KK04 - Dingo Dilemma

by Claire McNab

  Quip's connection to Kendall & Creeling through Fran had been discovered, and the phone rang constantly with requests for "background" on Fran and Quip, a camera crew appeared in the street outside our building, and we were forced to put a sign on the front door stating firmly that there would be absolutely no interviews granted.

  From the time she'd arrived Melodie had scarcely left the front desk, as along with the media, the receptionist network was fairly burning up the wires. She was also fielding calls from curious Kendall & Creeling clients as well as friends of Fran and Quip's.

  To sustain her I brought Melodie a mug of coffee—decaff, low-fat milk, artificial sweetener—and a carton of strawberry yogurt—low-fat, artificial sweetener, artificial flavoring. Yerks!

  Melodie finished a call and looked up at me, face full of flinty resolution. "We have lost one of our own," she said. "Murdered."

  Crikey! It was like the receptionists were a secret guild. "It's a blow, I'm sure," I said.

  "Don't mess with us."

  Puzzled, I asked, "How am I messing with you?"

  "Oh, Kylie, not you. I mean whoever killed Yancy. Everyone's terribly upset and determined to do something about it."

  Obviously I was overtired, because I immediately had a vision of thousands of receptionists arming themselves with Sherlock Holmes deerstalker hats and large magnifying glasses and sallying forth to find Yancy's murderer.

  Repressing an entirely inappropriate grin, I said, "What something could they do?"

  Melodie shook her head. "You've got no idea, have you? No idea at all."

  "Apparently not."

  "Nothing happens in this town that we don't eventually find out about."

  Melodie stated this with justifiable pride. Even I, in the relatively short time I'd been in LA, had seen the receptionist network's almost alarming ability to collect and disseminate confidential information.

  The phone rang. "Good morning, Kendall & Creeling—oh, Bruce, hi! Yes, she's right next to me. Hold on."

  I'd completely forgotten about Brucie. I wondered why he wasn't here, enjoying all the media attention that was raining down on us. Reminding myself to get his name straight, I said, "G'day, Bruce."

  "Morning, Kylie. In case you're wondering where I am, I'm with Quip and Fran. Someone's got to keep the bloody reporters at bay."

  "How are they coping?"

  "Not too good, but at least Sid, the lawyer they've got, is a top bloke. He says no worries, he'll get Quip off. Did you know he was Harriet's dad?

  "I found out this morning." I didn't want to get into a long conversation with him, so I said, "I'll let you get back to guarding Fran and Quip from the media."

  "Hang on a mo. I need to ask you something about my mum. Have you heard about this Nigel who's coming to visit her?"

  I said my mother had mentioned the name.

  "I'm not too happy about it," said Brucie. "He's coming all the way from England to Wollegudgerie, just to drop in on Mum. And I can tell from the way she talks about the bloke that she's a bit soft on him. And he's a total stranger." He added in dark tones, "Who knows what he's up to?"

  "What do you think he's up to?"

  "I reckon he's after Mum's money. She doesn't flaunt it, but she's got quite a bit salted away."

  "What if Nigel's visiting because he likes her? Maybe there's something romantic between them."

  "Aaagh!"

  "You'd be opposed?" I inquired.

  "Blood oath I'd be opposed! I'm not going to stand by and let my mother be taken advantage of." After a couple of muffled curses, he said, "Gotta go. I'll ring Mum right now and see what the hell is going on."

  "Kylie," said Melodie as I put down the phone, "do you know what's wrong with Ariana?"

  "Why would something be wrong?" I asked, stalling for time.

  "She's been out of the office loads more than usual, and Bob's been looking after her clients for her. Like, is she sick?"

  "Ariana isn't sick."

  Ariana was an intensely private person, so she would never have mentioned Natalie to Melodie. Of course Fran, being Ariana's niece, must be aware of Natalie's existence, but evidently she hadn't said anything to Melodie.

  An inspiration struck me. "Ariana's worried about Norris Blainey and his plans for the neighborhood."

  Melodie's face cleared. "That must be it." The phone rang. "Good morning—oh, Laurel, hi. Have you heard anything more?" She listened intently. "Try Riley, she knows her well...Like, get back to me ASAP. Bye."

