Kookaburra Gambit

by Claire McNab

  "You wanted to see me about something?"

  "I don't know what your employment is at the moment, but I believe we can offer you an excellent package."

  "You're offering me a job?"

  Brother Owen gave me an indulgent smile as he patted my hand. "We don't offer jobs at the Church of Possibilities. We offer callings."

  "You're offering me a calling?"

  "It just so happens we have a major campaign to reach the twenty-fives to thirty-fives. The Church is searching for people like you to spearhead our outreach program."

  Was this bloke serious? "In the first place, I don't belong to your church," I pointed out. "And for all you know, I could be a devil worshiper."

  He patted my hand again. "I can look into your spiritual self," he said, "and see the potential there."

  "I'm honored you considered me," I said, with just a hint of sarcasm. "But I'm afraid not."

  Not at all put out, Brother Owen pressed a business card into my hand. "Call me," he said.

  Tami, who'd been sulking on the other side of the table, was sent off on some task by Brother Owen, so I felt safe enough to get up from my seat and move around. During dinner I'd noticed a faint, dark shadow on Chicka's upper lip.

  "Are you growing a mustache?"

  Chicka grinned. "Always wanted one, but Alf said no. Now it's a new day dawning." He smoothed the almost nonexistent bristles. "What'd you think? Just a little mustache, or one of those droopy ones?"

  "Oh, definitely droopy," I said.

  Alf was frowning. "It's a tradition to be clean-shaven in the Hartnidge family."

  "What about Uncle Dave?" said Chicka. "He had a beard down to his waist."

  "That's different. Black sheep don't count."

  The Poynters were socializing at another table, and for the moment, Ariana was alone. I went over to sit beside her. She was playing with the gold signet ring she always wore, turning it round and round on her finger. It was so unusual to see her fiddling with anything. I said, "Is it bothering you?"

  She looked down at the ring as though she'd never seen it before. "No." Picking up her glass, she took a sip. The subject of the ring was clearly off limits.

  "You've had a lot to drink," I said.

  "I have."

  "Have you got your car here?"

  "No. I came with Nanette and her husband."

  "I'll drive you home."

  "I'll get a cab."

  I looked around. People were beginning to leave. "Ariana, come on. I've got my car here. We'll drop off Aunt Millie and I'll drive you to your door."

  She hesitated a long moment, then said, "OK. Thank you."

  Tami came back as we were leaving the banquet room. She pressed a business card into my hand. "Call me."

  Ariana had said her good nights to the Poynters and walked silently beside me. Aunt Millie bustled along on the other side. A full moon floated in the sky. It seemed an omen.

  When my car was brought up, Aunt Millie got in the front and Ariana slid into the backseat. My aunt, who'd obviously enjoyed herself hugely, chatted about the evening. Ariana and I were quiet.

  At the hotel, I saw Aunt Millie to her room. As I opened the door, she said, "What's your relationship with Ariana Creeling?"

  "We're business partners."

  "That's all?"

  "Yes, aunt, that's all."

  "She watches you."

  I stared at her. "What?"

  "I noticed how she kept glancing your way tonight. Are you sure the woman isn't keen on you?"

  I felt a thrill tingle in my stomach, but I said calmly, "I'm sure, Aunt Millie."

  Twenty

  As I walked back to the car, my heart was fluttering. Ariana had moved to the front passenger seat and was staring blankly out the windscreen.

  We drove for a while in silence, then she gave a rueful little laugh. "I don't usually have this much to drink. It was stupid of me."

  "French champers is hard to resist."

  She glanced across at me. "I noticed you didn't drink much."

  "It's from working in a pub. It's like being in a chocolate factory. It's everywhere, and you lose interest."

  The winding, narrow streets of the Hollywood Hills no longer confused me. Her house was perched on a cliff, overlooking the city. I drove into the area at the back, parked the car, and turned off the engine.

  "Thank you," she said, opening her door.

  "I'm coming in."

  She paused. "There's no need."

  "I want to."

  Everything hung on one moment of decision. Ariana said, "Gussie will bark, until she recognizes you." Gussie was her gorgeous German shepherd.

