by Claire McNab
"That was rough," she said. "Are you OK?"
Tears immediately filled my eyes. "I was until you asked me."
"Are you up to seeing her later today?"
Pen had demanded a meeting this afternoon, insisting that both Ariana and I attend. Rube had said he'd come too. We'd established we'd meet at three o'clock here at Kendall & Creeling.
"I think so." I blinked rapidly. "Sorry to be such a sook."
"Oh, Kylie, don't be so hard on yourself."
There was such warmth in her voice, I said, "Stop it!"
"What?" She sounded startled.
"Don't be so nice to me. It'll make me cry more."
A soft chuckle came down the line. "I'll try to be harsh," she said. "But it'll be difficult."
"I want you to stay on the case, Kylie." Pen Braithwaite was adamant. "Oscar would have expected it. Nail Jack Yarrow as a plagiarist…" She paused, then added, "Or worse."
As it was Sunday, and much quieter than usual in my office, all I could hear of the outside world was a distant siren and the soft rumble of traffic on Sunset Boulevard. Pen, Rube, and I sat around the coffee table I'd recently purloined from Lonnie's office, where it'd been buried under a blizzard of files and papers.
I had the errant thought of how nice it would be to do what I'd originally scheduled for myself-spend the afternoon planting Australian-native bushes in the backyard. I'd only had time to give them a quick watering, so they'd have to survive in their pots another week.
Ariana leaned forward in her chair. "You believe Professor Yarrow had something to do with your brother's death?"
She was casually dressed in what looked like the same well-worn blue jeans she'd been wearing on Friday night. I felt a totally unseemly tug of desire.
Pen, her face gray with strain, said quietly, "I'm sure he's responsible. Yarrow's home free as far as the symposium is concerned. He'll get up in front of his peers and triumph with an address based on Oscar's findings and claim the research as his own. There'll be no one mere to contradict him."
"I'll contradict him," declared Rube stoutly.
Pen patted his hand. "You're such a love to say that, but you know as well as I do that we need hard evidence." She turned to me. "Evidence that Kylie's going to obtain this coming week."
"It would help if I knew what the quokka question was," I said.
"I've no idea," said Pen. She looked at Rube. "Did Oscar confide in you.”
"Not a word."
Crikey, this was no help. "Maybe Erin Fogarty knows," I said. "She worked with Oscar in the field, so she should have a fair idea what was going on."
Pen's expression became bleak. "Erin Fogarty," she said, "broke Oscar's heart. He never got over it."
Rube was surprised. "Why, I saw them talking together on Friday. They seemed on very good terms."
"Where and when was this?" Pen demanded.
"I don't know…I think around four-thirty, when I was leaving. I was walking to my car in the parking structure when I came upon Oscar and Erin, heads together, very lovey-dovey. I didn't like to interrupt, so I pretended I hadn't seen them, got into my car, and left."
Fixing me with a hard stare, Pen said, "You're friendly with this young woman?"
"Working on it."
"Work harder. She's the key. I'm sure of it."
Ariana said, "If this is a murder case-"
"If? If!" Some of Pen's usual spirit showed in her flashing eyes. "Of course Oscar was murdered. I've held back from saying this because I know the investigation's just beginning, but I know in my heart it's true-the same way I know Yarrow had something to do with it."
"What about your stalker?" Rube said. "You know Oscar swore he was going to track him down and beat him to a pulp. And that call last night to your program was a thinly veiled threat. What if he meant the message was Oscar's death?"
I'd had this thought myself, so I waited with interest to see how Pen responded.
"It was so like Oscar to want to protect me." Her lips trembled. "And I laughed at him on Saturday morning when he said he had a lead about my stalker." A tear ran down her cheek. "I hurt his feelings. The last thing he said was that he'd show me."
I could see Pen was about to drop her bundle, so to divert her I said, "Have you opened the envelope?"
"Envelope?"
"Your brother gave us an envelope to be opened if something happened to him," said Ariana. "He said he was giving you an identical one.
"I think I shoved it in a drawer somewhere," said Pen vaguely. "I didn't take him seriously." Her face crumpled.