  "There you go," she said to me with a triumphant note in her voice, "I told you no one should mess with us."

  "Your network's found out something?"

  "Maybe. That's all I'll say." She looked past me. "Hi, Ariana."

  "Good morning, Melodie." Ariana closed the front door behind her. "My office?" she said to me.

  "Right-oh."

  I followed her down the hallway. She moved as if unutterably weary. Inside her office, she looked at me with austere calm.

  "It's over. Natalie died this morning." The blue of her eyes was drowned in sudden tears. "It was a relief."

  I put my hand on her shoulder. "You must be so tired."

  She nodded slowly. "I hope you understand. I need to be alone."

  "I understand."

  I did. If I had lost Ariana, no other person would be able to share my journey from sharp grief to final muted acceptance.

  She put her hand over mine. "Thank you."

  There was a knock at the door. Ariana stepped away from me to open it.

  "Somewhat of an emergency," said Lonnie. "Has Kylie told you Homeland Security is investigating us as a potential terrorist cell?"

  Tired though she was, Ariana snapped to attention. "We're a terrorist cell? You've got to be kidding."

  "It's Fran made them suspicious in the first place, and now that Quip's the suspect in a murder, they're even more revved up."

  Ariana went behind her desk and sat down. Waving us to chairs, she said, "I haven't discussed it with you, Kylie, but I'm sure you'll agree that we should devote every resource to helping Quip clear his name."

  "That goes without saying."

  Ariana rubbed her eyes, then straightened her shoulders. She was so pale her eyes burned in her face. "We need a meeting of everyone concerned, to make sure we're all on the same page. I suggest nine tomorrow morning."

  "Do you want me to arrange it?" I asked.

  "Would you? Thanks." She turned her attention to Lonnie. "OK, start at the beginning, Lonnie. What's your source for this information about Homeland Security?"

  "First off, the guys that bugged our building have been using a limo service to get around. Can you imagine? A limo? Our tax dollars at work!"

  "Shocking," said Ariana dryly.

  Lonnie went on to say how he'd traced them through the limo company and discovered the Department of Homeland Security was picking up the tab. He'd also posted the photos of Morgan and Unwin widely on the Internet and received several positive responses. The most interesting had been from someone who headed a clandestine group sarcastically titled Homeland Insecurity, who confirmed that Morgan and Unwin were the agents' real monikers—Richard Morgan and Allan Unwin to be precise.

  "The guy running the group calls himself Milt, but that probably isn't his name," said Lonnie, "Homeland Insecurity's mission is to expose Homeland Security's waste of taxpayers' dollars, attacks on civil liberties, and general ineptitude. Milt has several people inside DHS who he calls true patriots, devoted to exposing the astonishing inability of a department funded with billions of dollars to accomplish an even halfway decent job."

  "What about Fran?" I asked. "Did this Milt bloke tell you why she came under suspicion?"

  "Two words: disaster supplies," Lonnie said. "If Fran had been content to limit herself to the preparedness items that Homeland Security recommends, none of this would have happened. But no! She had to go overboard."

  "I'm betting it was the full-body biohazard suits that
set off a red alarm," I said.

  "That and the military food rations, battleground medical kits, and drugs for smallpox, anthrax, and so on."

  "Not to mention the forty gallons of water," I added.

  "I can see why Fran's concept of disaster supplies might catch official attention," said Ariana, "but any background check will show there's no one at Kendall & Creeling who could conceivably be a terrorist."

  "Ah," said Lonnie, waggling a forefinger, "that's precisely why that bunch of paranoid incompetents think we are likely terrorists—our covers so good. Milt explained how they love to connect the dots and come up with conspiracy theories that would put Hollywood to shame."

  "And how does Quip being a murder suspect play into this?" Ariana asked.

  "That's the best part." Lonnie beamed at us. His dimples and lock of hair falling over one eye made him look like a mischievous kid. "The murder victim worked for Norris Blainey." He paused for a dramatic beat—honestly, Lonnie was as bad as Melodie at times—then said, "And Norris Blainey has been an informant for Homeland Security for some time. You can imagine when his name came up and there was a connection with Kendall & Creeling, a suspected terrorist cell, it caused quite a stir."

