Wombat Strategy

EIGHTEEN

Sunday I went shopping for garden furniture, having decided I'd spring for the cost, since I'd be the one using it. I had a beaut time choosing what to get, finally settling on a round redwood table with a hole in the middle for a shade umbrella, four chairs, and a reclining lounge with dark green all-weather cushions. The umbrella I ordered was dark green too. Delivery, the bloke assured me, would be next week.

I realized this was an awful lot of furniture just for me, but I reckoned I could lure some of the others out there too, once I'd gussied-up the backyard with plants, and maybe a pot or two.

That thought sent me in search of a nursery. It was amazing how many Aussie plants were there. I said so to one of the nursery people, and she said California had a similar climate to Oz, which made a lot of sense. I'd already noticed the gum trees everywhere, and they all seemed to be doing well.

Second-to-last stop was a pet store, where I bought Jules a couple of grooming brushes, a wire comb, and clippers to trim her claws. I felt a bit guilty doing this without asking Melodie if she minded, but it seemed to me Julia Roberts and I were destined to spend the foreseeable future together. Not that I could foresee very far.

Last stop was the supermarket. Hell's bells, the supermarkets in L.A., compared to Wollegudgerie, really were supermarkets. The 'Gudge Mart was a puny little thing compared to the one I was in, which was so vast and had so many choices I almost wished I'd brought a thermos with hot tea so I could have a reviving cuppa halfway through.

When I got home I called Chantelle, told her I'd had a terrific time on Friday, and sort of hinted I might be available for more of the same. Obligingly, she suggested we do something next weekend. My social life was looking up.

Monday morning I went to confess to Ariana I'd ordered garden furniture and to float the bright idea I'd had of putting a washer and a dryer in the storage room next to the kitchen. It'd be child's play, I'd explain, to knock down a wall and make the laundry an alcove to the kitchen. And any plumber could connect the clothes washer to the kitchen drain. Of course, there'd probably have to be an exhaust fan to get rid of the heat from the dryer, but no real probs.

When I knocked on her door I discovered Sven Larsen was there. His Mr. Universe body overwhelmed the chair in which he sat, and I had the thought that it might collapse at any moment.

"Come in, Kylie. Mr. Larsen's here to give his side of the story."

"The cops are stupid," Sven declared. "I know what they're thinking. That I killed Jarrod. Why would I do that, eh? Kill my meal ticket? I'd be a fool."

"The LAPD are saying it appears to be suicide," Ariana said.

"No one who knew Jarrod would believe that. He'd never kill himself, never in a thousand years."

"What's your scenario?"

The chair creaked despairingly as Sven leaned forward, his face intense. He really wanted Ariana to believe him. "Jarrod had a night shoot on Wednesday. A scene that didn't work in the final cut of Last Train to Hell and had to be redone. We were up until three a.m., so I knew he'd sleep in. I didn't get breakfast for him like I usually do but went straight to the gym."

He jerked his head in my direction. "He knew she was coming at ten, so he set his alarm for nine-thirty. After I left, someone came in and killed him. Made it look like suicide."

Ariana said, "Did you tell the detectives your theory?"

Sven scowled. "It's not a theory, lady! It's what happened. And yes, I told them. They said they were following every lead." He gave a derisive grunt. "Every lead? I don't think so."

"When you last saw Mr. Perkins, what sort of mood was he in?"

Sven smiled sourly. "He was like always, only louder. He chewed me out in front of the crew on the shoot."

"Chewed you out, how?"

"He fired me. But he was always doing that. I paid no mind to it. And it wasn't me he was mad at, it was Deer. He said he'd tear his balls off and push them down his throat. Blamed him for the whole blackmail thing."

Feeling left out, I said, "Did you see the blackmail letter?"

Sven gave me an irritated glance. "He told me about it. Half a million. For that he'd get the recordings back."

"Would Mr. Perkins have paid?" Ariana asked.

Sven laughed harshly. "You kidding me? Jarrod was a mean motherfucker. He wouldn't pay a cent."

I said, "Was anything missing from the house?"

