Quokka Question

by Claire McNab

  I meekly followed Professor Yarrow into his room, which was very well-appointed, with a thick maroon carpet, a heavy desk which was obviously not standard issue, and walls lined with custom-made bookshelves.

  He closed the door behind us, then sat down behind his desk and waved me to a chair. "Welcome to UCLA, Kylie."

  "G'day, Professor Yarrow."

  A small, frosty smile on his lips, he gave me a slow once-over. He nodded. "Well, well, some good does come out of the antipodes."

  "Is that a compliment?"

  He looked surprised. "You may read it as such. Why?"

  "Just wondered if I would thank you, or take offense and counterattack."

  "I believe I'd prefer a thank-you," he said drily. "University of Western Australia, is it?"

  "That's right."

  "Then you'd know Howard Leadbeater."

  Trick question. Good thing I'd thought to ask Lonnie to research the faculty for past and present VIPs in the world of biological science. "I know of him. He's a world authority on marsupials, but of course I never had the chance to meet him. He'd fallen off the perch long before I got there."

  "Fallen off the perch?" His mouth twisted in a most unpleasant way. "How quaint."

  "Thank you, Professor Yarrow."

  The deep sincerity in my voice brought a slight frown to his pale forehead. "Australians as a race are admirable," he intoned, "except for your propensity to use diminutives and excessively colorful colloquialisms."

  "Hang on a mo," I said. "Fair crack of the whip. Aussies save a lot of time with those shortened words. Like, would you mind if I called you Prof?"

  "I believe I would."

  "Right-oh," I said. "Professor it is."

  "Now, the research paper you're working on with Dr. Wasinsky…?"

  I put my hand to my mouth to cover a fake yawn. "Sorry, Professor Yarrow, just got to L.A., so I'm a bit jet-lagged."

  "The title of your paper?"

  Crikey, this bloke was persistent. "Distribution and Movement Patterns of Urban Platypuses," I said, then had a stab at the appropriate Latin label. "Ornithorhynchus anatinus in the creeks and rivers near urban areas."

  The platypus was, as Rube had pointed out to me, a notoriously shy animal, so the discovery of platypuses living in waterways close to large towns and cities was an eye-opener.

  "Monotremes, the lowest order of mammals," the professor said with little enthusiasm. Rube had deliberately chosen a field he knew Yarrow wasn't particularly interested in, so that he wouldn't be likely to ask probing questions or follow-up on the work I was supposed to be doing.

  "But so fascinating!" I exclaimed. "I'm captivated by the fact that the platypus has its own specially adapted species of tick."

  Professor Yarrow got up and came around my side of the desk. Putting a hand on my shoulder, he said, "Ah, the enthusiasm of youth." His grip tightened. "Such zest for life is so attractive in a young woman."

  While I was considering my options-play along or unceremoniously brush his fingers off-the office door abruptly opened.

  "Jack," said Winona Worsack, gliding into the room, "am I interrupting something?"

  Yarrow ripped his hand off me fast. "My dear, of course not."

  His wife looked pointedly at my shoulder, then at him. "I thought we might lunch together, darling," she said. "Unless you have something more pressing to do…"

  "An excellent idea. Excellent." He turned to me, all business. "As I was saying, I'm sure your time with us will be most valuably spent with Dr. Wasinsky. Unfortunately, my attention will be largely taken up by the symposium, so if you have any concerns or worries I'm afraid you'll have to channel them through my assistant, Ms. Tapp."

  From her expression, Winona wasn't having any wool pulled over her eyes. "You always manage to make yourself available when you feel it necessary, Jack." She darted a glance at me. "I'm sure if-"

  "Kylie," I said obligingly.

  "I'm sure if Kylie needs your attention, she'll get it."

  "The Global Marsupial Symposium is all-consuming at the moment, Winona," he said with a frown. "I scarcely have time for my own work, let alone worrying about supervision of a visiting graduate student."

  I took this as my cue to hop it. "Bye, Prof. And nice to see you again, Mrs. Yarrow."

  He looked pained. She looked irritated.

  He said, "Professor, if you don't mind."

  She said, "I don't use Yarrow. You may refer to me as Dr. Worsack."

  "Sorry."