  Oh, God, I thought, looking at the back of Ariana's neck as she opened the door, I want to hold you.

  Gussie, once she'd checked me out, was delighted to greet Ariana. She was a beautiful dog, bright and intelligent and handsome, as only a German shepherd can be.

  "Shall I take Gussie outside for a few moments? She's been locked in all evening."

  She nodded. "Thank you."

  When Gussie and I returned, Ariana was just coming out of the bathroom. Her hair was down and she'd washed the makeup off her face. She looked younger, and less formidable, although that might have been a trick of the light.

  "Do you want coffee?" I asked.

  "I simply want to go to bed."

  "So do I."

  Ariana looked at me for what seemed a long time. "Kylie, I don't think…" She made a helpless gesture, the first I'd ever seen her make.

  I seemed to move through water. It was such a long way to her. And she watched me with her blue, blue eyes. When she shut them, it was as if a light had gone out.

  I reached her, halted, thought my heart would burst, thought she'd reject me at this last moment.

  But she didn't. I slid into her arms. We kissed, slowly, quite tenderly. I could taste her toothpaste.

  I thought then she might draw back, say this was a bad idea, but Ariana was committed, it seemed. She took my trembling fingers and led me into her bedroom.

  I'd never seen her bedroom before-I barely saw it now. I was just conscious of wide windows looking out to the lights of Los Angeles spread far below.

  We undressed, me with fingers made clumsy with haste, Ariana with assurance, slipping off her clothes with economical grace. Was that how she'd make love? Coolly, competently, never quite involved? I'd take her any way she came. Whatever she wanted to do, I'd do.

  Her body was slim and strong and took the breath from me. I watched in a dream as she removed her signet ring and her sapphire earrings and put them in the drawer of the bedside table. Then she flicked off the light. Moonlight flooded the room.

  I intended to be gentle, to coax her body into willingness, but it was as though she flipped a switch and in one moment removed all restraint. She was desperate, ravenous, so unlike the Ariana I thought I knew that I was startled, almost shocked.

  She was on fire, her skin hot against mine, her need so ferocious that I despaired I could ever meet it. And then I caught her passion like a sweet contagion, and surged to match it. "Ariana!"

  "Don't say a word."

  We were fused together, our passion molten as the sun. With wild joy I felt her body respond beneath my hands, my mouth. She arched, quivering, on the brink, then plunged into a release that wrenched a long cry from her.

  I held her tightly, willing her to say my name, but she turned in my arms and drove every thought from my head except for the raw, insatiable need to have her touch me anywhere, everywhere.

  In the early morning light, I lay beside Ariana gazing into her unguarded face, gentled by sleep. I'd never made love before like this, been so totally consumed by another person. I'd believed I knew what love was. I'd been wrong.

  It sounded so trite when put it in words, but I did love Ariana completely-body, mind, and spirit. And I feared I could never risk telling her that I did.

  Twenty-One

  When she opened her eye
s, it was the unruffled, detached Ariana back in control. She said, "Good morning," as though we'd just met in the hallway of the offices, then swung herself out of bed in one graceful movement. She put on a silk dressing gown-not black, for a change, but a pale green-and went into the bathroom. She put her head out to tell me there was a guest bathroom, and where I would find a towel.

  I got up, collected my clothes, and went to have a quick shower. I realized with a shock that I didn't want to face her this morning. She'd see in my eyes what I felt about her. And she'd be detached but kind. How I'd hate that.

  Examining myself in the bathroom mirror, I found I looked reassuringly normal. I tried a smile. Not a success. This was going to be hard.

  When I opened the bathroom door, Gussie came in, wagging her tail, and I gave her a hug. Then I straightened my shoulders and went into the kitchen, where I could hear Ariana moving about.

  "Scrambled eggs?" she said over her shoulder.

  "That would be great."

  "Help yourself to coffee."

  "Thank you."

  Ah, we were so formal today. A finger of fire touched me as an image from last night flickered in my mind.

