by Claire McNab
"It will be a timeless story of a man named Adam and his God," Brother Owen enthused, "set in an Aussie Garden of Eden populated by adorable little animals."
"What happened to Eve?" I asked.
Brother Owen gave me a tolerant smile. "My dear young woman, being a foreigner, I can't expect you to be familiar with our philosophy. Let me be very clear. No child's eyes will ever see a naked man and woman together on the screen in a Lamb White movie."
Seventeen
"And then," I said to Ariana and Bob Verritt, "Brother Owen assured Alf and Chicka this was just the beginning. After the Garden of Eden, the Oz Mob characters would be starring in a series of biblical movies. There'd be Oz Mob and the Ten Commandments, Moses and the Oz Mob, Oz Mob and Sodom and Gomorrah, and—"
"Wait a minute," said Bob. "I thought Lamb White didn't show the naughty bits. Sodom and Gomorrah is loaded with sex. Deviant sex, at that."
I grinned. "Made that last one up," I said. "No one even mentioned Sodom and Gomorrah."
"And how did Alf and Chicka take all this?" Ariana asked.
"Not well at first, but Marty-O painted a rosy picture, telling them the movie budgets would be bigger, the special effects enhanced, the sales of Oz Mob toys astronomical. They were wavering. The turning point came when he said, 'Trust me, I'm your agent.'"
"And they trusted him?" said Bob. "Marty O. Ziema?"
"I'm afraid so."
"Jeez," said Bob.
There was a moment's silence while we all contemplated Alf and Chicka's trusting natures.
"While I'm thinking about it," I said, "Tami criticized Kelvin Kookaburra because he didn't have moxie. What's moxie?"
"Pluck, courage," said Ariana.
"Guts?"
"Guts."
Then I told them about the invitation to the Church of Possibilities charity gala for cancer-stricken kids.
"I'll see you there," said Ariana.
Crikey, and I wasn't aiming to go. "You will? How come?"
"I'm Nanette Poynter's guest. Her husband has no idea I'm a private investigator. I'll be passed off as a dear friend of Nanette's who has just returned to Los Angeles."
"Actually, Ariana, I wasn't planning on attending."
"No?"
"It's because of Aunt Millie."
"Oh, hey, I'll look after her for you," said Bob. "You go ahead and enjoy yourself."
"The fact is," I said, "when Brother Owen heard my Aunt Millie was in town, he invited her to the gala too. I'm not that keen on taking my aunt to something like that. She'll find a zillion things to criticize."
"Simple solution," said Bob. "Don't tell her anything about it. She won't miss what she doesn't know."
"I can't do that," I said. "She's been given an official invite. I have to pass it on."
"So what if she accepts? Then you're in trouble."
"I'll try persuading her it's not her cup of tea." I couldn't stop a sigh. "If Aunt Millie senses I don't want her to do something, she'll do it—she's very contrary."
Ariana grinned. "Another thing that runs in the family."
"Anything else to report?" Bob asked.
"Brother Owen said he had something important to tell me, but he never got around to telling me what it was."
"I'd watch out for those holy types," said Bob. "He'll suck you into his phony church."
"There's nothing else, except the sexual harassment." That got their attention. I described Tami's interest in unarmed combat, and how she'd played kneezies with me under the table. All this amused Bob exceedingly.
"You think it's funny to have a pint-size, mega-fit, metallic-haired sheila make a blatant play for you?" I said heatedly. "Because if you do, Bob, you're dead wrong. It's downright alarming."
"I'd back you any day against the Eckholdt woman," said Bob, still grinning. "Think how much information you could get from her. You could string her along, be a regular Mata Hari."
"Mata Hari came to no good," I pointed out. "She was executed by a French firing squad."
"You know the damnedest things," said Bob.
"If it gets too difficult," said Ariana, "have Alf Hartnidge tell Tami Eckholdt he's broken up with you, and won't be seeing you anymore."
"But then I don't have an in at Lamb White. I suppose it's worth the danger...I hope."
Fran was packing up for the day when I found her. She'd been on the reception desk most of the afternoon, because, in a gesture I'd never have credited her with, she'd offered to take the broken-hearted Melodie's place so Melodie could go home early.