  I left her glaring at him-I was betting lunch wasn't going to be much fun-and set off for Rube Wasinsky's office. I was getting a feel for the geography of the place, so I found it without too much trouble.

  Rube's furnishings were nothing like Yarrow's: standard-issue desk, rickety bookcase, a floor of the same material as the hallway. Pen Braithwaite was sitting in his chair with her feet up on the desk. She was wearing quite the ugliest sandals I had ever seen, consisting of many khaki-colored straps attached to a massive sole.

  "Rube's off getting me coffee," she said. "How'd it go with Yarrow?"

  I recounted the events, including his wife's entrance. Pen snickered happily. "Narrow escape there, Kylie. In two shakes his hand would have been wandering south."

  "Good thing Dr. Worsack came in, then."

  "Winona? What do you think of her?"

  "I haven't had much time to form an opinion, but I reckon she doesn't like me."

  "Winona's a professional medievalist," said Pen contemptuously. "Always in costume with those long dresses. Even plays the bloody lyre, would you believe? Jack Yarrow married her for her money, but God knows why she married him. Though I hear he's a randy bastard…"

  "He has quite a good body," I observed.

  Pen swung her feet off the table and sat up. "You're bi?"

  "Not a chance."

  Pen sank back in the chair and put her feet up again. "Your partner, Ariana, is a very attractive woman."

  I agreed this was so in my best noncommittal tone.

  "Has she thawed out yet?" Pen inquired.

  It seemed best to play dumb. "I'm sorry?"

  "Ariana gave me the big freeze after I mentioned Natalie Ives."

  "She was a bit withdrawn," I conceded.

  Pen let out a bellow of laughter. "Withdrawn! She near froze my titties off!"

  I winced. Pen's voice would carry quite a way. "I'm sure she didn't mean it personally," I said.

  "I didn't know the Ives woman," said Pen. "She was before my time. I joined the UCLA faculty just as she was retiring."

  My pulse rate went up. Maybe I'd find out who Natalie was without really trying. "Oh?" I said. "So she was in the psychology department with you?"

  "Psychology? What made you think that? She was an English scholar. Very noted in her field of-what was it?" Pen gazed at the ceiling for inspiration, which came almost immediately. "Nineteenth-century British literature," she announced triumphantly.

  Rube swept in with three coffees on a cardboard tray. "Thought you'd be here," he said, handing me one of the thick paper cups, "but you should be making good use of your time chatting up Georgia Tapp."

  I expected a flare-up from Pen at the mention of the Tapp woman's name, but she was smiling. "That was fun this morning," she said. "I love getting up Georgia's nose. She's so predictable."

  "I think you should handle her with kid gloves," said Rube. "Georgia's the rigid type who'll snap one day, bring a gun to work and start blasting away." He added severely, "And you, Pen, will be her number one target."

  Pen's grin widened. "Kylie, you should have been here the day I pointed out to Georgia the dangers of repressing her sexuality, and made some concrete suggestions about how she might loosen up. She damn near imploded!"

  "I thought I'd start with Erin Fogarty," I said. "Oscar said he thought she'd passed on his quokka research to Jack Yarrow."

  Pen's smile disappeared. "She's having an affair with Yarrow, the silly little fool. Working her butt off
researching papers she fondly believes will be published with her name under his. That won't happen. Professor Jack Yarrow is the only author that will appear. There'll be no mention of her substantial contributions."

  "What if she makes a fuss?" I asked.

  Rube grunted. "Erin Fogarty's a student: Yarrow's a renowned professor. Say she goes public and accuses him of taking all the credit when she did most of the work. Who'd listen to her?" His mouth turned down. "Unfortunately, it's not all that rare in the academic world, but Yarrow's a particularly egregious offender."

  "He's a bastard," said Pen. "You're right, Kylie. Concentrate on the Fogarty girl." She mused for a moment. "You could seduce her. Pillow talk's useful."

  "Crikey, you're asking a lot!"

  Pen raised her eyebrows. "You're not open to a little hanky-panky?"

  "You've got that right."

  "Tsk," said Pen. "Subjugating your natural, healthy sexual instincts is unwise."

  "I'll risk it."

  Pen gave me a slow smile. "A risk taker," she said. "I like that."