Rube, obviously seeing she was about to break down, stood up. Taking her arm, he said, "Come on, honey. Let's take you home."
It was an indication of Pen's misery that she didn't protest but meekly allowed herself to be led away.
I saw them out and came back to find Ariana had retrieved Oscar's creased white envelope from the safe.
"Let's have a cuppa," I said, "and we can open it then."
The kitchen was one of my favorite rooms because Ariana had first kissed me there. I couldn't help thinking about that kiss as I watched Ariana's slim fingers opening the envelope.
As I made the tea, she spread the contents out on the kitchen counter. After I'd poured us each a cup of tea-I wondered if Ariana actually liked it, or was just being polite-we examined the material Oscar had thought important enough to include in his after-death missive.
There was a photocopy of a handwritten will, leaving everything to his sister, Penelope Braithwaite. Across the top he had written "Pen has the original."
Several stapled pages were headed "Australian Megafauna." Another set of pages appeared to be an extract of research by someone named Diana Niptucker, Ph.D. The final item was a handwritten letter signed by Oscar Braithwaite.
Ariana read it aloud: "To whom it may concern. If you are reading this, then Jack Yarrow has had me killed. I won't mince words. To put it in laymen's terms, Yarrow has stolen my groundbreaking research on the relationship between contemporary quokkas and their extinct megafauna marsupial ancestors of the early Pleistocene epoch. In order to pass off my discoveries as his own, Yarrow is likely to find it necessary to eliminate the one person who can prove him a fraud, namely myself, Oscar Braithwaite, Ph.D. I repeat, if I am found dead, even in circumstances that make it seem an accident, Jack Yarrow will be responsible. Throughout his career he has stopped at nothing to inflate his reputation, no matter what the cost to others. In my case it may be my life. It is my hope, of course, that no one ever has to read this. Oscar Braithwaite."
"Detective Lark will be interested to see this letter," I said.
"It doesn't prove anything " said Ariana. "He hated Yarrow, so these accusations aren't necessarily well-founded."
"Blimey," I said, "what if Oscar committed suicide, knowing this letter had deliberately set up his great rival, Jack Yarrow?"
"You certainly have a devious mind," Ariana remarked, amused. "I was thinking, rather, that Oscar Braithwaite's death really was an accident, but this letter exists to unfairly implicate his great rival, Professor Yarrow."
"When will we have the results of the postmortem?"
"The autopsy? The week after next, if we're lucky."
" 'Strewth," I said, "that long? Can't you hurry it along?"
"Do you have an idea how many autopsies are performed by the Coroner's Office in Los Angeles every week?"
"A lot?"
"And then some."
I gathered up the stapled sheets. "You take the letter for Detective Lark. I'll read through this other stuff and see if I can make any sense of it."
Ariana stood up, stretched, then covered a yawn with her hand. "We both need an early night," she said.
I just looked at her.
I never seen her blush before. "No, Kylie," she said. "No."
"Why not?"
She didn't meet my eyes. "We have to talk but not now."
"I'm not going to play detective," I said. "I'll wait for
you to tell me what it is that makes it so impossible for us to-"
Actions speak louder than words, my mum always said. I took Ariana in my arms and kissed her. For a moment she responded, then she pushed me away. "This isn't going to work."
I didn't say anything as she prepared to leave. At the front door she paused. "The last thing I want to do is hurt you."
"Then don't."
She shook her head. "You make it sound so easy. And it isn't."
I stood there for a long time after she had gently closed the door behind her.
SEVENTEEN
I was exhausted, but that night I couldn't get to sleep. Thoughts rocketed around in my skull like maddened billiard balls until I despaired of ever getting any rest. Eventually, I gave up trying and, leaving Julia Roberts curled up at the end of the bed, went to make myself a glass of warm milk.
My mum always maintained warm milk beat any sleeping pill hollow, but it didn't work for me. Not feeling even faintly sleepy, I padded into my office and turned on my computer.
