Wombat Strategy

TWENTY

I had a miserable Sunday night, reliving the conversation with Raylene and thinking of all we'd meant to each other. Scenes from our life together kept popping into my mind.

Twice I picked up the phone to call her back, but I didn't. It was over. Although I missed her so much, I knew we could never recapture the feelings we'd had for each other.

It was a relief to wake up on Monday morning and hear Luis vacuuming the hallway outside my door. I jumped out of bed full of resolution. It was time to take my Wombat Strategy seriously. I would set my goal and plow my way through any obstacle that got in the way. I'd throw myself wholeheartedly into the PI. business. Maybe solve Jarrod Perkins's murder. That would take my mind off my troubles.

When Bob Verritt came in I trotted after him into his office. "Bob, can I ask you a question?"

"That depends what it is."

"Lonnie said the police interviewed you about Jarrod Perkins and the Reece Quinn script."

Bob folded his length into his chair and leaned back to give me a thoughtful look. "You can't run before you can walk," he observed.

That sounded like something my mother would say. "I'm fine-tuning my questioning techniques," I said.

Bob grinned at me. "You've got a lot of work to do."

"About Jarrod Perkins…"

"Alibi," said Bob. "I've got an alibi. It checks out, so you can cross me off your list."

I left him chuckling to himself.

Outside, Fran was waiting for me. She took me into my office, closed the door, and said, "What do you know about Rich Westholme?"

"Nothing much. He's a director, or that's what he claims to be. Why?"

Her frown was even darker than usual. "He's been promising Quip too much, for no reason I can see. And I think it's to get to me."

I looked at her, astonished. "He's putting the hard word on you? Of all people, Fran, you should be able to deal with someone like Rich Westholme."

She shook her head impatiently. "No, it's not that. Of course I'd rip his balls off. What he's doing is sniffing around anything to do with Jarrod Perkins. I don't know what he's after, but I don't like it."

"Did you say anything to him?"

Fran rolled her eyes. "Quip doesn't want me to upset Westholme, because he thinks he's going to be his meal ticket to the big time."

She glared at me as though somehow all this was my fault. "Now you know."

"What do you want me to do about it?"

Her wicked smile flashed on for a moment. "You're the P.I. I'll leave it all to you."

I decided to front Melodie about Rich Westholme, but she brought up the subject herself. "Kylie, I'm not convinced Rich is really supportive of my career." She jutted her jaw resolutely.

"We're going out tonight, and I'm going to have it out with him."

I sat on the edge of the reception desk and put on a sympathetic, interested expression. "Why do you say he isn't supportive?"

"He told me that first weekend that I'd have a part in Primal Appetites"

"You're talking about a movie? Or was that the menu for the weekend?"

Melodie gave her tinkling laugh. "That's so funny." Then her face grew stern. "This is so tragic. My chance to be in a movie with Jarrod Perkins attached. Like, how often does that happen?"

I clicked my tongue in empathy. "That's awful for you. But how was Perkins involved, exactly?"

"Rich told me Jarrod Perkins just loved his Primal script. Said it needed some work but that he was willing to put his name behind it. To produce it while Rich directed!" She sighed dolefully. "Then something went wrong."

"What happened?"

"I'm not sure, but I know Rich is very, very angry. He said he hadn't trusted Perkins from the beginning. That he'd had insurance that Perkins couldn't back out of the deal."

"What did that mean?"

"I don't know. When I asked, he yelled at me."

"I'd dump him," I said.

Melodie was appalled. "Kylie! He's a director."

Thinking of my conversation with Fran, I said, "Has Rich been asking questions about anything in particular?"

A shadow of guilt crossed Melodie's face. "Maybe he has."

"About Jarrod Perkins?"

"I didn't see the harm in telling him we were keeping some stuff here."

"You mean the therapy sessions from Deerdoc."

She bit her lip and nodded. "Don't tell Ariana, will you? She's very strict about things like that." She wriggled her shoulders. "Anyway, what does it matter if Rich knows? He had a lot to do with Perkins. Why wouldn't he be interested?"

I went away and thought about it, then just as Melodie was collecting her things I came back to the reception desk. She gave me a sunny smile. "I'm leaving early tonight, okay?"

Slapping down a fat manila envelope I'd sealed with multiple strips of packing tape, I said with authority, "I think it's better if we send those records back to Deerdoc."

I hadn't checked with Ariana, but she giving a deposition in San Francisco and I'd rationalized it was better not to disturb her.

Melodie stared at the envelope, fascinated. "Is that what we were talking about before?"

"Jarrod's therapy sessions." We both looked at the envelope as though Perkins might materialize and hover over it. I thought it unlikely, though, since the envelope contained blank computer disks and sheets of paper. The real material was secure in Kendall & Creeling's safe.

"It's a bit late for a pickup," said Melodie, checking her watch. What she really meant was she was keen to get out of there.

"Tomorrow morning's fine. There's no real hurry."

I knew, as sure as my name was Kylie Kendall, that Melodie would not be able to resist telling Rich Westholme about the envelope. I was betting that tomorrow morning Rich would make some excuse to turn up here early. He would see it as his only chance to get those disks.

And why? Because according to my theory, the insurance Rich had said he had was blackmail. He'd paid Randy Romaine to get the material on Perkins from the Deerdoc files. And now he'd probably paid Randy to go into hiding.

Ariana was coming home tonight. I'd call her later and tell her what I'd done. Then she could be here when Rich Westholme incriminated himself.

But by the time everyone had gone and I'd checked that the building was secure, I'd had second thoughts about my plan, which had seemed so smart that afternoon. Imagining myself telling Ariana about it, I blushed. She'd say, "What does it prove if he does go for the envelope?" She'd be right. Rich could talk his way out of it easily.

I was out of my depth here. Training for a few days wasn't enough to make me a RI.'s bootlace. Disgusted with myself, I retrieved the envelope, emptied out the contents, tore it up, and put the pieces in the nearest wastepaper basket.

I'd have to come clean with Ariana. I'd tell her tomorrow, and she'd laugh at me.

"I'm a total fuckwit," I said to Julia Roberts. She just blinked.