  ELEVEN

  I ran my quarry to ground in a little office about the size of a broom cupboard. Her lanky body was perched on the edge of a chair as she gazed fixedly into the screen of a laptop. When she looked up, I said with a friendly smile, "G'day. I'm Kylie Kendall. We met earlier."

  "Oh, hi."

  "You're so lucky," I said, "to be working with Professor Yarrow." I pouted a bit. "I'm stuck with Dr. Wasinsky. I mean, don't get me wrong. He's nice enough, but he's not a world-famous authority like Professor Yarrow."

  Erin Fogarty's cheeks flushed, apparently with pleasure at this praise of her idol. "Professor Yarrow is a wonderful man. My dreams came true when I got the opportunity to come to UCLA to be part of his groundbreaking research into Setonix brachyurus."

  Personally, I'd have called a quokka a quokka, but if it made Erin happy to use Latin, it was all right by me. "There's got to be a meganumber of graduate students dying to work with someone as prestigious as the professor, but he chose you."

  Her blush spread to include her weak chin and long neck. "In fact, you're right. He'd in such demand." She clasped her hands. "But I was the lucky one."

  Uninvited, I plunked myself down in the only other chair in the cramped space. Aiming for a tone somewhere between admiration and envy, I leaned forward to say, "I'm guessing luck had nothing to do with it, Erin. I reckon you stood out from the pack, and that's why he picked you."

  Her glossy chestnut curls seem to shimmer with added light. "It's nice of you to say so. Actually, Professor Yarrow-he's asked me to call him Jack in private-did say he especially valued the depth of my knowledge in the area."

  Stone the crows! This poor sheila was head over heels, no worries. "So you studied quokkas in the wild?" I asked.

  She bobbed her head. "Extensively. I spent months in Western Australia observing both the island and mainland colonies."

  "You can't beat research in the field," I said. "Who were you working with?"

  Her face clouded. "Dr. Oscar Braithwaite. Have you heard of him?"

  "You mean the bloke who's going to speak next week at the symposium on the quokka question?"

  "Yes." Her lips tightened. "He's already in L.A. In fact, he came to see me this morning. It was very embarrassing."

  "Really?" I said in a neutral tone. "Why embarrassing?"

  I made a mental note to find out why Oscar hadn't mentioned he intended to front up to Erin Fogarty. Maybe he'd decided to drop in on the spur of the moment. I recalled wondering, during my very first meeting with Oscar, if he'd had a personal interest in his graduate assistant.

  Erin was hesitating, obviously torn between sharing the goss with me and keeping it to herself. Goss won. "Actually," she said, "when I was in Australia, Dr. Braithwaite paid me special attention…"

  "He was keen on you?"

  Her blush, which had faded, rushed back. Scarlet-faced, she said, "Nothing happened, of course, but I knew how he felt."

  "You didn't return his affections?"

  She drew back, affronted. "Oh! How could I?"

  "Professional scruples held you back?" I ventured.

  Erin shook her head. "You haven't seen him, have you? Oscar Braithwaite's hairy, very hairy. In fact, he's the hairiest man I've ever met."

  "It'd be like dating a gorilla?"

  This elicited a small smile. "Something like that."

  "Bad sitch," I said. "What did you do?"

  "Well, actually…" She paused, her lips compressed. Then, deciding to fill me in, she went on, "It was at this point Professor Yarrow contacted me."

  "Crikey! He contacted you? You mean you didn't have to apply to come to UCLA?"

  My admiring wonder had the desired effect. She turned a pleased pink. "Isn't it amazing? Professor Yarrow said he'd asked around in academic circles, and I'd been highly recommended to him."

  "So you gave Dr. Braithwaite the heave-ho and came over here?"

  Erin seemed a bit taken aback at this blunt assessment. "Actually," she said-she seemed to like that word-"there was another reason I couldn't work with Oscar any longer." She looked around as it were possible someone else could be lurking in the tiny room. "In point of fact," she said, dropping her voice, "Dr. Braithwaite had been stealing Professor Yarrow's work and passing it off as his own."

  "No!" I gave her a wide-eyed look. "Professor Yarrow told you this?"

  Erin suddenly looked uncomfortable, as though she'd belatedly realized she was confiding secrets to a perfect stranger. Indicating the laptop, she said, "Actually, I must finish this. It's urgent."

