Quokka Question

by Claire McNab

  Georgia let out her breath in a long sigh. "He's gone," she said. I thought she sounded disappointed.

  There was no use trying to pump Georgia, as she was totally atwitter about the confrontation between Oscar and Yarrow, so I said I'd drop in on her tomorrow. I had a quick look around to see if I could eyeball Oscar, but he'd disappeared. I collected my car from the cavernous parking structure and drove east along Sunset Boulevard to Kendall & Creeling.

  When I opened the front door, Harriet was sitting at the reception desk reading something and giggling happily to herself. When she saw me, she said, "Message from Ariana. She says to tell you she'll be back here by five-thirty."

  Irritated that Melodie wasn't at her post, I said, "Where's Melodie? Don't tell me she's off on another audition."

  "Not at all," said Harriet. "You'll find Melodie in the bathroom, piling on the makeup. After work she's going straight from here to the theater to try out for Quip's play." Grinning, she held up the bound pages she'd been reading. "This is the audition script. Melodie's been poring over it all day."

  I took a squiz at the two-line tide: LUL (Laughter Under Luna)

  "It's a comedy?"

  "Tragedy. Intensely dark tragedy." Harriet was still grinning. "I believe Quip's intention is to distill the angst of the early twenty-first century."

  "But you find it funny?"

  "Hilarious."

  She passed the bound copy over to me. "Take a look at the front page."

  Under "Characters" appeared the names: Lucy/Lucas, Ricky/ Ricki, Ethel/Ethelbert, Fred/Fredricka.

  Below was a Note from the Playwright, which read: "The audience will recognize iconic figures resonating in the shared group consciousness…"

  "These names seem familiar," I said. "Lucy and Ricky? Ethel and Fred? It's the cast of that old TV show I Love Lucy."

  Harriet chuckled. "Top marks, Kylie, but things get drastically different after that. In Quip's play they're all transsexuals; their genders are changing because of pollutants in the environment. Lucy's in the process of becoming Lucas, Ricky's changing to a very feminine Ricki, Fred's on the way to Fredricka, and Ethel will be Ethelbert any day now."

  "Crikey," I said, "which one has Melodie got her sights on?"

  "Anything she can get." Harriet's tone was dry.

  Fran and Melodie appeared, with Fran holding open what was obviously another copy of the play. Melodie was proclaiming, "Incest, incest, incest!" with great dramatic intensity.

  She strode up to us and flung her arms wide. "Fratricide, filicide, matricide, patricide…um…" She dropped her arms and looked to Fran for help. "Drat! I always forget this next one."

  "Parricide."

  Melodie reflung her arms. "Parricide!"

  "Jeez," said Harriet, "I know fratricide, matricide, and patricide respectively mean killing your brother, mother, and father. But what's filicide and what's parricide?"

  Thanks to my exacting English teacher at Wollegudgerie High, I was able to enlighten her. "Parricide is killing a parent or similar authority figure. Filicide is killing a pastry."

  Harriet shot me an incredulous look. "Killing a pastry? You're kidding me."

  I had a bit of a giggle over filo pastry. "I am," I admitted. "That would be filocide. Filicide is killing a son or daughter."

  For some reason my Aunt Millie popped into my mind. Was there an aunticide?

  Meanwhile, Melodie was lifting entreating hands to the ceiling. "I embody sanguinariness," she announced, having a touch of trouble with the pronunciation. "I am slaughterous, I am-"

  "Mortiferous," said Fran.

  "I am mortiferous." Melodie bowed her head, then sank gracefully to her knees.

  " 'Strewth,’ " I said, "the audience will need to bring their dictionaries along."

  Fran, who never took kindly to even a hint of criticism where her husband was concerned, snapped, "Quip is deliberately forcing the audience to surrender to the cadence of the language without necessarily fully understanding what the words mean."

  "I was talking to Quip this morning," said Melodie, "to get his thoughts on the essential core of Lucy-Lucas. He explained how LUL is deep-real deep."

  "I reckon it's a bit of a challenge starting off as Lucy and ending up as Lucas," I remarked.

  "For some, it would stretch their talent too thin." Melodie smiled complacently. "Fortunately, that doesn't apply to me."

  "I'm sure Quip's play is very profound," I said to Fran, "but it's a bit beyond me."

