by Claire McNab
"Dave and I have been talking about the idea of you going undercover at Deerdoc," Elise said to me. "We think it might work. We've got a cover story. You're to be my cousin, looking for a temporary job while you're in L.A. On Monday Dave's going to tell his assistant to take a couple of weeks' vacation, so you can fill in for her."
"Kylie can't be seen to be associated with Kendall & Creeling," said Ariana.
"We've thought of that," said Dave Deer. "Kylie can move in here with us. That's what Elise's cousin would do, if she existed." He sent a toothy grin my way. "We've got plenty of room, I assure you."
I felt a pang of alarm. Had Dave Deer always had a shark's smile?
SEVEN
After Ariana dropped me off, I did my security rounds, had a shower, and then Julia Roberts and I had a good night's sleep. I only woke briefly when Jules had a full wash at three o'clock. By eight in the morning I was dressed, well breakfasted with porridge and tea, and had studied a street directory called the Thomas Guide. I was ready to brave the streets of Los Angeles.
Ariana had mentioned that both Lonnie and Harriet would be in later. Even though it was Saturday, background checks on Deerdoc staff had to be finished. She said she'd be in the office by eight-fifteen to show me the ins and outs of the Mustang. True to form, she was there on the dot.
Ariana opened the garage, and I saw the car she'd called my father's pride and joy. No way did its vibrant red self look almost 40 years old. Ariana stood with her hand resting on the hood, rather like she was soothing some thoroughbred animal, as she explained how she'd turned the engine over every week or so to keep the battery charged. Then she drove the Mustang out into the lane and painstakingly took me through everything she thought I should know.
I was impatient to get going. I undertook to keep chanting "Keep right! Keep right!" to override my natural tendency to veer left. Ariana wished me luck in a tone that indicated she believed I'd be needing it. I took off slowly, careful not to kangaroo hop down the lane, the engine rumbling with the promise of thrilling acceleration. Glancing in the mirror, I saw Ariana watching. I had a fair idea she had her fingers crossed. It was obvious she admired the Mustang but harbored severe doubts about me driving it.
Turning off Sunset onto Laurel Canyon, I let her rip in a minor way, enjoying the wind in my face-I had the windows down-and the feeling that somehow Dad was watching me and he approved of me driving his car. My concentration didn't lapse. I admonished myself to keep to the right. I didn't crunch the gears or run into anything. The red Mustang obediently climbed to the top of the canyon road, then hastened down the other side into a suburb I remembered from the directory was called Studio City. How exciting to be driving around the movie capital of the world!
It was awfully disconcerting to have the oncoming traffic on the left-hand side of the road, but after a while I congratulated myself that I was getting used to it.
I had some idea where I might get on one of the many freeways criss-crossing Los Angeles. Until I experienced the rush of joining that headlong stream of vehicles, I couldn't with any truth say I'd driven in L.A. It seemed a good omen when, after swooping down into the Valley, I found the 101 freeway on-ramp without difficulty.
In a mo I was whizzing along with the rest of the cars. The traffic was light, which I attributed to the possibility most people in L.A. were sleeping in this Saturday morning. I was thinking we were all moving well, but not particularly fast, until I remembered with a jolt the speedo was showing miles per hour, not kilometers. It didn't take long for me to find I belonged to the tiny minority in L.A. who used indicators. For everyone else it was all swoop and dive and-surprise!-I'm changing lanes.
This was fun. Daringly, I zipped into the fast lane, which would have been the slow lane in Australia. The Mustang was a glistening red bullet, and I was sure there were admiring glances coming my way.
Things were hunky-dory until I decided to exit the freeway and try the challenge of surface streets again. An off-ramp was coming up, so I zoomed down it, full of confidence. I'd aced this driving-in-L.A. routine, I was telling myself as I approached the intersection of the off-ramp and a suburban street. The traffic light was green, so I attempted the tricky double task of making a left turn, plus changing down a gear at the same time.
Yerks! Like any Aussie at home would, I sailed onto the left side of the road. Only stayed there a few meters until, thanks to blaring horns and flashing headlights, I realized what I'd done. I swerved back to the correct side. It was pure luck I didn't hit anyone, and I was congratulating myself a miss was as good as a mile, when I heard the siren.