  There was no point in pushing it and having her clam up completely. "See you later, then," I said. "I'd better get back to Dr. Wasinsky." I paused for a small, sad sigh. "I don't mind telling you, Erin, I'd love to be in your shoes, but it just didn't work out that way."

  I left her with a slight, satisfied smile on her lips. She thought she was on a winner with Jack Yarrow, but I had a fair idea she was going to come an awful gutser in the near future.

  This undercover stuff had turned out to be more of a strain than I'd expected. I was toey as a Roman sandal, expecting any minute I'd say something that would brand me as an imposter. It was a bonzer day, warm and sunny, so I decided to recharge my batteries by having a solitary lunch outside on the beautiful UCLA grounds.

  My map indicated a North Campus Student Center. I found it without trouble and joined the students queuing for food. Eventually, I emerged into the sunlight clutching a salad in a clear plastic box, a plastic fork, several serviettes, and a carton of orange juice.

  There was one dicey moment when I spied Clifford Van Horden III, strolling along while carrying on a loud cell phone conversation and checking out the female talent as he did so. Fortunately, I managed to duck behind a knot of students, and he passed by, never knowing I was there.

  I found myself a spot on the grass in the nearby sculpture garden and sat cross-legged, sharing bits of my salad with a couple of entirely fearless squirrels. It would be easy to doze happily in the afternoon sun, but I had plans to make. Erin Fogarty would have to be carefully cultivated, but I was pretty sure we'd soon be best mates, and she'd be telling me how she snaffled Oscar's research for Jack Yarrow.

  For the moment I thought I'd steer clear of Professor Yarrow. Ditto his wife, whose jealousy I reckoned would make her vindictive. Georgia Tapp I was going to see this afternoon. Before lunch I'd popped into her room and made an appointment to see her at three o'clock. I could see my respectful attitude had made a good impression. I hoped this would predispose her to like me, because she should be a terrif source of information.

  Rube Wasinsky had set me straight on administrative assistants, and why Georgia Tapp was a very rare bird indeed. Years ago, Rube said, there'd been scads of secretaries to do the clerical stuff, but such resources vanished as government funding to universities like UCLA tightened. Now faculty members were supposed to do everything for themselves on thei
r computers.

  Professor Jack Yarrow, however, had access to private funding for a research center within the larger structure of the biology department, and he used some of this to cover the salary of his own personal administrative assistant, namely Georgia Tapp.

  Georgia's desk was situated in a room next to Yarrow's palatial office. I put my head through the door at exactly three o'clock. "Ms. Tapp?" I raised my eyebrows tentatively. "Could you see me now?"

  Georgia was on her feet, wringing her small, plump hands. Even her wispy hair seemed agitated. "I don't know whether to call the campus police or not," she hissed.

  Strike me dead! Had she tumbled on to who I really was? "The cops would be a bit of an overreaction, I reckon."

  She wrung her hands some more. "Listen!"

  "You're a bloody bastard!" came from the adjoining office. "I'm going to expose you for what you are, Yarrow! A sniveling, pathetic arsehole who has to bloody steal my work to shore up his bloody reputation!"

  I wasn't supposed to have ever met Oscar Braithwaite, so I said to Georgia, "Stone the crows! Who's that?"

  Her stocky body quivering with distress, Georgia spat out, "Braithwaite. Oscar Braithwaite."

  The sound of a loud thump carried through the wall. Georgia seized my wrist and wailed, "I don't know what to do. Dr. Braithwaite is capable of inflicting great bodily harm on Professor Yarrow, but Professor Yarrow will be furious if a fuss is made."

  "You bloody bastard!" was followed by something indistinct from Yarrow.

  "Perhaps one of us should go in and break it up," I said.

  Georgia stared at me, astonished. "We can't do anything like that. They're men. They're men fighting-like primal beasts!"

  Primal beasts, was it? I thought I deducted a hint of excitement underneath her chubby exterior.

  A door slammed. Through Georgia's open door I saw Oscar Braithwaite's bushy head. "Bloody Yarrow! Bloody Yarrow!" he was shouting as he stamped down the hallway. His voice grew fainter, then there was another, muted slam of a door at the end of the hallway.