"You really are terrific, Fran," I said. "It was sweet of you to fill in for Melodie."
She eyed me distrustfully. "You want something?"
"I don't want anything. Well, maybe, yes."
"Ah-ha! I knew it!" Fran was always pleased to have her worst suspicions confirmed.
"Just a little information. I ran into Quip at Lamb White this afternoon. I was surprised to see him."
"Didn't Chicka Hartnidge tell you?"
"Chicka had something to do with Quip being there?"
"I may have mentioned to Melodie that Quip would love to work on the Oz Mob screenplay. And Melodie may have mentioned this to Chicka. And Chicka may have mentioned Quip's name to Tami Eckholdt."
"May have? Did you mention it to Melodie?"
"It's the way things work in this town. It's who you know, Kylie. You cultivate the people who can pull strings for you."
"What happened to talent? Doesn't that count anymore?"
Fran narrowed her eyes. "Are you saying Quip isn't talented?" she asked in a menacing tone.
"Of course not, Fran." Her dangerous expression was fading, until I added, "Although, in all honesty, I don't have any way of knowing one way or the other."
"Quip is brilliant," she snarled, eyes down to slits again. "You can take my word for it."
"Right-oh."
"It's purely bad luck he hasn't had any of his screenplays picked up. It'll happen. Soon."
I suddenly wished I had someone who believed in me the way Fran believed in Quip. "I'm sure you're absolutely right. I mean, what would I know?"
"Exactly. What would you know?"
Harriet, on her way out, stopped to say good night. "I see Melodie collected her pound of flesh," she said to Fran.
Fran made an indeterminate sound that could have meant anything.
I must have looked puzzled, because Harriet said to me, "You didn't know Melodie got Chicka to persuade Lamb White to hire Quip?"
"I've just heard."
"Of course that means Fran owes Melodie a big favor in return." She grinned at Fran. "Hope it was worth it."
I was disappointed. "So that's how Melodie got to go home early? She called in a favor?"
Fran tossed off a derisive laugh. "You thought I'd do this for Melodie from the goodness of my heart?"
"Well, yes, I did."
"More fool you," said Fran. I thought she looked a bit embarrassed.
Harriet passed the delivery bloke on her way out the front door. He and I didn't get on too well. He was the pushy, too-friendly sort with a nasty streak to go with it.
Dumping several packages on the desk, he said to me, "And how's little Nancy Drew this afternoon?"
Ever since he'd sprung me reading Private Investigation: The Complete Handbook, the delivery bloke had given me a hard time.
"Detecting my little heart out," I said. "Thank you for asking."
He grinned knowingly at Fran. Jerking his head in my direction, he said, "Hey, Fran, watch your back. Before you know it, the girl detective here will be running the whole show."
Fran shot me a cold look. Fair dinkum, this woman could hold grudges. "What makes you think she isn't already?" she snapped.
I was all set to have dinner with Aunt Millie but got a merciful reprieve when she called to say Disneyland had exhausted her so she wanted an early night.
"What did you think of Disneyland?" I dutifully inquired.
"Far too happ
y," she said. "All that joy and gladness. It's not natural."
"About tomorrow," I said, "Friday's always a busy day for me—
"Universal."
"Pardon, Aunt Millie?"
"Universal Studios. I'm booked on a tour. I'll see you tomorrow night."
Who would have thought my aunt would take such an interest in the cultural icons of L.A.? I took a deep breath. I had to bite the bullet. "Aunt Millie, you've been invited to a charity gala, but I don't know if you'd be interested. You probably won't be. It's fine if you're not."
"I'll go. When is it?"
I felt myself droop. "But, Aunt, you don't know anything about it."
Aunt Millie snorted. "I imagine you're about to give me all the details. Go on, then." I went on. Aunt Millie asked searching questions. I answered them as best I could.
"This Church of Possibilities," she said, "is it a satanic cult?"
I found myself grinning. "Quite possibly. Even probably."
"Should be an interesting evening." She sounded pleased, which in itself was unsettling.
"I have to admit, Aunt Millie, I'm surprised. I didn't think a charity gala like this would be the sort of thing you'd like."
