Wombat Strategy

TWO

As I juggled my shoulder bag and the mug outside in the hall, I caught a glimpse of a man on his way to Ariana's office. He was a big bloke, and he looked vaguely familiar. Not wanting to get into a conversation, I hoofed it down a whitewashed hallway looking for the kitchen. No way could I drink this BlissMoments stuff. Maybe there was some proper tea somewhere. Finding a cactus planted in a tall jar, I poured the contents of my mug around it, figuring something as tough as a cactus could survive even herbal tea.

I had a feeling I was being watched. Sure enough, there was a big, tawny cat sitting in the hallway looking blankly at me. "Hello, cat," I said.

It blinked at me slowly, twitched a whisker in a sneer, then got up and walked off, giving a little flick to its tail as it passed. Even the cat didn't like me.

Out of sight around a corner, I slumped against the wall. Things were grim. My dad was dead before I'd even got to know him. Back in Wollegudgerie was Raylene, the woman I'd believed was The One, but last week she'd given me the heave-ho for someone else. On top of that, Mum was getting married again, and three was going to be a definite crowd. Then on an impulse I'd hopped a plane and traveled to a country I didn't remember from my childhood, to find Ariana Creeling making it very clear I was a lot less than welcome. And to top it all, I was jet-lagged.

I wiped my eyes with the back of my hand and straightened up. So today wasn't the best. I was bloody well not going to let it get me down.

From the little I knew of him, I thought my dad would be disgusted with me for being such a sook. I was guessing about that, because the only chance I'd had to spend any time with him, apart from when I was a really little kid living in Los Angeles, had been a couple of years ago when he'd lobbed into Wollegudgerie and given Mum the shock of her life, because she hadn't thought she'd ever see him again.

The way Mum told it, she'd fallen in love with a visiting Yank who was all man and then some, married him, and moved back to the States to set up house. A year later she had me. Dad joined the LAPD and everything was hunky-dory until he announced he'd realized he was gay and was in love with another bloke-a builder who'd been doing alterations to the house. Dad left the police and started a security business; Mum divorced him and moved back home to the 'Gudge, where she bought the local pub.

Mum always blamed the pollution for Dad turning gay. Said he'd never had ideas like that until they'd lived in the Los Angeles smog for a few years.

Opal mining is Wollegudgerie's main business, which means there's pretty well no pollution, so she couldn't blame the air quality when at 17 I told her I was sure I was gay too. Mum said it was a phase, and I'd grow out of it. I didn't.

Dad paid support for me until I was 16, but the money was sent direct to Mum's bank account. She'd heard nothing from him for years, and he never even remembered my birthdays, so it was quite a surprise when he appeared out of the blue. I'd only seen him in old photographs and wasn't prepared for this handsome stranger who looked a bit like me. I'd gotten my dark hair, brown eyes, and olive skin from my mum, who's part Aboriginal, but now I could see I had my father's nose and hands and height.

Though a bit stunned, Mum was pleased to see him, because, as she said, it wasn't like he'd thrown her over for another woman. She asked him what had happened to Ken, the guy he'd fallen for, and he said they'd lived together until recently, when Ken died. I remember he got tears in his eyes when he said Ken's name.

Anyway, Dad and I got on like a house on fire, straight off. He told me all about the private-eye business, how he'd started Kendall Investigative Services as a loner but then taken in a partner, a woman who'd been a cop in the LAPD, so the company had been renamed Kendall & Creeling Investigative Services.

I was kicking myself now for not ever having asked him if Ariana Creeling was gay, but how was I to know I'd need that information? I'm just not good at the gaydar thing, and the only vibes I'd got from Ariana so far were pretty hostile. Could hardly blame her, with me suddenly turning up to throw a spanner in the works.

After his visit, Dad and I had kept in touch by phone and e-mail. As far as anyone knew, he was in perfect health, but then he'd had a sudden, fatal heart attack. He'd never even hinted that he was leaving me his share of the business, so his will came as a big surprise-but not half the surprise it must have been for Ariana.

I heard someone behind me and turned around. "Hi," said a bloke coming down the hall. He was trying to hide it, but he walked with a slight limp. He'd leave the kind of track in the bush that'd be child's play to follow.

He stared at me with open curiosity, then cocked his head and frowned, probably seeing some family resemblance. "Can I help you?" he asked.

I waved the mug. "Looking for the kitchen."

"Right here." He gave me the once-over. "I'm Lonnie. And you…?

"Kylie." I gave him the once-over back. He was a little shorter than me and rather chubby, with a roundish face complete with dimples. He had straight, floppy brown hair that fell over one eye, and I'd guess when he was a kid someone had told him he had an adorable smile, because he was giving me a little-boy grin that I had to admit was pretty disarming.

