The Dingo Dilemma

Nineteen

It was mid-morning, and Melodie, Harriet, Lonnie, and I were holding down the fort. Bob had gone home to snatch a few hours sleep, and Fran, of course, was occupied with Quip's dire situation as chief suspect in a violent murder. I hadn't heard from Ariana and had decided not to try to contact her, but to let her decide when she wanted to talk with me.

Murders were not a rare occurrence in Los Angeles, so it took something extra to get the media's concentrated attention. Unhappily, Yancy's death had two media bonus points. First, he had a connection to real estate mogul Norris Blainey, and second, the chief suspect was not only involved in the entertainment industry, always a point of keen interest in this city, but also happened to be writing a novel skewering a thinly disguised Blainey. The fact that Quip was married to the daughter of the well-known artist Janette-like Cher, Janette only used her first name-gave the story an added boost.

So Yancy's murder got the full media overkill, and Darleen's snatching became very much yesterday's news, even though a quarter-million-dollar reward had been offered, and the dingo-snatcher had been named definitively as Douglas "Dingo" O'Rourke.

Quip's connection to Kendall & Creeling through Fran had been discovered, and the phone rang constantly with requests for "background" on Fran and Quip, a camera crew appeared in the street outside our building, and we were forced to put a sign on the front door stating firmly that there would be absolutely no interviews granted.

From the time she'd arrived Melodie had scarcely left the front desk, as along with the media, the receptionist network was fairly burning up the wires. She was also fielding calls from curious Kendall & Creeling clients as well as friends of Fran and Quip's.

To sustain her I brought Melodie a mug of coffee-decaff, low-fat milk, artificial sweetener-and a carton of strawberry yogurt-low-fat, artificial sweetener, artificial flavoring. Yerks!

Melodie finished a call and looked up at me, face full of flinty resolution. "We have lost one of our own," she said. "Murdered."

Crikey! It was like the receptionists were a secret guild. "It's a blow, I'm sure," I said.

"Don't mess with us."

Puzzled, I asked, "How am I messing with you?"

"Oh, Kylie, not you. I mean whoever killed Yancy. Everyone's terribly upset and determined to do something about it."

Obviously I was overtired, because I immediately had a vision of thousands of receptionists arming themselves with Sherlock Holmes deerstalker hats and large magnifying glasses and sallying forth to find Yancy's murderer.

Repressing an entirely inappropriate grin, I said, "What something could they do?"

Melodie shook her head. "You've got no idea, have you? No idea at all."

"Apparently not."

"Nothing happens in this town that we don't eventually find out about."

Melodie stated this with justifiable pride. Even I, in the relatively short time I'd been in LA, had seen the receptionist network's almost alarming ability to collect and disseminate confidential information.

The phone rang. "Good morning, Kendall & Creeling-oh, Bruce, hi! Yes, she's right next to me. Hold on."

I'd completely forgotten about Brucie. I wondered why he wasn't here, enjoying all the media attention that was raining down on us. Reminding myself to get his name straight, I said, "G'day, Bruce."

"Morning, Kylie. In case you're wondering where I am, I'm with Quip and Fran. Someone's got to keep the bloody reporters at bay."

"How are they coping?"

"Not too good, but at least Sid, the lawyer they've got, is a top bloke. He says no worries, he'll get Quip off. Did you know he was Harriet's dad?

"I found out this morning." I didn't want to get into a long conversation with him, so I said, "I'll let you get back to guarding Fran and Quip from the media."

"Hang on a mo. I need to ask you something about my mum. Have you heard about this Nigel who's coming to visit her?"

I said my mother had mentioned the name.

"I'm not too happy about it," said Brucie. "He's coming all the way from England to Wollegudgerie, just to drop in on Mum. And I can tell from the way she talks about the bloke that she's a bit soft on him. And he's a total stranger." He added in dark tones, "Who knows what he's up to?"

"What do you think he's up to?"

"I reckon he's after Mum's money. She doesn't flaunt it, but she's got quite a bit salted away."

"What if Nigel's visiting because he likes her? Maybe there's something romantic between them."

"Aaagh!"

"You'd be opposed?" I inquired.

"Blood oath I'd be opposed! I'm not going to stand by and let my mother be taken advantage of." After a couple of muffled curses, he said, "Gotta go. I'll ring Mum right now and see what the hell is going on."

"Kylie," said Melodie as I put down the phone, "do you know what's wrong with Ariana?"

"Why would something be wrong?" I asked, stalling for time.

"She's been out of the office loads more than usual, and Bob's been looking after her clients for her. Like, is she sick?"

"Ariana isn't sick."

Ariana was an intensely private person, so she would never have mentioned Natalie to Melodie. Of course Fran, being Ariana's niece, must be aware of Natalie's existence, but evidently she hadn't said anything to Melodie.

An inspiration struck me. "Ariana's worried about Norris Blainey and his plans for the neighborhood."

Melodie's face cleared. "That must be it." The phone rang. "Good morning-oh, Laurel, hi. Have you heard anything more?" She listened intently. "Try Riley, she knows her well…Like, get back to me ASAP. Bye."

"There you go," she said to me with a triumphant note in her voice, "I told you no one should mess with us."

"Your network's found out something?"