  For Fran, her smile was quite kindly. "Don't feel too badly, Kylie," she said. "Quip's work is a challenge to an educated American. Being an Aussie, you don't have the cultural references to decode, so yes, you're right. It is quite beyond you."

  TWELVE

  I sat in my office staring at the phone. I'd had a hard day, and dealing with my mother was going to be a challenge, to say the least. Perhaps I'd wait until after I'd spoken with Ariana about my experiences at UCLA. And Lonnie had left a note on my desk saying he had found something interesting, so I could postpone the call until after I'd seen him. Or I could read the bunch of brochures on garden sheds that Fran had left in a neat pile for my attention.

  But then, I'd be dreading making the call, so it was preferable to get it over with. Mum had a dich6 for every occasion. Right now I could hear her saying "Never put off until tomorrow what you can do today," followed by "Strike while the iron is hot." I sighed and picked up the receiver.

  Before punching in the international code and the country number for Australia, I rehearsed what I would say. The plumbing emergency should be over, leaving my mum to concentrate on getting me home from the hellhole she imagined Los Angeles to be. And freeway shootings and Oscar's brush with death would provide her with fresh ammunition.

  I had some responses ready. "Now, Mum," I'd say persuasively, the moment the random shootings came up, "statistics show I've got much more chance of winning the lottery than being shot on a Southern California freeway."

  No, maybe that wasn't the way to go, considering my mum firmly believed she'd win the lottery any day now. "Got to be in it to win it," she always said, scanning her fistful of tickets every week.

  I considered announcing I'd be more likely to be struck by lightning. But then I remembered Great Uncle Samuel, who was struck by lightning. Of course, he helped this along by standing under the tallest tree on a hill in the middle of a thunderstorm, but that wouldn't put Mum off citing him as an example of the prevalence of lightning strikes.

  A jab of guilt stabbed me as I punched in the numbers. Mum loved me and wanted the best for me. Unfortunately, our ideas of what constituted the best for me did not correspond. She was determined on getting me back in Wollegudgerie to help her run the Wombat's Retreat. I was determined to stay here in L.A., learning to be a private investigator so I could pull my weight at Kendall & Creeling.

  And to be totally honest, Ariana Creeling provided the most potent reason for me to stay. My heart gave a little leap of joy every time I saw her. I had to admit I was pretty well a hopeless case as far as she was concerned. Even half a chance-hell, a quarter of a chance…an eighth of a chance-that she might fall in love with me was enough reason to stick around.

  Thousands of kilometers away in the outback of Australia, the pub's phone began to ring. My mother answered.

  "It's Kylie, Mum. What happened with the leak in the hallway?"

  "Total disaster. Danny Panopolous has ripped most of the ceiling down. There's plaster everywhere."

  "But the leak's stopped, yes?"

  "For the moment," she said in a deeply pessimistic tone. "Danny says half the pub's pipes are shot, and need to be replaced."

  "Crikey," I said.

  "And you know how Danny charges like a wounded bull. I shudder to think how much it's going to cost." I made sympathetic noises: my mum moved into attack mode. "Jack will never understand the financial side, Kylie. I've said it before, and I'll say it again-he's bloody hopeless. I desperately need you back he
re at the Wombat."

  "Mum-"

  "It's bad enough you're not at home in Australia, but to be living in Los Angeles, of all places! My blood fair curdled when I watched the news the other night. Los Angeles freeways are a shooting gallery! And that nice girl, Melodie, told about your client being mugged-in broad daylight!"

  "Mum-"

  "It's only a matter of time until something like that happens to you, Kylie-shot on the freeway, mugged, kidnapped, beaten, raped. How do you think I'll feel when your body's discovered?" She gave a disgusted snort. "And you say you want to stay in L. A."

  "It's not like that," I protested. "Sure, you have to be careful, but it's the same in any big city."

  "And that's not all," said my mother in a voice of doom. "There's the ongoing possibility of earthquakes, terrorist attacks, and severe climate change. Global warming's not a myth, you know."

  She was beginning to sound more like Fran every moment. I said, "We keep disaster supplies here in the office."

  "Disaster supplies? Will they protect you from killer bees? I've heard a lot about killer bees."

  I managed to get in "Killer bees have been blown way out of proportion" before Mum was off again.

  "I've been patient, darl-I really have, but now I see it's my duty as a mother to get you out of this situation you've got yourself into."

