Quokka Question

by Claire McNab

  "Everyone looks grim. Jack Yarrow says, superindignant, 'I can't imagine why she wants to attack me.' His wife sends a nasty smile his way. 'Because you seduced the silly little fool, Jack. And now you're trying to get out from under. I can understand her motivation-she wants revenge.'"

  "Nice and direct," said Ariana, "but is it true?"

  "Erin never mentioned being given the heave-ho by Yarrow, but she's not the most worldly graduate student on the block, so it's on the cards she hasn't noticed yet."

  Ariana looked thoughtful. "Why do you think they bought you in?"

  "To back up their theory that Erin's lost it. She sobbed most of the time I was with her, and it was hard work getting a coherent story out of her, but I didn't think for one moment she was bonkers."

  "Consider this " said Ariana. "Maybe Erin is stringing you along. She set up the rendezvous with Oscar and was there when he fell, either by accident or because she pushed him. Now she comes up with this conspiracy narrative, killing two birds with one stone. She punishes Yarrow for ending their affair, and she implicates a rival, namely Georgia Tapp."

  "Could be," I said, "but the tears she shed were real. She couldn't act that well."

  "They could be genuine tears because she's lost the man she's hopelessly in love with."

  I loved doing this brainstorming with Ariana. I beamed at her across the desk. "But if Erin is telling the absolute truth, we then have two possibilities. The first, that Georgia's cooked this up all on her own, and is lying through her teeth when she says Jack Yarrow instigated it. The second is that Yarrow came up with the plan and co-opted Georgia to help him out so that there'd be no direct link between him and Oscar's death."

  "Where does Winona Worsack fit in?" Ariana inquired.

  "She's worried about Jack Yarrow's rep, I reckon. Otherwise, I can't see why she'd care one way or the other about what Oscar might do at the symposium."

  "You've studied the science of detecting liars," said Ariana. "So who's lying and who's telling the truth?"

  "You're having a dig at me," I said.

  My Complete Handbook contained several chapters on lying, and I'd made a goal to master lie detection techniques. My mistake had been to let anyone know what I was doing. Fran, in particular, had made life hard for a few days.

  Ariana laughed. "Only a gentle dig. And I really want to know what you think."

  "Right-oh. Erin is pretty well telling the truth, although, of course, she has no idea how much of what she's been told is accurate. Georgia? She's crooked as a dog's hind leg, but some of what she said must be true. The problem is, which bit? And I don't like Jack Yarrow, so I'm biased. It's possible he isn't involved. There's only Georgia's word that he is, and now she denies she even said it to Erin."

  Picking up the phone, Ariana said, "I'm going to run this past Ted Lark. He'll certainly want to interview Erin Fogarty. And I'll mention you saw Wally Easton, and think he might be a possibility for Pen's stalker. I'd say, however, at least for the moment, Ted will want to concentrate on Erin Fogarty."

  I thought with a pang how upset she'd been that morning. "Erin's pretty upset at the moment. She won't take tough questioning well."

  "I'll tell him to be kind," said Ariana.

  I left her dialing, and went into the kitchen to feed Julia Roberts. About time, her expression said. "Salmon tonight, Jules. Gourmet stuff."

  Watching her eat-she was not a particularly refined as a diner-I began to brood. I was having myself on, thinking I could learn to be a P.I. Hey, I couldn't even tell who was lying to me. I wasn't a private detective's bootlace.

  I forced myself to be honest. It was Ariana gently mocking me that had started this downward trend in my mood. It was Ariana having a secret she wouldn't tell me. It was me loving Ariana and her not loving me…

  "I'm going to have it out with her," I said to Jules. "Right now."

  Jules kept on eating.

  NINETEEN

  She looked up when I opened her office door. Without ceremony, I said, "Do you still want to buy my fifty-one percent of Kendall & Creeling?"

  Clearly surprised, Ariana said, "You've changed your mind? It's for sale?"

  "Not really. I was wondering if you even now had hopes of buying me out."

  Ariana sat back in her chair, her expression unreadable. She knew from experience I was unlikely to let a silence stretch very long without breaking it. This time would be different, I told myself.

