Quokka Question

FIVE

It was such a beautiful early-summer morning that Julia Roberts and I had breakfast out in the backyard, which I'd furnished with a redwood table complete with big dark-green umbrella, matching chairs, and a reclining lounge with green all-weather cushions. I sat at the table with my porridge and a pot of tea. Jules reclined on the lounge, keeping a lazy eye on the bird life cavorting in the three trees.

The birds had the choice of citrus-lemon and lime-or an ancient jacaranda, and they were bouncing around making a hell of a racket. I thought this might be because of Julia Roberts, and that they were shrieking the equivalent of "Cat! Cat!" Then I noticed a gathering of crows on the roof, each an untidy bunch of glistening black feathers topped by a smooth head with bright, intelligent eyes and a murderous beak.

Crows in Australia were known to eat the babies of smaller birds, and I reckoned they would do the same here in the States. The nesting season was still underway, so the avian alarm in the trees was well-founded.

"Crows!" I said to Julia Roberts, pointing to the fat, curved red tiles of the roof. "Go get 'em."

One crow wandered casually down to the edge of the gutter and peered over. Jules gave the big black bird a desultory glance, then favored me with a wide pink yawn. It was apparent crow-scaring was not high on her to-do list.

"Gorgeous morning," said Harriet Porter, coming out the back door with a mug of ghastly herbal tea in one hand. I knew what it was from the brightly colored BlissMoments tag dangling down one side. Honestly, I could never understand how anyone could drink herbal tea, but Harriet gave every evidence of enjoying the stuff.

She sat down opposite me. "Sure I can't get you a cup of herbal tea?" she said teasingly. "Chamomile is nice. Calms and refreshes."

"Oh, please," I said. Harriet grinned.

She was working part-time at Kendall & Creeling while she put herself through law school. Soon, Harriet would be working rather less, as her pregnancy was well advanced. Harriet was one of those women for whom pregnancy was a breeze. Her chestnut hair was glossy, her complexion clear. She glowed with good health and never seemed to have her equanimity disturbed by things that would rile me and send Fran into a total hissy fit.

"I hear you have a client whose sister happens to be Dr. Penny of radio fame," Harriet said.

I sat back. "How did you know that?"

"One guess."

"Melodic"

Harriet nodded. "Melodie's a dyed-in-the-wool fan. Says she listens to the show every chance she gets."

"You'd better give me the good oil." When a faint shadow marred Harriet's sunny expression, I added a quick translation. "She and her brother are coming here this morning for a meeting with me and Ariana, so any background will be a help. What I'm asking is, what do you know about Dr. Penny and her show?"

"Sexuality Unchained is on after ten, and it's wildly popular. People call in and Dr. Penny answers any and all questions on sexuality- explains, gives advice, refers callers to other resources, and so on. No area's taboo."

"Blimey," I said, "that's a pretty wide field."

Harriet took a sip of her herbal concoction. I wrinkled my nose. I could smell it clear across the table. "It is," she said, "but I've never heard her thrown by a question."

"You listen to the program?"

"Sometimes." She laughed. "Often, actually. Dr. Penny's very entertaining."

"Does she take the micky out of callers? Send them up?"

"Not at all," said Harriet. "Dr. Penny treats every person's question seriously, even when it's obviously a setup. She gets a few of those."

"I bet she does," I said, thinking of sniggering little kids-of all ages-daring each other to make it through the screening to get to air with some puerile question.

"Dr. Penny opens and closes each session of Sexuality Unchained with a statement that sex is her great passion," said Harriet. "She gives every evidence that it is."

"I met her yesterday," I said. "She's a large woman in every way. It could be a bit quelling to be the object of her desire."

Harriet chuckled. "Dr. Penny proclaims herself proudly bi-sexual. She hasn't taken a fancy to you, by any chance, has she?"

"I've reason to believe she prefers blonds."

Harriet and I looked at each other and grinned.

"Your meeting this morning should be quite interesting," said Harriet.

Melodie called me from the front desk to say Oscar and Pen Braithwaite had turned up early for their appointment. Oscar, his hair even wilder than yesterday-I was betting he hadn't even combed it- was complaining under his breath, and was obviously in some pain. His sister seemed oblivious to his distress.

