass her with some outpouring of inappropriate emotion.

I'd have to set her straight, so we could go back to the way we were before we'd made love. I tried not to think of that night too much, but images of us together in her bed jolted me when I least expected them.

I gave it some thought and decided it would be best to be direct. I'd approach this logically. After everyone had gone, I collected a writing pad and pen, and I took them into the kitchen where Julia Roberts was dining on chicken.

"How's this, Jules?" I said. I read out: "Ariana, I hope you don't think I took that night with you too seriously. It was lovely, but just a one-night stand."

Julia Roberts stopped eating and looked at me.

"You're right, Jules. That makes Ariana seem cheap, as if she's just in it for sex. But then again, what's wrong with that? Sex is a good thing, don't you think?"

Julia Roberts went back to her chicken. I went back to my writing pad.

"OK, how about this: Ariana, we're business partners. I don't want to imperil that relationship."

Imperil wasn't the right word. Endanger? Put at risk?

I tried again. "Ariana, we're business partners. I don't want to put that relationship at risk." I looked to Julia Roberts for help. "Professional relationship would read better, do you think?"

I altered it. Tried it out on Julia Roberts again. She was tough to please. Back to the drawing board.

In the morning I practiced in my bathroom, watching my facial expressions carefully. The Complete Handbook did say that practiced liars could fool almost anybody, and I was nothing if not practiced at this point.

Ariana came in early. I waited until she had her coffee and had disappeared into her office. I put my head around the door and said, "Could I have a word with you?"

"Of course. Come in."

She was wearing the outfit I liked best on her-tailored black top, black pants, and high-heeled boots.

I shut the door behind me, sat down opposite her and said, before I could chicken out, "Ariana, we're business partners. I want you to know there's no way I'd put that professional relationship at risk."

So far, so good. At this point in my mental rehearsals of our conversation, she was supposed to respond with some remark, but Ariana remained silent, looking at me with what seemed sadness in her eyes.

She was sorry for me. I hated that. OK, I'd get out of this with as much dignity as I could.

I had my next line ready. This would reassure her. I saw the words as if printed in the air: Ariana, as far as I'm concerned, the other night never happened.

She was waiting for me to speak. I heard myself say, "Ariana, I adore you."

"I know," she said.