  I felt a flicker of sour triumph when she spoke first. "I haven't mentioned the subject lately, so why are you bringing it up now?"

  I hadn't meant to say them, but the words tumbled out. "If you bought me out, Ariana, you'd get rid of me. I'd get out of your life."

  "Kylie, do you really think that's what I want?"

  "I don't know what you want. That's the problem."

  We both knew I wasn't referring to our jointly-owned company. We sat there, one on either side of her black desk, staring at each other. Ariana looked away first.

  "All right," she said, "I'll tell you what you need to know, but not here. Let's go up to my place. We can sit down, enjoy a drink"-she gave a small, sardonic laugh-"and have a civilized conversation."

  She went in her car: I went in mine. It was getting dark, and the curving road up into the Hollywood Hills seemed subtly ominous. It was leading to…what? I was cold with apprehension. Whatever she would tell me would make a difference; of that I was sure. The quality of that difference was the unknown factor.

  Gussie greeted us with enthusiasm. German shepherds are such handsome, personable dogs. "You have presence, Gussie," I said to her. "It's an admirable characteristic." She smiled, obviously agreeing with me.

  Ariana poured two glasses of red wine and gave me one. I took it to be polite. I didn't want anything to drink.

  We sat opposite each other in her rose-colored lounge chairs, a low table between us. Beside us was a long plate glass window that provided a stunning view of Los Angeles at night, stretched out in patterns of light.

  "Kylie, this is so hard. I'm not sure how to begin." She looked out a the city lights, so far below us. "What do you think I'm going to say?"

  "I reckon you're going to tell me there's someone else."

  Ariana gazed at me for a long, long moment. Then she said, "There is someone else."

  I believed I'd prepared myself to hear something like this, but it was still a sickening jolt. "Who is it?"

  "Does it matter?"

  A pulse of anger sharpened my voice. "Of course it matters, Ariana. It matters a lot." When she didn't respond, I said, "She gave you that ring, didn't she?"

  Ariana looked down at the heavy gold signet ring she always wore. "Yes."

  "It's Natalie Ives, isn't it?"

  Such raw pain filled her face that I was stunned. "Oh, Ariana," I said, "I'm so sorry…"

  She let out her breath in a long sigh. "I'll tell you everything, Kylie. And then you'll…you'll understand how impossible it is for us-" She broke off and shook her head. "I haven't been fair to you."

  "Be fair to me now. Let me in on the secret."

  "Secret?" Her lips twisted. "Some secret."

  My heart was thudding, not with passion but with fear. "Go on. Please."

  Ariana took a sip of her drink, put it down, and after a deep breath, began. "I met Natalie when I was a rookie cop in the LAPD and she was an eminent English professor at UCLA. I was in my early twenties, Natalie was forty-one. I was dazzled by her wit, her knowledge, the sheer excitement of being with her. For my part, I adored her from the beginning but was amazed when Natalie fell in love with me."

  She paused, looked at me for the first time since she'd mentioned Natalie's name. "Natalie wasn't in the closet, but I was. The macho atmosphere of the LAPD at the time was so hostile to gays that being out wasn't a realistic option. For simple self-preservation I kept our relationship secret at work. Your father was one of my closest friends. He too was concealing the fact he was gay."

  I thoug
ht with a stab of grief how I'd never really known my father. Ariana had been closer to him than I'd ever been.

  Ariana, her shoulders resolutely squared, continued in her clear, cool voice. "Natalie loved the water, so we pooled our resources-mine weren't great at that stage-and bought a little house near the beach in Santa Monica." A reminiscent smile lit her face. "We had so much fun renovating that little place. We painted walls; we raided yard sales; we planted a garden, even acquired a kitten."

  "Priscilla?"

  "Yes, Priscilla."

  For a moment, Ariana seemed lost in memories. I said, "And then what happened?"

  "Nothing happened, at least not for a long time. We were so happy together. Every day with Natalie was a delight. Career-wise, I advanced in the LAPD, and Natalie gained even more renown in academic circles. Our life was close to perfect. Then one day, Natalie was unexpectedly late. When she finally arrived she was confused and upset. She told me she'd got lost, driving home from UCLA, although she'd driven from Westwood to Santa Monica countless times and knew every route, every back street, every shortcut."