  "Much dot-connecting," I remarked.

  "Who's Blainey been targeting with the tips he's been giving Homeland Security?" Ariana asked.

  "Business competitors mainly. One of Blainey's favorite claims is to suggest the person he's named is laundering money for terrorist organizations."

  "Doesn't he get discredited," I said, "when none of his tips are dinky-di?"

  "That's where Blainey's clever," said Lonnie. "He's in a good position to hear whispers of larceny and worse in the financial world, so some of his accusations do turn out to be true."

  "That gives him credibility," said Ariana.

  Lonnie grinned at me. "Speaking of connecting the dots, there must have been some excitement when some bright spark in Homeland Security realized Douglas 'Dingo' O'Rourke was your cousin."

  "Blainey dobbed Dingo in to Homeland Security?"

  Lonnie nodded. "He told them he thought O'Rourke should be treated as 'a person of interest,' and you know what that means."

  "It means your life's not your own anymore," remarked Ariana acerbically.

  Lonnie chimed in with, "A magnifying glass on anything and everything you've done or said. No stone left unturned."

  "Crikey," I said, "if that's the case, what are we, being suspected terrorists?"

  Lonnie made a face. "Persons of extreme, intense, and acute interest."

  Wouldn't it rot your socks?

  Twenty

  On Thursday I wasn't required at the studios until the afternoon, so there was no problem about attending the meeting Ariana had called. Bob and I had carried extra chairs into Ariana's office and by nine o'clock we were all seated. Ariana was behind her desk, the rest of us arranged in a semi-circle facing her. The phones were still switched through to the answering service we used after hours, so Melodie was present, as were Bob, Lonnie, and Harriet. Quip, looking like death warmed up, was slumped in one of Ariana's comfortable black leather armchairs. Fran, looking not much better, was next to him.

  On the surface Ariana seemed her usual cool, reserved self, although there was something brittle about her manner, as if she maintained a facade by sheer force of will.

  "Before we begin," she said, "you all now know that the local office of the Department of Homeland Security has seen fit to designate Kendall & Creeling a possible terrorist cell."

  Melodie glared at Fran. "Thanks, Fran," she said with heavy sarcasm. "Thanks very much."

  A flash of her customary combativeness animated Fran's face. "Don't blame me for doing what any good citizen should do for disaster preparedness. You'd be the first in line, Melodie, if smallpox happened to be ravaging your body, covering your skin with bursting, toxic pustules."

  This gave Melodie a bit of a jolt. She looked down at herself as though expecting to see signs of smallpox popping out all over.

  I said, "It's hardly Fran's fault if these government galahs leap to ridiculous conclusions on the flimsiest of evidence."

  Fran stared at me, clearly astonished to find me defending her. I gave her a little grin. "You can pay me later."

  "The only way to deal with such accusations," said Ariana, "is to make a several-pronged counter-attack. Bob has contacts high up in the FBI and CIA, and he's made them aware of these totally unwarranted allegations."

  I glanced across at Bob, his skinny frame folded awkwardly into his chair. I'd taken his pleasant, uncomplicated surface personality as being all there was to him. I was realizing belatedly I didn't really know much about the real Bob at all.

  Ariana went on, "For my part, I've spoken with Senator Lawry, who is not only our Federal representative, but also a long-time critic of government intrusions into citizens' lives. I'm hopeful he'll pull some strings on our behalf. Finally, Lonnie is in the process of spreading details of our persecution, as he rightly calls it, across the Internet."

  "What about the media?" Harriet asked. "You know how they love 'it happened to them and horror! it could happen to you' stories."

  "That's our next move," said Ariana, "if we get nowhere with the head of the Los Angeles DHS. He's indicated he'll be happy to discuss the matter. I'm waiting for a firm appointment. Now let's move on to the much more important subject of Quip."

  In a husky, halting voice, Quip recounted what he remembered of Tuesday night and Wednesday morning. When he and Yancy had left me they'd walked along the lane and onto a side street where Yancy had parked his car. Yancy had been literally shaking, Quip said, although no one seemed to be watching them and they saw nothing suspicious.