  How should I play this? Not needy. That would drive Ariana away completely. Brittle sophistication wasn't me. Safest to imagine it was the same as a night with Chantelle, a lovely romp in the sheets, with no significant emotional entanglements. A subject for banter, not serious feelings.

  She served the eggs, buttered the toast, and sat opposite me in the breakfast booth. We ate in silence for a few moments, then she put down her fork and for the first time this morning looked directly at me.

  "Kylie, last night… It was a mistake."

  "You're sorry it happened?"

  The faintest of smiles touched her lips. "I'd be lying if I said I was sorry. Last night I needed someone."

  "That's such a cliché."

  Ariana blinked at me. "What?"

  "Next you'll be saying it was the alcohol."

  She sat back and regarded me with a quizzical expression.

  I said, "Then I'll say to you, 'Are you playing hard to get?' and you'll say to me…" I gestured for her to fill in the words.

  "I'm impossible to get."

  "Excellent," I said. "You understand the cliché game very well."

  I took a sour pleasure in the fact I'd disconcerted her. A feather of anger brushed me. Was Ariana expecting I'd behave like some young teenager caught up in the exciting rush of a first sexual infatuation? But then I realized I wasn't being fair. I'd asked myself in, and she'd accepted. There'd been no stipulation that she fall in love.

  I looked up to find her watching me. "What are you thinking?" she asked.

  Sliding out of the booth, I said, "I'm thinking I must be going. I've got a busy day ahead."

  Ariana followed me to the door, a slight, puzzled frown on her face. "It was a lovely night, thank you," I said. "See you tomorrow."

  She stood at the door and watched me drive away. As soon as I found a safe spot I pulled over to find a handkerchief to mop my eyes and blow my nose. My eyes kept filling with tears all the way home.

  Once there, I hugged Julia Roberts, dashed cold water in my face, and called my aunt. "Aunt Millie, we're going for a drive to Santa Barbara. I'll pick you up in half an hour. And if you're not too sick of shopping, we can stop at the outlet stores."

  "You're on!" said my aunt.

  I didn't want to be first into Ariana's office for the scheduled Monday morning meeting. I couldn't think it would be anything but awkward for us to face each other without the buffer of other people being present.

  When I finally went in, everyone but Ariana was chomping on doughnuts. "There's a chocolate one left, your favorite," Lonnie said to me. "Grab it fast before anyone else gets it."

  It was totally ridiculous that his consideration over a stupid doughnut had tightened my throat. I snarled silently at myself, Get a grip, Kylie.

  Sitting down next to Bob, I said brightly to him, "How's it going?"

  He gave me an odd look. "OK, I suppose."

  "If we can start," said Ariana, "I had a very interesting call early this morning from an investigative reporter at the L.A. Times. It seems the newspaper has kept under wraps the fact they're investigating the Church of Possibilities and, more specifically, Brother Owen. A series exposing the church is scheduled to run next month."

  "How did he get to you?" Bob asked.

  "When the reporter realized we were out there asking questions too, he wanted to know what we'd discovered. I said it was a Kendall & Creeling client involved and therefore confidential. I'll contact Nanette Poynter later to see if she's willing to cooperate with the Times. It's likely she will."

  We discussed the impact this would have on my case. I didn't say much, just listened. Harriet had harsh words about the contract Alf and Chicka had signed with Lamb White.

  "To sum up," Harriet said, "the terms of the contract are unconscionable. The morals clause will be triggered by anything Lamb White finds felonious or immoral. That covers a lot of ground. And perhaps even worse, as you suspected, Kylie, the Hartnidge brothers have inadvertently licensed Lamb White to hold the rights to all Oz Mob characters. That means, even if the Hartnidges aren't involved, the characters they've created can be used in any Lamb White movie or television production."

  "So what would happen to the present Oz Mob movie," I asked, "if Alf and Chicka were arrested for opal smuggling?"

  "All the rights would stay with Lamb White. They'd take over the project and freeze the brothers out."

  "Crikey," I said, "can they really do that?"

  "I imagine the Hartnidges can challenge this original contract on the grounds that it is unconscionable and unreasonable," Ariana said.