  This was going too far. My voice icy, I said, "Decisions about my life are mine to make. I'll always listen to you, Mum, but in the long run, what I do is my affair. I'm sure I'll make mistakes, and if I do I'll pay for them. I won't whinge to you and expect sympathy."

  My mother always knew when to retreat. "Live to fight another day" was how she usually put it.

  There was a hurt silence at the other end of the line, then she said, "Of course you're absolutely right, Kylie. You have to make your own decisions. I can only hope that you'll eventually see it my way." A brave laugh. "I'm sure you think I'm a Nosy Parker, meddling in your affairs, but it's because I love you, darling."

  "I love you too, Mum," I said dutifully.

  For the next ten minutes we chatted about safer topics. My mum even managed to avoid mentioning my ex-lover, Raylene, who'd been the main reason I'd shot through to L.A. Mum's most interesting item was gossip about Aunt Millie, who had lobbed over to the States to see me and had then decided to extend her trip into a world tour.

  I lived in constant dread that she would boomerang back to L.A., as she'd had such a bonzer time here, so I was fascinated to learn from Mum that Aunt Millie, who was in Britain at the moment, had taken up with some bloke called Nigel whom she'd met while on a bus tour to Bath.

  "I can only hope he doesn't take advantage of my sister," said my mother.

  I guffawed. This would be the equivalent of a frilled lizard taking advantage of a Tyrannosaurus rex.

  Mum wasn't amused. "Anyone can fall for sweet-talking," she declared. "Even Millie."

  "My money's on Aunt Millie. She'll eat this Nigel bloke for breakfast. I'm already feeling a bit sorry for him."

  "There's no fool like an old fool," Mum declared. "Look at me."

  Uh-oh! Danger signs flashed. My mother was moving into pathos. In a moment she'd be telling me that Jack hadn't turned out to be the fianc6 she'd expected. And that heart-wrenching disappointment was compounded by the fact that now she had the pub to run without me and-

  "Sorry, Mum, I've really got to go. I'll call you next week."

  I put down the phone and let out a long sigh.

  "That bad?" said Ariana at the door. My heart gave its usual joyful leap.

  "Major plumbing problems at the Wombat's Retreat," I said.

  Ariana knew the pressure Mum was putting on me, but I didn't want to discuss it now. Not discuss it ever, actually, because I still had the lurking thought that Ariana might want to buy me out. My fifty-one percent of Kendall & Creeling put me in a secure position. It was an advantage I never meant to lose.

  Ariana came into my room and sat down across the desk from me. "Penelope Braithwaite called me this afternoon. She says she has a stalker. Some fan of her radio program who's got way out of line. She's asked me to look into it."

  "It's hard to imagine anyone brave enough to stalk Pen," I said.

  "She'd do them like a dinner."

  "Do you want to sit in on our meeting? She'll be here in a few minutes to give me all the details."

  "When I saw Pen at UCLA this morning," I said, "she didn't mention she was calling you." A dark suspicion swept over me. "This could be a setup."

  "How so?" Crikey, Ariana could put volumes into one raised eyebrow.

  "Pen really fancies you. She as good as said so this morning."

  Ariana laughed. "I don't think so."

  "Oh, come on, Ariana," I said, impatient with her. "You're a knockout, you know you are."

  She sat back and gave me a long, blue look "And you think it's likely Penelope Braithwaite will sweep me off my feet? That I'll be the equivalent of romantic cannon fodder?"

  I grinned. "I reckon Pen's out of luck. You'd never allow feet-sweeping unless you wanted it to happen." I felt my smile fading. "You don't, do you?"

  "Kylie-"

  "Sorry," I said. "Personal question. For all I know, you and Pen Braithwaite are soul mates, made for each other."

  Ariana shook her head. Before she could speak, I beat her to the punch. "You're going to say I'm one of a kind, aren't you? You've said that several times before."

  "And no doubt," said Ariana drily, "I'll find myself saying it again."

  Crikey, this conversation had gotten out of hand. I had a talent for putting my foot in my mouth where Ariana was concerned. I slapped a businesslike expression on my face and said in a businesslike tone, "Here's my report on what happened at UCLA today…"

  I was just finishing my report on the day's activities with a description of the violent argument Oscar had had with Jack Yarrow, when Melodie rang through to say the two Dr. Braithwaites had arrived to see Ariana.

  "Two?" I said to Ariana.

  She shrugged. "You'd better join us, Kylie, to even up the odds." She added with a wry smile, "And, of course, to chaperone me, if it becomes necessary."