I had scanned through the papers from Oscar's envelope before I went to bed, and had some vague idea of what the quokka question might be. The pages headed "Australian Megafauna" were written in dense scientific language, but I got the general drift. Up until the Pleistocene epoch, only 20,000 years ago, Australia had been populated by an extraordinary number of gigantic species, many of which were jumbo versions of present-day marsupials. Diprotodon optatum was an enormous marsupial wombat the size of a rhinoceros, Procoptodon goliah a colossal kangaroo. There was even a huge carnivorous marsupial lion, Thylacoleo carnifex. Then, in the late Ice Age, these animals became extinct, the only evidence of their presence the fossils that they had left and the legends of the Aborigines.
The other scientific item in the envelope had been an extract of research by Diana Niptucker, Ph.D. The language had been so full of scientific jargon I'd given up it. Now, since I was awake anyway, I decided to use my time profitably and Google "Dr. Diana Niptucker." I reckoned she had an unusual name, so I wouldn't have to wade through a zillion possibilities to find out who she was.
Diana Niptucker turned out to be an expert on the fossils of the megafauna period. I got the impression she was regarded by the scientific community with some reserve, as she espoused rather radical theories about the extinction of Australia's huge marsupials. I was pleased to find she had a Web site, and that on that site she provided an e-mail address.
I whipped off an e-mail to her explaining that Dr. Oscar Braithwaite had hired Kendall & Creeling to investigate a contentious matter between himself and Professor Jack Yarrow. Dr. Braithwaite had referred to the quokka question but had not explained exactly what this was. As Dr. Braithwaite had recently met with an unfortunate accident-I thought it was wiser not to mention murder as a possibility- I wondered whether she, Dr. Niptucker, could throw any light on the matter of the quokka question.
Feeling I'd accomplished something, I sat back to consider whether it was worthwhile going back to bed. Probably not, as I still didn't feel sleepy. I looked at the Google logo on the screen. I could type in Natalie Ives's name and see what came up. I'd told Ariana I wouldn't play detective, but what would be the harm?
It took me ten seconds to decide I couldn't do it. Ariana would tell me in her own time. But what would she tell me? That she was committed to someone else? My mind skittered around the possibilities I'd considered a thousand times: Ariana was in love with a married woman who wouldn't leave her husband and kids; Ariana was totally devoted to the memory of someone who had died; Ariana pined for someone unattainable, who was in jail, or in the witness protection scheme, or on some covert mission overseas.
This was getting me nowhere. My glance fell on the undisturbed pile of garden shed brochures. Might as well look at them now. I spent the next few minutes reading through optimistic words about the wisdom of purchasing each particular brand of shed. I yawned. Maybe the warm milk was working after all.
I slept but not well. About dawn, when I was thinking I might as well get up, I fell into an exhausted slumber so heavy I didn't wake until I opened bleary eyes, hearing the unmistakable sounds of activity in the nearby kitchen, followed by an angry exchange. I couldn't make out the words, but the voices were those of Fran and Melodie.
I showered in haste, flung on casual student clothes-jeans, sneakers, and a T-shirt-and set off to get a fast bowl of porridge before I left for UCLA and another day of hard work preparing for the Global Marsupial Symposium.
I entered the kitchen to find Melodie and Lonnie but no Fran. Her expression thunderous, Melodie was toying with a bagel and cream cheese. Lonnie was chomping his way through a McDonald's pancake breakfast.
"Health food again?" I remarked to him.
"Our Melodie's upset," said Lonnie in a stage whisper. "Speak kindly to her."
"What's the matter?"
"Treachery," said Melodie, with a brisk hair toss. "That's what's the matter. I've been stabbed in the back."
Lonnie grinned at me. "Things didn't go terribly well at the auditions for Quip's play."
"Ashlee?" I said to Melodie. "She's been cast as Lucy/Lucas?"
"Not Ashlee," said Melodie with icy disdain. "Fran."
I was gobsmacked. "Fran's been cast as Lucy/Lucas?"
"How do you spell preferential treatment?" Melodie demanded.
I rightly assumed this was a rhetorical question, but Lonnie, grinning, obediently began to spell the words, and only stopped when Melodie slapped the side of his head.
"Ow! That hurt."
"Good," she snapped.