I grinned back at him. "My dad was Colin Kendall."

His smile disappeared. "I'm so sorry. Your father was a great guy. It was terrific working for him."

"What do you do here?"

"The technical side-computers, tuners, scanners, anything electronic. Want to know everything about a certain someone? You come to me. All I need is a name and a social security number and I'll tell you a person's finances, credit rating, driving record, any criminal charges…and that's just the beginning."

"Crikey. What happened to privacy?"

Lonnie laughed like I'd said something funny. "Long gone, honey. Long gone."

I opened a cupboard and gazed hopefully into it. "You think there's any decent tea around here somewhere?"

"The tea bags are right in front of you."

With growing revulsion I examined the brightly colored assortment: dandelion root, peppermint, strawberry, mint, ginseng. Not a genuine tea leaf in the lot. "These are flavored. Beats me how anyone can drink them."

Spooning coffee into a percolator, Lonnie said, "Fifteen minutes, tops, you can have some of this."

I usually don't drink coffee, but I was starting to wilt pretty badly, so a caffeine jolt sounded good. "Right-oh. I'll have a dekko while I'm waiting."

"Dekko?"

"A look around." I frowned at the heavy black wood of the kitchen door. The same as Ariana's office door, it was studded with fat brass buttons. So, I recalled, was the front door. And the building itself, clearly once a house, was a bright sort of pinkish-ocher color. I asked, "Is this place in some sort of particular style?"

"Spanish," said Lonnie, screwing up his face. "Pseudo-Spanish, actually. Very big in Southern California."

He leaned against the counter and crossed his ankles, looking like he was settling in for a long chat. I didn't feel like nattering on, so I said bye and went off exploring.

Finding the back entrance, I stepped out into the glare. This door was plain, made of metal painted dark brown. It was on a spring, and it slammed shut behind me, so I'd have to go around the front to get in again. The sun had a bite. It was late autumn Down Under, so it had to be late spring here. Half the yard was taken by a garage; the rest was filled by a couple of citrus trees- a lemon and a lime-plus a jacaranda, heavy with purple blooms, that hung half over the high back fence. The garage door was locked, and the back gate was barred with metal rods secured by padlocks. Standing on tiptoe, I could see a narrow laneway.

I turned around to survey the house. It sort of squatted there, its thick stucco walls supporting a roof of fat, curved terra-cotta tiles. High up, the dark brown ends of several beams protruded from the walls. There were dark brown shutters on each window, but they were fakes: They looked like they'd just been flung open but were really screwed into the wall as fixtures. Every single window at the back and down the side when I made my way there was barred, like the place was a prison. Good luck if there was a fire inside and you wanted to get out.

On my way along the side of the house I peered through one window and found the room contained a bed and dresser. Pressing my nose to the glass, I saw the open door of what looked like a bathroom with a shower recess. Right then I imagined what bliss it would be to stand under a spray of hot water.

I made it to the front, where the taxi had dropped me off. "Sunset Boulevard," I'd announced when I'd got in at LAX, a bit thrilled to be saying such a famous name. The driver, a sour bloke with a droopy mustache, twisted round and gave me the hairy eyeball. "Sunset's a long boulevard. Where?" I'd passed him Kendall & Creeling's address, and he just grunted and took off like a startled kangaroo. Never said another word, even though I tried a couple of friendly comments.

What would have been the front garden had been turned into a parking area, then there was a courtyard leading to the entrance of the building. The courtyard had a red terra-cotta floor and a fountain in the middle dribbling water in a halfhearted sort of way.

I wandered around the parking area trying to match a car with Ariana Creeling. The most impressive vehicle was a white Rolls Royce convertible with the license plate deerdoc. It hadn't been in the lot when I'd arrived, so there was no way it was Ariana's. Actually, I had her pegged for the dark blue BMW. The Beemer wasn't new, but whoever owned it kept it looking sharp.

As I was standing there, feeling totally bushed and in desperate need of that coffee, a bright red convertible came roaring through the gates and nearly skittled me. "Watch it!" I said.

The driver was the missing Melodie. I wasn't psychic. Her license plate said melodie and had musical notes dotted all over it.

"Oh, sorry," she said, whipping off her sunglasses and unfolding herself from the cramped driver's seat. "Didn't see you."

I'd thought Ariana a bit on the light side, but this one was famine thin. She had masses of blond hair, high cheekbones, wide green eyes, and teeth so white they reflected sunlight.

"How did the audition go? You ace it?"

Melodie looked startled for a moment, but she didn't mind talking about herself, even if she had no idea who the hell I was. She lugged a huge makeup bag from behind the seat. "Real well," she said. "Going for the second lead. I'll get a call-back, I just know it."