Sven swung his heavy head around. "What?"

"Was anything missing?"

He frowned. "Only scripts. Jarrod always had his desk piled with movie scripts. But they were gone. I figured the police…"

He heaved himself to his feet. The chair seemed relieved. "I know you're working for Deer. I wanted you to hear my side of the story." His face contorted with anger. "Fucking cops. Once they think it's murder, it'll be me. Easy target. Dumb bodybuilder. They won't look any further."

There was something almost pathetic about Sven as he leaned forward earnestly and said to Ariana, "I didn't do it. Please believe me."

After he'd gone, Ariana said, "I'd hate to think he's right, but if murder's on the table, Sven Larsen's the easy target, with opportunity and motive. Why look any further?"

"Why would anyone take scripts?" I asked. "What would be the point?"

Ariana looked thoughtful. "That's a good question."

We discussed it for a few minutes, then I changed the subject. "I've ordered some garden furniture. I'm paying."

"Fine." She tilted her head. "I've got a feeling there's something more."

"I do have this idea…"

Wary, Ariana said, "Yes?"

I explained my vision of a laundry room. Ariana listened without comment. When I ran out of steam, she said, "So you've given up on the idea of an apartment? You're going to stay here instead?"

"In the short term, yes."

"And in the long term?"

"Do you still want to get rid of me?"

Ariana blinked. "Is that what you think?"

"I know you wanted me to get lost that first day, and probably the second and the third." I grinned. "Hell, that whole first week."

"I admit it was a surprise to have you arrive out of the blue."

"I know you wanted to freeze me out. But lately you've stopped. Why is that?"

"Exhaustion," said Ariana.

I was sending a bunch of postcards back to Oz to assure friends I hadn't been mugged or carjacked yet. I took them to the front desk, where there was a basket for outgoing mail. Melodie took a call, then said to me with open curiosity, "Dr. Deer's wife is on the line for you." She shoved the receiver at me. "You can take it here."

I chatted with Elise for a few minutes, then handed the phone back to Melodie. She looked at me so expectantly, I grinned, "You're dying to know what that was about, aren't you?"

"I sure am."

"Elise wants to take me to some spa place today. She's says it's a gift from her for putting myself on the line at Deerdoc."

"No! Which one?"

"I think she called it Pampering Hands."

"Pampering Hands?" Melodie looked at me with something approaching awe. "They've got a real exclusive clientele. You know who goes there? Cameron Diaz, and George Clooney, and Oprah Winfrey when she's in town…" She shook her head in wonderment. "You have all the luck, Kylie. You've barely hit the ground, and you're going to Pampering Hands!"

I left her calling the receptionist hotline.

"What am I letting myself in for?" I asked Elise. "I've never been to one of these spa places. You'd better tell me what to expect."

She flashed me a smile. "I'd like it to be a complete surprise."

"I'm not too sure I'm ready for it."

"Trust me," she said. She ran a light and turned left to a chorus of horns. "I just know you're going to love Pampering Hands. When I'm tense and tired, there's nothing better. I try to go at least once a week."

We glided down Rodeo Drive, Elise's blood-red Rolls Royce convertible getting plenty of stares. She patted the pale cream leather of her seat. "Birthday present from Dave. Sensational car, isn't it?"

I smiled at her, warmed by her unaffected pleasure in luxury. "Terrif," I said, "but I'd worry every time I parked, in case someone scratched it."

Elise gave a airy wave. "When I'm out I never park the thing myself. There's always valet."

The proof of this statement was demonstrated when we drew up at the curb in front of a gorgeous little building made to look like a miniature Greek temple. Almost before we'd stopped, two blokes wearing black jumpsuits with the words pampering hands spa on their chests had our doors open.

"Ms. Deer! Welcome to Pampering Hands!"

We were met at the door by a slim young woman wearing a white tunic and sandals. "Ms. Deer! How wonderful to see you again."

She turned her smile on me. It wavered for a moment when she saw my black eye, which was now an interesting shade of khaki, and my still-swollen nose. Even so, I thought she might still say it was wonderful to see me too, but she didn't. "And your guest…?"