  Ariana drew an uneven breath. "I can still remember how a chill of dread touched me, even as I reassured Natalie that this had happened because she was overworked and tired. Suddenly, little incidents over the past year I'd not remarked upon-things Natalie had forgotten to do, the times she mixed up people's names, the faint puzzled expression she sometimes wore-became terribly significant."

  Ariana's expression was achingly sad. "A few days later I found Natalie crying brokenheartedly. She said that something was terribly wrong, that more and more a gray heaviness was clouding her mind." Ariana's eyes filled with tears. "Her fine, elegant mind."

  I wanted to go over to her, to comfort her, but knew I couldn't. Instead, I said, "Alzheimer's disease?"

  She nodded slowly. "The diagnosis was early-onset Alzheimer's. We told each other it'd be OK, but both of us knew we were lying. Natalie and I did the round of specialists. We tried every treatment they suggested, but it was clear the disease was inexorably advancing. Natalie was distraught when she realized what lay ahead for both of us. I remember her saying that she felt she was slowly dissolving, becoming less of herself every day."

  I said nothing. What could I say? I tried to visualize what it must have been like for Ariana-for both of them-but I knew the reality had to be much worse than I could imagine.

  Ariana got up and moved restlessly about the room. "Natalie couldn't bear for anyone to know what was happening to her. I promised her I'd keep it secret from everyone but a few close friends. She took early retirement and dropped out of academic circles altogether. I tried to arrange my workload to spend every possible moment with her. Soon it became obvious that being a cop and looking after Natalie were not compatible. I had irregular hours, was expected to be available on short notice, often at night. Natalie was becoming more dependent and needed a structured, fixed routine to help her cope."

  "That's where my dad comes in?"

  Ariana sat down opposite me again. "Your dad was wonderful. Colin and Ken, his partner, had often made up a foursome with Natalie and me. When she was diagnosed with Alzheimer's, they were both so supportive. A few years earlier, your father had left the LAPD and started Kendall Investigative Services. He offered me a partnership, pointing out that I could schedule my time so Natalie would have that necessary routine in her life. It was a wrench to leave the force, but I'd do anything for her, and for a long time it worked out well. I employed a retired nurse to be her companion during the day, and I was there for Natalie every night."

  Ariana fixed me with her blue, intense gaze. "I promised her I would always love her, always be there for her-would never leave her." She looked down at her hands. "I underestimated Alzheimer's and overestimated myself."

  Where was Natalie now? Was she in some care facility? Or had she died? If it were me, I thought I'd rather cease to exist man face such inescapable deterioration of my mind, and eventually, my body.

  "I kept her at home with me as long as I could. But it became impossible. It was obvious Natalie needed twenty-four hour professional care. It was the hardest thing I ever did, to put her away in an intensive-care home."

  Her lips trembled. I wished with all my heart I could simply take her in my arms and say everything will be all right. But of course, it wouldn't.

  After a moment Ariana continued, "She went without fuss or tears-I was the one who wept. I go to see her at least once every week. Outwardly she's the woman I've loved for so many years, but inwardly there are only flickers of her true self. She only sometimes recognizes me. Often I can see she's puzzled but polite to this stranger who seems to know her so well."

  She gave me her direct, cool look. "Now you know."

  "Now I know."

  "And you see why it's impossible for us-you and me."

  A wave of protest rose in my throat. "I don't see why it's impossible at all."

  Ariana's face hardened. "I made Natalie two promises: to always love her, and to never leave her. I broke the second promise. The first I'll never break."

  TWENTY

  Tuesday morning I felt groggy from lack of sleep. Horribly aware that I'd been venturing into an emotional minefield, I'd left Ariana shortly after she had responded so negatively to my protest that a relationship between us was not, as she claimed, impossible. When I'd finally forced myself to go to bed, the whole scene kept replaying over and over in my head. And when I dozed, I dreamed disjointed, disturbing dreams, full of loss and grief.