She had a silvery voice to go with her name. And terrific legs-on display, as she was wearing a miniscule skirt and high heels that would've hobbled me permanently. We set off across the parking area, Melodie trotting along quite nimbly, considering her heels, and going on about her audition.

When she paused, I said, "I'm Kylie Kendall."

Melodie flashed me another smile. She seemed to have more teeth than most people. "Hi, Kylie." Then she did a sort of double-take. Halting at the front door of the building, she stared hard at me. "Kendall? Like, Colin Kendall?"

"My dad."

Melodie looked at me more closely. "You're from Australia. That's why you talk funny."

"Too true."

"I've always wanted to go to Australia, but it's such a long way." She tapped her forefinger against her lips thoughtfully. "Although, they are making a lot of movies there now." She had a set of perfect fingernails that couldn't be real, painted an odd sort of murky red.

The brass-studded front door opened into a tiled area embellished with more cactus plants in large earthenware pots. Lonnie was sitting behind the reception desk, and he didn't look pleased. "About time," he said to Melodie. "You said you'd be back an hour ago."

"Oh, sorry, but you know how it is." She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. "You're such a sweetie to cover for me."

He rolled his eyes.

"This could be the one, Lonnie. My big break."

"You say that every time."

"This is different. I nailed the part, I really did. They loved me!"

"You say that every time too."

Melodie gave the kind of airy laugh I've never been able to pull off. "Don't worry, I'll still talk to you when I'm famous," she said.

Lonnie sneezed, then glowered at her. "Julia Roberts has been in my room again."

Melodie turned to me. "My cat," she said. "She loves Lonnie, which is real sad, because Lonnie hates her."

"I don't hate Julia Roberts, I'm allergic to her."

I blinked as it suddenly occurred to me that these two were my employees. After all, I did own fifty-one percent of the company, so fifty-one percent of the staff was mine. "Anyone else work here?" I said.

They both looked at me, obviously wondering why I wanted to know. "There's Bob Verritt," said Lonnie, "and Harriet Porter, part-time."

"And Fran," Melodie added.

I would have asked more, but Lonnie said, "Ariana told me to tell you she'd like to see you in her office."

"Right-oh."

I felt a surge of enthusiasm. Maybe she was warming to the idea of having me as her business partner. I bounded down the hall and flung open her door. The handle slipped out of my hand, the door whacking hard against the white wall. It made quite a racket, so I had the undivided attention of the two people in the room-Ariana and the bloke in the pale gray suit I'd caught a glimpse of before. They were sitting opposite each other in the comfortable chairs.

"Sorry to barge in like this." Jeez, I felt like a galah. I knew I was blushing.

The gray-suited bloke hauled himself out of the depths of the black leather chair. "Ariana's been telling me all about you, Kylie Kendall. When I heard you were a fellow Aussie, I just had to say g'day."

He was quite a specimen-tall, well-built, and handsome in a weather-beaten, squinting-at-the-horizon sort of way. His fair hair was thick, and he wore it in a casual windblown style that probably took quite a lot of effort to get just right.

"G'day," I said back, wondering why I knew his face. A celebrity of some sort? It was L.A., after all. Then it struck me. The deer-doc on the white Rolls Royce convertible in the car park was the clue. This was Dr. Dave Deer, famous as the Aussie psychiatrist to the stars.

Dr. Deer was flashing an electric smile. "Maybe you've heard of me," he said. "I'm Dave Deer."

"I may have," I said.

Of course I'd heard of him. The whole of Oz had. Even in remote Wollegudgerie we knew all about Dave Deer's success story-how he'd become a media star in Australia by treating everyone who was anyone when they went bonkers with his Slap! Slap! Get On With It therapy. Then he decided to help superstars overseas. I reckon he'd settled on California as a base because celebrities there seemed to suffer more than ordinary people. And they had money-lots of it.

"Ariana tells me you're thinking of getting involved in the RI. business."

I slid a glance in her direction. Why would Ariana be telling Dave Deer about my plans? Her face didn't show anything, but she was drumming her fingers on the arm of the chair. Nice hands, I thought.

"Thought I might give it a bash," I said.

"Good on you, mate! Then I'll be seeing you around." Checking his heavy gold watch, he said, "Gotta go. It's patients wall-to-wall this afternoon." He made a rueful face. "And you know how celebrities hate to be kept waiting."

Thinking Dave Deer was a bit up himself, I said, "Is that so?"

"They're not like ordinary mortals, I'm afraid. But they come to me for help, so what can I do?"

I just looked at him. Dave Deer was a lot up himself, I decided.

"I'll see you out," said Ariana, shepherding the doctor in the direction of the door. "Be back in a moment," she told me.