"G'day. Call me Kylie," I said.

"What a lovely name."

"It's Aboriginal for boomerang."

The woman seemed a bit thrown by this. "How fascinating."

She glided off toward a big stone altar affair and consulted a screen set into its surface. "Ah!" she exclaimed with professional delight. "Ms. Deer, I see you've chosen for yourself our ultra-detoxifying mud wrap, followed by a Ayurvedic Shirodhara. And for your friend…"

"Kylie," I said.

"And for Kylie you've chosen a salt exfoliation, followed by the Pampering Hands full-body massage. An excellent regimen for one's first visit to our wonderful spa. And then, of course, both of you will complete your pampering with a relaxing Pampering Hands mineral salts spa bath."

As she led us down a white marble corridor, I said to Elise, "I can make a stab at what a mud wrap might be, but what's the thing you're having after it?"

Overhearing me, the young woman said in reverent tones, "Ayurvedic Shirodhara is a wonderful, ancient East Indian ritual. Warm sesame oil is poured over the third eye in one's forehead, followed by an Indian head massage. We highly recommend it, to release blocked energy and to clear the mind."

"Sounds wonderful," I said, with just a touch of mockery.

She gave me a patronizing smile. "Would you like me to explain your salt exfoliation and full-body massage?"

"Please don't. Let's leave it as a wonderful surprise."

I was left alone in a candlelit room, furnished with a massage table. I felt its surface and found it was heated. Beside was a chrome bench covered with a multitude of exotically shaped bottles containing lotions and oils. I discovered they were warmed too. My skin prickled: Someone was watching me.

A short, tunic-clad woman with alarmingly muscled arms had soft-footed it into the room. "I'm Veeda," she hissed, peering at me with an evaluating stare. "Your first time here at Pampering Hands Spa?"

"Too right."

"Please disrobe completely."

"What? Everything?"

"Everything."

I met up with Elise again in the mineral salts spa bath. "Phew," I said, slipping into the bubbling water beside her. "I'm exfoliated and massaged to the billy-oh. There isn't a bit of me that hasn't been pounded and squeezed."

"You didn't absolutely love every moment?" She seemed astonished.

"I'm not used to total strangers getting quite that intimate with my body," I said.

"Who was your masseuse?"

"Veeda."

"Oh, Veeda. I've had her." Elise chuckled. "She has a particularly vigorous approach and a firm touch."

"Crikey, she sure does."

"But don't you feel relaxed?" Elise asked. "Renewed?"

I wriggled my shoulders. "You know," I said, "I think I do."

Elise discussed the spa for a few moments, stopped to point out she was sure she'd seen Barbara Walters in the adjacent massage room, then said, mega-casually, "How's the investigation going?"

"Investigation?"

"Oh, come on, Kylie. Don't play dumb with me. You know what I'm talking about. The whole Jarrod Perkins thing."

"Didn't Dave tell you all about it? He hired us."

Elise frowned heavily. "Dave won't discuss the matter. He's suddenly developed the old-fashioned idea that his wife should be protected from harsh reality."

"What harsh reality?"

"That's what I'd like to know," said Elise. "Frankly, I'm worried Dave is hiding something from me."

Feeling like a real detective, I weighed up what searching question I should ask. The best I could come up with was, "Do you think he had something to do with the murder?"

This amused Elise. "Dave kill someone? He hasn't got the guts. And even if he did, I could handle it. It's something a lot more serious."

More serious than murder? "What is it?" I asked.

"The most important thing in the world. Money. Think what the publicity could do to Deerdoc if the murder investigation gets too close."

"I thought any publicity was good publicity."

Elise made a face. "Not with Dave's clients." She dropped her voice so low I could hardly hear her above the bubbling water. "I'm not expecting you to break confidences, but one Aussie to another, I'm asking you to warn me if the shit's going to hit the fan in a big way. I want to get out with my finances intact, no matter what happens to Dave. Know what I mean?"

I knew what she meant.