  To finish off a perfect evening, Mum had called me just before I turned out the light.

  "Am I disturbing something, darling?"

  "No, Mum, of course not."

  "Are you sure?"

  Sorry for myself, I wanted to snap, Yes, Mum, you're disturbing something-the day I found out I'm doomed to pine forever for a woman I adore so much it hurts. I said, "I'm sure."

  "I got your letter today." Her tone was gloomy. "Your handwriting indicates you're not being entirely honest with me, Kylie."

  I was short with her. "I don't see how it can, since I was."

  "You may not realize you're not telling the whole truth," my mum conceded, "but handwriting never lies."

  I didn't say anything but silently cursed the day my mother had decided to do that handwriting analysis course at Wollegudgerie High.

  Mum cleared her throat, which usually signaled she was about to embark on a new subject. "I don't know if you realize how very disturbing it is for a mother to have her only child living in a dangerous place like Los Angeles."

  Oh, groan!

  To counterattack, I said, "Why didn't you tell me I was on an Australian TV show? I had to hear about it from someone else."

  "Who?" Mum was obviously playing for time.

  "Just someone," I said vaguely. I didn't want to mention Oscar's name, because if I did, I'd be duty bound to tell my mum that he was dead, and worse still, that he'd died violently.

  "Frankly, Kylie," said Mum in a confidential tone, "the program was rather an embarrassment, so I didn't mention it."

  I recalled that Oscar had thought it was called "Aussie Chicks Make Good." I asked Mum if that was the tide.

  "Something along those lines," she said." 'Aussies O.S. Make Good,' I think it was, but it was a trashy show, not worthy of you, darl."

  "How did they know about me in the first place?"

  "Nephew Brucie," said Mum, obviously disgusted. "He took it upon himself to call the network when they ran an ad asking for stories of ordinary Aussies being successful overseas. And he supplied photos of you too. If I'd have known, I would've stopped him quick smart, but needless to say, Brucie wouldn't dream of checking with me."

  Depressed though I was, a spark of interest made me ask, "Did you j record the show?"

  Silence. Then, "I might have."

  "Will you send it to me, please?"

  My mother reluctantly agreed. Now I was definitely interested in what the program
contained. "What did it say about me, Mum?"

  "Oh, I don't know…something about you going to L.A. to run a private investigation company" she said vaguely.

  "Was it complimentary?"

  She dodged that question by saying, "It wasn't accurate. For one thing, it said you were taking steps to become a private eye yourself." lam.

  Silence. If it was something Mum really didn't want to hear, she ignored it. At last she said, "I have to admit the item about you was very short, like all the others, but it was rather flattering. You know how those TV types like to put a gloss on things."

  Now I had an inkling of the devious motive that had kept my mum quiet about the program. "You didn't mention me being on TV because you thought it might influence me to stay in America. Is that right?"

  "It may have crossed my mind."

  "Crikey, Mum, you must think I'm shallow."

  "Not shallow, Kylie darling, but anyone's head can be turned."

  Any other time I would have had a bit of a barney with her over this, but last night I'd felt too down in the dumps to bother. We'd chatted for a few minutes longer about what was going on at the pub, then I'd made the excuse I was tired, and we'd rung off.

  In the morning I didn't feel much better. I couldn't stomach breakfast, so I skipped my usual kitchen routine. Besides, I couldn't face talking to anyone yet, especially Melodie or Fran, who were no doubt still warring over Quip's play. Showered and dressed, I vowed to myself that today I'd make progress on the case. Ariana might not desire me as a lover, but she was going to admire me as a business partner, or I'd die in the attempt.

  Before I left I went to my office to check my e-mail, in the hope that Diana Niptucker had replied to my message, but there was nothing from her. My cell phone rang just as I picked up my things to go out to the car.

  "Kylie, it's Quip. I'm outside in the backyard. I need to see you desperately. And for God's sake, don't let Fran know I'm here."

  When I pushed open the back door, a perfect morning greeted me, warm but not hot, full of sunshine and joyous nature…and an agitated Quip. "What's up?" I said.