"That's how little you know about me, Kylie. In my day I was quite wild."
My Aunt Millie?
"Wild? What sort of wild?"
"None of your business, my girl. Now, I need to go shopping for something suitable to wear to this gala affair. You're free on Saturday morning, I presume? Perhaps we could do Rodeo Drive."
"Rodeo Drive!"
"Kylie, do you have any idea how annoying it is to have someone repeat words back to you? I'm afraid it's becoming a habit of yours. I strongly advise you to break it."
While Julia Roberts consumed tuna for dinner, I sat in the kitchen with a cup of tea and made a list of things to do on the Hartnidge case. I headed it take action! to impress on my subconscious the need to get moving.
It was important to find out what was going on at the Australian end, and to establish if the source of the opals was Ralphie's Opalarium. Lonnie hadn't got back to me yet on whether Ron Udell or Ira Jacobs had traveled to Australia lately, or if Brother Owen had visited Wollegudgerie.
Then there was the Oz Mob office in Burbank. Apart from Jacobs and the creepy Udell, Paula/Patsy was a major suspect, especially as she was the person in charge of shipping the toys into the country.
Alf and Chicka would have to be the ones to organize an audit of their company's books. All I could do was suggest they hurry up and have it carried out, both here and in Oz.
I pondered over the list, putting at the end a note to have one of the Hartnidges fax our office a copy of the contract they'd signed with Lamb White. Harriet would know where to get the best legal opinion on a document like this. I had a strong suspicion the fine print Brother Owen had referred to would contain the key clauses, and they would all be to Lamb White's advantage.
When I'd finished, I read the list to Julia Roberts, who listened with an abstracted air. The squirrels were having a party on the roof tonight, and at least one appeared to have invested in lead boots. At least, I hoped they were squirrels. Lonnie had given me hair-raising stories about L.A. tree rats. He claimed they lived in palm trees, were big as cats, and most had rabies.
Naturally I'd asked if Lonnie had ever seen one of these monstrous rats. He'd been forced to admit he hadn't, not personally, but he knew a woman who had. Indeed, Lonnie assured me, her miniature dachshund had almost been whisked away by a pack of the colossal rodents and was only saved when she heard its cries of distress. I'd demanded the person's name and number. Lonnie became evasive. Perhaps it was a friend of a friend...
There was another scuffle on the tiles above us. "Would you protect me from a rabid tree rat, Jules?"
She washed her face, spending special time on her whiskers. I guessed the answer was a qualified no. You could never tell with Julia Roberts. She'd put herself on the line for me once before, so why not do it again?
I checked the time. It would be Friday morning in Wollegudgerie. One item on my list was to check with Bluey Bates. I could do that right now. I dialed his number.
"Kylie, love. How's things?"
He sounded so subdued, I said, "What's the matter, Bluey? And don't say 'nothing.' I can tell there's something wrong."
"I was going to ring you darl, really I was, but..."
"Is it about Ralphie?"
"Yeah." Our voices were traveling across the wide Pacific Ocean, but Bluey's sigh was as clear as if he'd been in the room with me.
"The stolen opals?"
"Yeah. He as good as admitted to me he was in on it, but I said to him, 'Don't tell me, Ralphie, or I'll have to do something about it,' so he shut up."
"Is there anything you can let me know?"
"One thing. Ralphie's not the brains in the family by a long shot. He isn't smart enough to set this up himself. Someone approached him with a deal. He was to get a percentage of the proceedings, but I don't believe he's seen any money yet."
"Any idea who set it up?"
"If it had been anyone local, Kylie, word would have got around. You know what the 'Gudge is like. I reckon most people are pretty sure Ralphie had something to do with the robbery, but no one's said anything to me. And Mucka Onslow doesn't have a clue, as usual."
"So you're thinking someone pretending to be a tourist lobbed in and contacted Ralphie?"
"Funny thing," said Bluey, "the week before the opals disappeared, I ran into Ralphie in the company of a couple of Yanks. I would have stopped for a chat, but my brother couldn't get rid of me fast enough."
I sat up straight. "Did you get their names?"
"I didn't, but I know they were staying at the Wombat's Retreat."