  Once in the car, Yancy had blurted out that he was so terrified of what Blainey might do to him that he'd made the decision to leave town that very evening. If Quip wanted all the material Yancy had taken from Blainey's office, he would have to come with him to the self-storage complex where Yancy had the documents safely under lock and key.

  "Yancy had a hip flask of whiskey," said Quip. "Before he started the car he took a swig from it—at least I thought he did—and handed it to me. By this time I was feeling every bruise and cut from the beating I'd taken, so I took a couple of good mouthfuls. Yancy started driving, and I remember he kept looking over at me. After a few minutes, I began to feel dizzy, and then, like they say in books, everything went black."

  "Date rape drug," said Fran bitterly. "Rohypnol, GHB, something like that. Leads to partial amnesia—that's why Quip can't remember much of what happened."

  Quip described his total confusion when he regained consciousness inside the storage unit to discover Yancy's body on the floor beside him. He couldn't find a light switch, but the roller door was half open, so Quip could see that Yancy's head had been dealt several savage blows. In the dim light, he'd missed seeing the crowbar which had now been proved to be the murder weapon. Quip had stumbled out into the street to find help and had found himself blinking in the glare of police lights.

  "They made me empty my pockets. I still had my wallet, credit cards and money untouched, but my cell phone was gone and when we went back to the storage unit, so was the document case Kylie saw Yancy give me earlier."

  "I reckon the hip flask had disappeared, too," I said.

  Quip nodded. "Of course it had. I was set up for Yancy's murder."

  "Bad apple," Melodie said dejectedly. Everyone looked at her.

  "Who is the bad apple?" Fran asked with a dangerous glint in her eye.

  "Not Quip," said Melodie. She sighed gustily. "You think you know someone, speak with him practically every second day, and you never suspect he's a bad apple."

  "Enough with the bad apples!" Fran snapped. "If you're talking about Yancy Grayson, say so."

  "Melodie, tell them what you know," said Ariana. Her voice had none of its normal authority. I looked over at her and our glances locked.

  I didn't sa
y "Are you all right?" aloud, but the love and concern I felt must have been obvious to her, because she nodded slightly and gave me a faint smile.

  This was Melodie's limelight moment. I'd bet a motza she'd spent ages rehearsing for this performance. She scanned the room, apparently to assure herself that we were all paying attention, took a deep breath, and began, "Yancy is—was—the principal receptionist at Norris Blainey's offices. Because of the volume of important calls coming through the switch, he had a designated relief receptionist, so that there was always a trained professional to answer the phone." She paused to reflect. "You know, not enough companies understand the impact of the first voice a client hears."

  "Get on with it," Fran snarled between clenched teeth.

  "I am getting on with it," said Melodie with dignity.

  Lonnie groaned. "I'm hungry. Is this going to take all morning?"

  "As I was saying before I was interrupted"—Melodie broke off the glower at Lonnie—"Yancy had Merle, a relief receptionist. She's fairly new at the game, but she has promise."

  "Steady, Fran," I said. "Melodie will get to the point any day now."

  Melodie ignored this and went on, "As often happens when professionals sharing vital responsibilities are thrown together, Yancy and Merle became more than colleagues, they were friends and confidants. Merle had nothing much to confide—she's young and leads a simple life."

  The real Melodie broke through when she added, her green eyes wide, "But Yancy had lots to tell her and it was real interesting..."

  Quip put his head in his hands. Ariana said, "Cut to the chase, Melodie. Now."

  "Yancy told Merle that he'd been passing info about Blainey to Quip for his tell-all book. Yancy did it because he wanted a career in show business and he was hoping Quip could open doors for him." She shook her head. "I could tell, even on the phone, that Yancy didn't have that glow, that star quality. It's real tragic, really."

  At this point a concentrated group glare speeded up Melodie's delivery. "OK, this is how it went down. A few days ago Norris Blainey found out what Yancy was doing. Blainey went off his head. He said he'd have Yancy's knees smashed, his fingers broken, and his face slashed if he didn't follow instructions exactly. Yancy had to set up a meeting with Quip here, on Tuesday night, and make sure someone witnessed it. Then he had to persuade Quip to go to a certain unit in the self-storage place by telling him he had much more stuff on Blainey there."