When I got there to collect them, Melodie was beaming up at Pen Braithwaite. "You're Dr. Penny! I just love your program!"

Pen Braithwaite beamed back. "Excellent. Do you have any question you'd like me to answer on air?"

Melodie looked rather nonplussed. "About sex, you mean?"

Pen flung her arms wide. "About sexuality. About the whole magnificent sweep of humanity's most intimate relationships."

Melodie blinked. "I can't think of anything at the moment, Dr. Penny, but thank you for asking."

She looked faintly alarmed when Pen leaned over her to inquire, "Have you plumbed the depths of your full, sexual being? Realized the sensual self in all its glory?"

"Urn…" said Melodie.

I broke in to ask Melodie to tell Ariana our clients had arrived, and then I led the Braithwaites down the hall to my office, Oscar shuffling and Pen striding as though on parade. On the way we passed Julia Roberts, who gave brother and sister the once-over, clearly came to the conclusion they had little to offer, and continued on her way.

My office had originally been my dad's, and I hadn't changed the furnishings. He hadn't been a gray man in person, but that was the color he'd chosen for the charcoal carpet and metal furniture. I'd jazzed the room up a little with a wall full of framed Australian wildlife photos, but otherwise it was as he'd left it.

"Nice," said Pen, making a beeline for the photos. "You take these? Yes? Professional standard-I'm impressed."

"I need coffee," said Oscar, lowering himself gingerly into a chair. "Strong black coffee with a lot of sugar."

His sister snorted. "Coffee! You'd be better off without that muck in your system, Oscar."

Yerks! Don't tell me I had another herbal tea addict on my hands. "We have BlissMoments herbal stuff," I said to her. "Would you like a cup?"

Deep loathing appeared on Pen's face. "More muck," she boomed. "What's wrong with honest-to-God tea, eh? That's what I drink. Black, no sugar, and certainly no artificial sweetener of any kind."

A woman after my own heart. "Be back in a mo," I said.

Zipping off to the kitchen, I found Harriet inspecting the contents of the refrigerator. "What's happened to the peach-and-mango tea," she asked plaintively.

She laughed at my mimed revulsion. "Chill it, Kylie. Life's too short to waste strong emotions on tea."

"Flavored tea."

Harriet asked me why I was wasting time in the kitchen, as Melodie had told her the famous Dr. Penny of radio fame was in my office.

When I said I was getting coffee and tea for Dr. Penny and her brother, Harriet offered to make it for me. Bonzer woman, Harriet!

Ariana was just opening my door when I galloped back from the kitchen. I followed her into the room. Pen Braithwaite swung around from the wall, where she'd been examining the photos, and said, "Ah! The Creeling of Kendall & Creeling, I presume."

Oscar struggled to his feet. "This is my sister Penelope Braithwaite."

Pen was looking narrowly at Ariana. "Have we met before?"

"I don't believe so."

Still obviously puzzled, Pen shook hands, then flung her considerable self into a chair. "You were a cop-an officer with the LAPD." She flashed big, very white teeth. "I do my homework, you see." A hoot of laughter. "That mainly means Googling. Amazing what you can find out when you Google."

Ariana's still face didn't change. "I was with the LAPD."

Ariana's cool tone would have got me off the topic fast, but Pen Braithwaite persisted. "Why did you leave the force?"

"For personal reasons." Before Pen could frame another question, Ariana continued, "Shall we discuss your brother's case?" Turning to Oscar, she said, "If an attempt to maim or kill you was made, this puts an entirely different complexion on the matter. I strongly urge you to report the attack to the authorities."

"There was a patrol cop there at the scene," said Oscar. "He was worse than useless, but he would have to report the incident, wouldn't he?"

"Did you tell the officer someone had pushed you into the traffic?"

"No chance to. I was too busy arguing with the bloody blokes who were trying to strong-arm me into the bloody ambulance. What do you call 'em here? Paramedics?"

"No cops," said Pen Braithwaite decisively. "Don't trust the wallopers. Never have."

I would have pointed out to Ariana that a walloper was a police officer, but she clearly got the picture. "Wallopers are out," she said without a ghost of a smile.

Pen was eyeing Ariana speculatively. "I've placed you," she said. "We have met before, once a long time ago."

"I'm sorry, I don't recall."