This wasn't surprising. Except for a few bed-and-breakfasts, Mum's pub was the only accommodation in town. Bluey worked out the approximate date he'd seen the blokes with Ralphie, and I said I'd check direct with Mum.
"Ralphie's such a bloody fool," said Bluey. "But he's family, so I have to stick by him. Thank God our mum and dad aren't here to see him behind bars. That's where the stupid bastard's going to end up, you know."
What could I say? Poor Bluey was absolutely right.
I said goodbye and hung up, then picked up the phone to call Mum. I hesitated. Coward that I was, I didn't want to say to her, "Don't keep asking me to come back to help you run the Wombat. It's not going to happen." She'd be upset, and probably cry, and I'd feel awful.
Still, this was business. This was my first real case. I punched in the numbers briskly, before I could change my mind.
Mum was distracted. "Kylie, lovely to hear from you dear, but I'm waiting for the plumber. The hot water's off, and wouldn't you know it, we've got a full house."
I told her the information I wanted. "Do you mind, dear? I'll put Rosie on. She can look it up for you."
"Who's Rosie?"
"She's new. Not great, but she'll have to do for the moment. Since you've been gone, I've had trouble coping with the paperwork. Millie will tell you all about it."
Fortunately, before Mum could really get going on this subject, the plumber turned up, and I was transferred to Rosie. Rosie didn't seem too bright, and it took her ages to find the registration details I wanted, but I finally heard one name I recognized.
I would have never thought the security procedures brought about by rising terrorism in the world would ever be of help to me, but I was wrong. Everyone registering in the Wombat's Retreat had to provide identification, and foreigners were required to show their passports. Ron Udell, accompanied by a man I didn't know, Simon Wardley, had stayed at the pub the week before the Opalarium burglary.
I thanked Rosie with so much enthusiasm I startled her, hung up, and did a little jig around the room. Who could I call and say how clever I'd been? Then I gave myself a mental slap. I was a professional. I'd wait until tomorrow and coolly mention it to Bob and Ariana.
Thinking of Friday
reminded me of my date with Chantelle. We'd had plans to visit a new lesbian bar in West Hollywood on Friday evening, but now Aunt Millie was expecting me to have dinner with her. I called Chantelle to explain the problem.
"Why don't we three have dinner?" said Chantelle. "I'm dying to meet your aunt, having heard so much about her."
"I don't think that's a very good idea."
"And then," said Chantelle, "we can take her along to the bar with us. Show her a bit of the West Hollywood night life."
I gasped. "Take my Aunt Millie to a lesbian bar!"
"Why? What's the problem? Is she narrow-minded?"
"I don't think it's a very good idea."
"You said that before. How about I just ask her when we meet? Leave it for your aunt to decide if she wants to come with us or not."
"Chantelle, you can't ask my Aunt Millie to a lesbian bar. She'd feel out of place."
"She'll have plenty of company. You find lots of straight women there. It's curiosity brings them—taking a walk on the wild side."
I stifled a giggle. "When I was talking to Aunt Millie earlier, she did tell me she'd been wild in her day."
"There you go," said Chantelle. "Aunt Millie can relive her youth."
Eighteen
Friday morning I found Melodie in the kitchen reading Variety while her bagel toasted. From her cheerful demeanor I saw she had gotten over yesterday's audition trauma.
I glanced over her shoulder. I'd found that Variety and The Hollywood Reporter were the official newspapers of the entertainment industry and collectively were called the "trades." They both used odd jargon, understood by the in-crowd. I figured as a private eye I'd be having lots to do with entertainment types, so I was learning the language.
So far I'd established that people who "ankled" had actually left a company or a movie cast, and that every reference to "Mouse House" was actually the Walt Disney organization, but some word usage still puzzled me.
"What's 'Laffer Skein Preems' mean?" I asked, pointing to a headline.
"Comedy series has its premiere. It's show biz talk."
"I know that, Melodie."
My tone was a little tart. Having Aunt Millie around was wearing on my nerves. I'd tried to find out how long she intended to stay in Los Angeles, working on the principle that a finite end to the agony would help me cope, but my aunt had been vague, saying she had an open-ended return ticket on Qantas, and she'd leave when she was good and ready.