"Maybe. That's all I'll say." She looked past me. "Hi, Ariana."

"Good morning, Melodie." Ariana closed the front door behind her. "My office?" she said to me.

"Right-oh."

I followed her down the hallway. She moved as if unutterably weary. Inside her office, she looked at me with austere calm.

"It's over. Natalie died this morning." The blue of her eyes was drowned in sudden tears. "It was a relief."

I put my hand on her shoulder. "You must be so tired."

She nodded slowly. "I hope you understand. I need to be alone."

"I understand."

I did. If I had lost Ariana, no other person would be able to share my journey from sharp grief to final muted acceptance.

She put her hand over mine. "Thank you."

There was a knock at the door. Ariana stepped away from me to open it.

"Somewhat of an emergency," said Lonnie. "Has Kylie told you Homeland Security is investigating us as a potential terrorist cell?"

Tired though she was, Ariana snapped to attention. "We're a terrorist cell? You've got to be kidding."

"It's Fran made them suspicious in the first place, and now that Quip's the suspect in a murder, they're even more revved up."

Ariana went behind her desk and sat down. Waving us to chairs, she said, "I haven't discussed it with you, Kylie, but I'm sure you'll agree that we should devote every resource to helping Quip clear his name."

"That goes without saying."

Ariana rubbed her eyes, then straightened her shoulders. She was so pale her eyes burned in her face. "We need a meeting of everyone concerned, to make sure we're all on the same page. I suggest nine tomorrow morning."

"Do you want me to arrange it?" I asked.

"Would you? Thanks." She turned her attention to Lonnie. "OK, start at the beginning, Lonnie. What's your source for this information about Homeland Security?"

"First off, the guys that bugged our building have been using a limo service to get around. Can you imagine? A limo? Our tax dollars at work!"

"Shocking," said Ariana dryly.

Lonnie went on to say how he'd traced them through the limo company and discovered the Department of Homeland Security was picking up the tab. He'd also posted the photos of Morgan and Unwin widely on the Internet and received several positive responses. The most interesting had been from someone who headed a clandestine group sarcastically titled Homeland Insecurity, who confirmed that Morgan and Unwin were the agents' real monikers-Richard Morgan and Allan Unwin to be precise.

"The guy running the group calls himself Milt, but that probably isn't his name," said Lonnie, "Homeland Insecurity's mission is to expose Homeland Security's waste of taxpayers' dollars, attacks on civil liberties, and general ineptitude. Milt has several people inside DHS who he calls true patriots, devoted to exposing the astonishing inability of a department funded with billions of dollars to accomplish an even halfway decent job."

"What about Fran?" I asked. "Did this Milt bloke tell you why she came under suspicion?"

"Two words: disaster supplies," Lonnie said. "If Fran had been content to limit herself to the preparedness items that Homeland Security recommends, none of this would have happened. But no! She had to go overboard."

"I'm betting it was the full-body biohazard suits that set off a red alarm," I said.

"That and the military food rations, battleground medical kits, and drugs for smallpox, anthrax, and so on."

"Not to mention the forty gallons of water," I added.

"I can see why Fran's concept of disaster supplies might catch official attention," said Ariana, "but any background check will show there's no one at Kendall & Creeling who could conceivably be a terrorist."

"Ah," said Lonnie, waggling a forefinger, "that's precisely why that bunch of paranoid incompetents think we are likely terrorists-our covers so good. Milt explained how they love to connect the dots and come up with conspiracy theories that would put Hollywood to shame."

"And how does Quip being a murder suspect play into this?" Ariana asked.

"That's the best part." Lonnie beamed at us. His dimples and lock of hair falling over one eye made him look like a mischievous kid. "The murder victim worked for Norris Blainey." He paused for a dramatic beat-honestly, Lonnie was as bad as Melodie at times-then said, "And Norris Blainey has been an informant for Homeland Security for some time. You can imagine when his name came up and there was a connection with Kendall & Creeling, a suspected terrorist cell, it caused quite a stir."

"Much dot-connecting," I remarked.

"Who's Blainey been targeting with the tips he's been giving Homeland Security?" Ariana asked.

"Business competitors mainly. One of Blainey's favorite claims is to suggest the person he's named is laundering money for terrorist organizations."

"Doesn't he get discredited," I said, "when none of his tips are dinky-di?"

"That's where Blainey's clever," said Lonnie. "He's in a good position to hear whispers of larceny and worse in the financial world, so some of his accusations do turn out to be true."

"That gives him credibility," said Ariana.

Lonnie grinned at me. "Speaking of connecting the dots, there must have been some excitement when some bright spark in Homeland Security realized Douglas 'Dingo' O'Rourke was your cousin."

"Blainey dobbed Dingo in to Homeland Security?"

Lonnie nodded. "He told them he thought O'Rourke should be treated as 'a person of interest,' and you know what that means."

"It means your life's not your own anymore," remarked Ariana acerbically.

Lonnie chimed in with, "A magnifying glass on anything and everything you've done or said. No stone left unturned."

"Crikey," I said, "if that's the case, what are we, being suspected terrorists?"

Lonnie made a face. "Persons of extreme, intense, and acute interest."

Wouldn't it rot your socks?