  "If they don't pull off this movie, Alf and Chicka are close to broke," said Lonnie. He shook his head. "You've never seen such a financial mess. There's no way they'd be able to field a pack of top-flight lawyers, and that's what you'd need to take on Lamb White and the church."

  "What about playing a waiting game?" said Bob. "We can hope the L.A. Times expose will bring down the whole Church of Possibilities organization. Lamb White would fall too."

  Harriet didn't agree with waiting. "It could be years. Brother Owen will fight with every resource he's got. In the meantime, the Hartnidge twins lose everything."

  "A sting," I said. Everyone looked at me. "Let's set Lamb White up. Let them be caught with the opals and charged with smuggling. Alf and Chicka claim to know nothing about it, playing naive little Aussies who are victims of big business."

  "Not a bad idea in theory," said Bob, "but how the hell do we pull it off?"

  "Tami Eckholdt," I said. "She's the key."

  Twenty-Two

  "Tami?" I said into the receiver. "It's Kylie. You said to call."

  "I did!" Her enthusiasm was disturbing.

  "Tami, can we get together for a chat? I have this problem."

  "I'd love that!"

  It was two days after the Monday morning meeting. The paralyzing haze of unhappiness that had surrounded me had lifted as I plunged into the details of planning the sting.

  I'd insisted we name our maneuver the Kookaburra Gambit. After all, COP's Lamb White had set the gambit up in the first place by filling Kelvin Kookaburras with stolen opals. What we would do now, if it all worked out, was boomerang the scheme right back to them.

  I arranged to meet with Tami Eckholdt in a coffee shop. I was wired for sound, so Lonnie told me to pick a corner not too noisy and definitely not near the coffee machine.

  I was there early to scope the place out. Tami arrived shortly afterward. Today she wore a very short, bilious green skirt and a tight yellow top. For myself, I'd ratcheted down the alluring factor with old baggy jeans and an overlarge denim shirt. I had a rather shabby canvas book bag sitting on the floor between my feet.

  Even dressed like that, apparently I was Tami's cup of tea.

  "You look wonderful," s
he breathed, sitting at the little table I'd snaffled in a private corner. She put her hand on my knee.

  "Thank you. You look wonderful too."

  She leapt up, startling me. "I'll get the coffee. You stay here." She didn't ask how I liked my coffee.

  Tami strode across the shop, bounced in place while waiting for her order, collected the overpriced cartons, then marched back to our table. That amount of energy was alarming, especially when she so obviously intended to expend some of it on me, if she got the chance.

  "You said you had a problem, Kylie? I'd love to help, if I could."

  "It's like this, Tami," I said, sounding deeply troubled, "Alf's given me these opals."

  "Typical male." Her mouth twisted in disdain. "Men are always doing that, trying to buy sex with gifts. It's disgusting."

  "The opals weren't a gift. There's lots of them, all loose stones. Not made up as jewelry. Alf asked me to keep them safe for him."

  This was clearly an unwelcome shock for Tami. "Really?" she said. "Loose opals, you say?"

  "Lots of them."

  Tami chewed her lip. Her feet did a little dance under the table. She could have done with a glance at The Complete Handbook's advice on revealing body language.

  "Where did they come from?" she said at last.

  I did the looking-over-the-shoulder bit. "It's confidential, Tami. I don't know if I can tell even you…"

  "Oh, you can tell me, Kylie. Trust me, you can."

  "I don't know…" I looked pensive.

  Tami put a comforting hand on mine. "I can see it's worrying you so much. Do share it with me. It'll help."

  "True, my mum always says a worry shared is a worry halved."

  Tami couldn't be less interested in Mum's take on life. "The opals, Kylie? Where did they come from?"

  "They're lovely, and very valuable. Alf wouldn't tell me how much, but I know it's a lot of money."

  She was getting impatient. "I'm sure. Where did you say he got them?

  "Alf found them in a crate of Kelvin Kookaburras Lamb White asked to be shipped from Australia." I dropped my voice. "Tami, he thinks Lamb White is smuggling opals."