"I never realized Fran had ambitions to be an actor," I remarked.
Lonnie, nursing his ear, hooted. "Sweetheart, half of L.A. is writing a screenplay. The other half has ambitions to be an actor. It's that kind of town."
"The betrayal," announced Melodie, "is what hurts. Larry-my-agent says I have to roll with the punches, but as I said to Larry, it pierces your heart when a friend is disloyal."
"Disloyal?" Fran said from the doorway. "Oh, please! All I did was audition for a part."
"All you did," said Melodie in a cutting tone, "was to totally ruin the chances of someone with real acting ability to play a part she was born to play."
"Real acting ability?" said Fran with an acid smile on her china-doll face. "And who would that be?"
"Whoops," said Lonnie, "I'm outta here." He winked at me. "Battle of the Titans. And you've got a front-row seat."
"If Quip wasn't your husband, no way would you have a chance of getting that part." Melodie was all icy scorn. "Like, you've never even taken an acting class."
"You leave Quip out of this!"
"Besides," said Melodie with a sneer. "You're so short. No stage presence at all."
Crikey, Fran in full rage mode was a disturbing sight. "Short, am I?" she snarled, bouncing on her toes.
"Tiny, insignificant," snapped Melodie back at her.
"That's enough," I said. They both looked at me. I went on, as cool as Ariana, "Argue in your own time, not Kendall & Creeling's."
I held my breath. Calling their bluff was a dangerous strategy. If it didn't work, it would leave me looking weak.
Melodie was the first to speak. "This is all your fault, Fran," she said with dignity, before sweeping out of the room, her chin in the air.
Not letting my relief show, I said to Fran, "I've looked at the stuff you gave me on garden sheds. I can't see any are really suitable. We need something better, more substantial. There must be companies who'll supply and erect prefabricated structures that will better meet our needs."
"It'll cost more," said Fran.
"That's OK as long as we end up with something we can use."
We spent the next few minutes discussing the specifications, then Fran went off looking pleased, having been given the go-ahead to negotiate a deal on behalf of our company.
Ariana's coffee mug was missing, so I used my detecting skills to deduce she was probably in her office. S
he was, looking svelte in black. I described how I'd found Diana Niptucker's Web site last night, and sent her an e-mail requesting any information she had. Then I told Ariana I'd given Fran authority to purchase a storage structure, pending our final approval.
Ariana raised an eyebrow. "Tell me again why we need this extra space. Is it just because of Fran's disaster supplies?"
"Well, that's part of it, of course, but I did have an idea for some minor alterations."
"Why am I not surprised?"
I grinned at her sardonic tone, then told her my plan for taking over the present storage area for my sitting room, getting a bit carried away and waving my hands around. I finished with, "It'll be terrif to have more space."
"So you're here for the long haul?"
I frowned. "You mean am I staying? You know I'm not going home to Oz."
"You haven't thought of moving into something larger?"
"This suits me and Jules."
"Well," said Ariana, "we'd better work on finding somewhere to store the disaster supplies."
"I'm on it full bore," I said. "To the max."
Ariana cast a proprietary look around her black-and-white office. "But my room is off-limits, OK?"
" 'Strewth," I said, "that's put a spoke in my wheel. I was planning to knock down a wall or two here."
Ariana laughed, then sobered. "You are joking, right?"
"I may be," I said over my shoulder as I skipped out the door.
Driving along Sunset Boulevard to the campus, I had a sudden, jolting thought. I shook my head to unscramble my brains. When Ariana had mentioned me moving to something larger, she couldn't have met moving in with her, could she?
It was a lovely idea, and it buoyed me through two sets of red traffic lights and three SUV drivers rudely cutting in front of me. Then reality came crashing down. Ariana didn't want my love, so why would she desire my company? What she'd really been hinting at was that I should get out of Kendall & Creeling's building and into an apartment.
I arrived at the biology department in a bleak mood-not the state of mind required for my main task today, which was to win Erin Fogarty's friendship. Still, dissembling was a private eye's stock in trade, so I plastered a pleasant expression over my inner angst and headed for Georgia Tapp's office.