  "Blimey, you're not going to let me live that down, are you?"

  "Eventually."

  Ariana went to collect the Braithwaites at the front desk, I whipped off to see what Lonnie had discovered before I joined them all in Ariana's office.

  Lonnie's office door was wide open. "What about Julia Roberts?" I said to him. "She can get in if your door's open."

  Lonnie, hunched as usual over his computer, swung around in his chair. "She is in."

  He ripped out several tissues from a box and blew his nose with a loud trumpeting noise. "When I got here this morning, Julia Roberts was in my chair. Had the devil of a time getting rid of her."

  I tsk-tsked sympathetically.

  Gesturing at the jumble in his room, he snarled, "And now she's back! Somewhere in here, Julia Roberts is hiding. Damn cat! I opened the door and she flew past me like a rocket and disappeared."

  "Jules," I called to her, "fair go. You know very well that Lonnie's allergic. Come on out."

  Lonnie tossed off a scornful laugh. "Get real, Kylie. Cats don't come when they're called. And especially not Julia Roberts. She's holed up, sneering at us both."

  I could have told him what would happen next. Hearing Lonnie's disrespectful remarks about cats, Jules immediately took great pleasure in proving him wrong. There was a rustle in the middle of the room, a couple of small items shifted, and Julia Roberts emerged, tawny tail held high.

  "Don't let her near me!" Lonnie implored.

  Jules gave him a long, cool look, strolled over to me, paused to mark the leg of my jeans by rubbing it with her cheek and whiskers, then sauntered out the door and into the hall.

  Lonnie leaped out of his chair to rush over and slam the door. He grumped back to his computer. "Damn cat. If I take any more antihistamine tablets, I'll fall unconsc
ious at your feet."

  "My cousin, Brucie, did a course of desensitization injections," I said. "They worked for his allergies. Maybe they would for you."

  A look of pure horror filled Lonnie's face. "Injections?" he gasped. "I faint. I always have. All I need to see is the needle heading for my arm, and I'm gone. Out cold."

  "There are nondrowsy antihistamines." Hadn't Lonnie seen the zillions of ads on teev for allergy remedies?

  Lonnie dismissed my comment with a wave of his hand. "Prescription only. Too expensive." He fixed me with a calculating stare. "Kylie…"

  "I'm not getting rid of Jules." I couldn't imagine living here without Julia Roberts for company.

  "Get rid of is a bit harsh," said Lonnie. "I thought more relocate. Maybe Ariana could take her."

  You've got Buckley's," I said.

  "All right, I'll bite. What in the hell's Buckley's?"

  "It comes from the Aussie saying, 'You've got two chances, Buckley's and none.' I reckon whoever Buckley was, he had the worse luck in the world, because it means you have no chance at all. A snowball in hell would be better off."

  He rolled his eyes. "So Julia Roberts is staying?"

  "Too right." Thinking I'd have to make Melodie promise not to open Lonnie's door, I added, "I'll do my best to make sure Jules stays out of your room."

  "That's the best I can hope for," said Lonnie mournfully.

  I had to get back to Ariana's office. "You left a note on my desk saying you'd found something interesting…?"

  Lonnie brightened up. "I've turned up the name of an enforcer Yarrow's used before. It's possible he's the one who shoved Braithwaite into the traffic on Sunset."

  "Who is it?"

  "Jack Yarrow's brother-in-law. Name's Walter Easton. Known as Wally. You remember how Yarrow's divorce from his second wife, Fenella, was as nasty as it gets? Well, this guy, Easton, is her brother." "Yarrow was arrested for assaulting his wife, wasn't he?" "Sure was. Fenella threw him out of the house and filed for divorce right after that." Lonnie made a face. "Dirty business. Warring attorneys. Vicious accusations on both sides. And then Fenella was assaulted again-black eyes, broken nose. But this time it was her brother. She didn't press charges, said it was a family argument." "You think Jack Yarrow was responsible for this attack?" "Looks that way. Easton and Yarrow have remained thick as thieves. When Yarrow took Winona Worsack as his third wife, he married into a very wealthy family. I don't think it's a coincidence that once Yarrow had access to money, he set Wally Easton up in business, financing him in Wally's Strength & Health Club in Burbank. There've been rumors that Easton has been dealing in illegal steroids and the like, but he's never been convicted."