The atmosphere in the room had subtly changed. I looked at Ariana. Her face was pale. Her shoulders stiff. A niggle of apprehension tickled my stomach.

Pen Braithwaite frowned, then her expression lightened. "Of course," she said triumphantly, "Natalie Ives. That's the connection, isn't it?" Silence. Then Ariana said, each word an ice cube dropped into the room, "This is not a matter for discussion."

Fortunately, before things could become even more awkward, Harriet knocked on the door with the tea and coffee, and after she left the meeting resumed with no reference to what had gone before.

I tried to concentrate, but, crikey, my mind was a bunch of whirling thoughts. Who was Natalie Ives? And why was Ariana acting this way? Usually, she was cool and reserved, but this morning, after Pen's mention of the name, Ariana had become positively arctic.

At the conclusion of the meeting I saw the Braithwaites out to Kendall & Creeling's parking area. Pen Braithwaite drove one of those little Mazda sports cars that look like toys. It was turquoise in color, and with her size, she seemed to wear the vehicle rather than sit in it. I politely waited until they left, Oscar glum, Pen waving a cheerful goodbye, then came back into the building wondering what to do about Ariana. Not sure what the best course of action might be, I lingered at the front desk, where Fran and Melodie were chatting.

"Ashlee's getting snap-on teeth," Melodie was saying to Fran.

"Snap-on teeth?" I said. "What is Ashlee-a vampire?"

"Funny," said Melodie, not amused.

"Whose teeth?" Fran asked. "Not Gwyneth's, I hope. Those big square ones would be too much for Ashlee's little mouth." She paused to reflect. "Ashlee's mean little mouth."

"She chose Halle Berry's," said Melodie. "I think it's a big mistake. Everyone's got Halle Berry's."

"You've lost me. What's this all about?"

"I'd have thought," said Melodie, quite kindly, "that after you've been in the States this long, Kylie, you'd have a better grasp of what's going on."

"Fair go," I said. "I've only been in L.A. a few months."

"Years could go by," Fran observed, "and I doubt Kylie would be any more on the ball than she is now."

Blimey! This sheila worked for me, but I wasn't getting what you'd call much respect. Being the majority owner of Kendall & Creeling, I could give Fran the order of the boot, no worries. But she was Ariana's niece, so firing her probably wasn't a realistic option.

"Nice one, Fran," I said warmly, popping into the Pollyanna persona I knew drove her to distraction. "Thank you so much for your helpful criticism. I do so value your opinion."

Fran winced. Supersweetness really got to her. It was a little victory, but I savored it.

"In this town you've got to have a million-dollar smile," said Melodie. "There's the hard way and an easy way to get it. Ashlee's taken the easy way: snap-on, snap-off celebrity teeth. Myself, I believe in veneers."

"What is it with you lot?" I asked. "You're all tooth-obsessed."

"Veneers are excellent," said Fran, "but pricey. Quip's just had his front ones replaced. Cost a cool two thou a tooth."

I looked at her, gobsmacked. "Two thousand dollars each tooth!"

"It's an investment, Kylie. Quip needs to present well when he's pitching a script."

I visualized Quip, Fran's husband. He was a top bloke, and tall and handsome with it. And his smile, as I recalled, was pretty close to perfect. I said so to Fran.

She looked pleased. I reckoned she really did love him, though what a sunny person like Quip saw in Fran the Morose completely beat me.

"Veneers only last ten years," said Melodie. She rummaged around in her voluminous makeup bag and found a compact. Snapping it open, she bared her teeth for close examination in the mirror. "I wonder if my veneers need replacing."

The three of us gave Melodie's mouth the once over. "Looks grouse to me," I said. They both looked at me. "That means good," I said. "Excellent fangs, Melodie."

I had pretty good teeth myself, but came by them naturally. Good choppers ran in the family.

"You know Bob's front tooth, the chipped one?" said Melodie.

"Bonding," said Fran. "A few hundred dollars, and he'd have a great smile."

"I like Bob's smile the way it is," I declared. Bob Verritt was one of my favorite people, and I wouldn't change a thing about him.

Melodie rolled her eyes. "It's presentation, Kylie."

Ariana appeared, briefcase in hand. She gave us all a curt nod. "I won't be back today," she said, and left.

"What's eating her?" Fran asked.

I shrugged, wishing I knew.