My stomach growled. The airline breakfast I'd eaten somewhere off the coast of California was now a distant memory. In fact, the whole flight seemed remote. I put this down to jet lag, smothered a yawn, and decided I really did need a mug of coffee or I'd keel over any minute and fall asleep on the floor.

Ariana came back, and like she'd read my mind, said, "I've told Melodie to order pizza for everyone. That okay with you?"

"Too right! I could eat a horse and chase the rider."

Her lips twitched, just a little. Fair dinkum, one day I might just get a smile out of her. I said, "What's Dave Deer here for? I reckon I can ask, being your partner."

Ariana went behind her desk and sat down. She gave me a long, blue stare. A cold one. She really did have bonzer eyes. "Before I go into that, have you thought a little more about selling out to me? I'm willing to increase my offer substantially."

"I'm not too keen on selling."

I saw a muscle jump in her cheek. She was browned off with me, I could tell, but trying not to show it.

"Los Angeles is thousands of miles from your home," she said, putting emphasis on "thousands."

Home? A vision of my last scene with Raylene flashed in front of me like a movie. It wasn't pleasant-we both said things we shouldn't have. Raylene was a teacher at the local school, and Wollegudgerie being as small as it was, it was deadset I'd run into her all the time. She had pretty well shredded my heart, and I wasn't up for more punishment. What's more, she'd taken up with Maria at 'Gudge's one and only hairdressing salon, so where would I get my hair cut if I stayed?

I shook my head. "I don't think I'll sell my share."

In a reasonable tone, like she was talking to someone pretty dim, Ariana said, "This idea of yours of becoming a private investigator-it's not a piece of cake. It takes real commitment."

"I'll do whatever it takes."

She was making a real effort not to snarl at me. "I'm asking you, before you make a final decision, to sleep on it. Okay?"

"Well, that's the thing," I said. "I haven't got anywhere to sleep. Like I told you, I just up and left. Didn't take time to book a hotel or anything."

"You can stay here." She went on to explain how one of the advantages of having offices in a converted house was that a bedroom with adjoining bathroom was available for the odd overnight guest, or for someone who'd been on a stake-out all night and needed a place to get a couple of hours' sleep.

I thanked her, not letting on I'd already scoped out the bedroom through the window, not wanting her to think I was a stickybeak. Then it hit me: Why was I thanking Ariana when half the place was mine?

"Who's Bob Verritt?" I said. "And Harriet Porter? Oh, and Fran?"

I was beginning to expect her answers to be crisp, and she didn't disappoint. "Bob's an experienced RI. He's out of town on a case. Back tomorrow. Harriet works for us part-time. She's putting herself through law school. Fran does filing, messages, that sort of thing. A general gofer."

"Gofer?"

"Go for this and go for that."

I grinned at her. "Bit like a bitser."

"You have me there."

"What you'd call a mongrel dog-a bitser's a bit of this and a bit of that."

The corners of Ariana's mouth curled just a little. One day I was going to get a full laugh out of her, but I wasn't holding my breath. She said, "I'd strongly advise you to avoid calling Fran a bitser."

"I was commenting on the parallel construction," I said, prim-like. That made her blink, but then, she couldn't know I'd been terrific at English grammar at school.

I found out why Ariana had given that advice about Fran when we all trooped down to the kitchen for pizza. Fran came in last. She was a little thing, a redhead with pale skin and quite a would-you-look-at-that bust that sort of stuck out like a shelf above her narrow waist and, frankly, sexy hips. She would have been quite good-looking but for the nasty scowl on her face.

If my mum had been there she would have given some helpful advice about the danger of creating permanent frown lines and how whistling a happy tune was the way to go. I wasn't that pushy. I just said "G'day, I'm Kylie" and gave her a cheerful smile. Lead by example, my mum always says.

"Fran," she growled in response.

"Don't mind her," said Lonnie, grinning. "She's always like this, aren't you, Sunshine?"

Fran shot him a look that could have dropped a crow clean out of the sky, and stomped over to the counter where unopened pizza boxes were piled, filling the air with mouthwatering smells. Switching her attention to Melodie, she said, "Did you order vegetarian? You know I'm a vegetarian."

"I hope so." Melodie was clearly more concerned with her nail polish. "Rats! I got a chip," she announced, holding out a finger for inspection.

Fran mumbled something unpleasant under her breath. I winked at Ariana. "I see what you mean," I said, with a nod toward Fran, who was opening each box in search of a suitable pizza. "She's not a bitser at all. More an attack dog."

Ariana's expression didn't change, but I sensed she was softening a bit toward me. Of course, that was probably wishful thinking. She wanted me long gone. I'd just have to show her how I'd be a dinky-di asset to Kendall & Creeling. Then she'd warm to me.

Or maybe not.