Fair dinkum, I got the works from the cop in the patrol car- lights flashing, siren screaming, and then a woop-woop sound, plus his magnified voice booming "Pull over, driver."
I obeyed, all the while cursing myself for being a bit of a lair. I felt my face burn with embarrassment. Ariana had been right, and although I was fairly sure she wouldn't say "I told you so," I was damn sure she'd be thinking it.
As if she were beside me, I heard her last bit of advice before I'd taken off: "If you're pulled over, Kylie, keep your hands in plain view. The cops in this town tend to shoot first and ask questions later."
I'd laughed then. I wasn't laughing now. Still, I might just talk my way out of this sticky situation. Glancing in the mirror, I saw the cop get out of his car. He approached slowly, deliberately, paused to check out the plate at the rear, then came to the driver's window.
"G'day," I said, with a subdued smile. "Lovely day, isn't it?"
The cop was wearing the sort of dark glasses that reflect everything back at you, so I couldn't see his eyes. He hitched his belt, which was hung with multiple items, including, I saw with a prickle of alarm, a very deadly-looking gun.
He said, "License."
I fished around for my wallet, found my Aussie driving license, and handed it to him. He examined it closely, his expression perfectly blank. The odds I'd wriggle out of this one didn't look good. Still, it was worth a try.
"Crook photo." I indicated the license he was holding in this meaty fingers. "Makes me look like I'm dead on a slab, don't you think?"
"Residents of California are required to have a California license."
Before I could stop myself, I protested, "Fair crack of the whip, officer. Like, I've only been in the States two days!"
No change of expression. Could he possibly be a robot? The cop turned his head slowly to check out the location of my wrongdoing, then just as slowly swiveled it back my way again. That settled it: He was a robot. He said in a monotone, "You exited the freeway and turned onto the left side of the road."
Well, that was stating the obvious. I hastened to explain. "Blame jet lag. Flew in from Australia the day before yesterday. In Oz we drive on the other side, so I'm afraid I got a bit confused. No harm done, fortunately."
He ignored the hopeful don't-book-me-officer look I sent him. Plainly a man-or robot-of few words, he said, "Proof of ownership? Insurance?"
I dimly recalled Ariana mentioning insurance stuff was in the glove box. "You won't shoot me, will you, if I open the glove box?"
No response. Taking that for a pledge not to use deadly force, I rummaged around and discovered a flat wallet containing official-looking papers. I handed it to him, saying, "Actually, it's not my car-"
"Please step out of the vehicle."
Appalled, I stared at him. "You're not going to frisk me, are you?"
I'd seen enough TV cop dramas to visualize this mortifying process. Worse, since I'd been pulled over, the occupants of passing cars had been slowing down to have a look. They'd really have something to see if I got patted down while spread-eagled in an undignified position.
The cop barked, "Exit the vehicle."
I made one last try. "You're not going to book me, are you?"
He put his hand on his gun. That was enough for me. I got out of the car.
"So then what happened?" asked Lonnie through a mouthful of ham san
dwich. He, Harriet, and I were in the kitchen, which I was coming to recognize as the beating heart of the office.
I was feeling a bit rattled, having driven so carefully on the way back to Kendall & Creeling that I'd been tooted by several impatient drivers, and one had even yelled unkind comments about my relatives as he passed me. Even more depressing, I'd gotten lost several times and had to ask for directions.
I gave a squeeze to Julia Roberts, who I'd enticed to sit on my lap to comfort me after my ordeal. "So I get out of the car, and the cop asks me if I've had anything to drink, and I say, no, not unless he counts two cups of tea and a glass of orange juice."
"Good one," said Harriet.
"Unfortunately the bloke didn't have much of a sense of humor."
"Did he frisk you?" Lonnie's tone showed his strong hope I'd be answering in the affirmative.
"No. He just booked me."
"Moving violation," said Harriet.
"Traffic school," said Lonnie.
"What's traffic school?"
Lonnie and Harriet exchanged glances.
Harriet said, "It's hell."
"It's worse than hell," Lonnie said. "They take an entire day to bore you to death."
"Then I won't do it."
They both looked shocked. "You have to," said Harriet, "otherwise the violation's on your record."
"Is that so bad?"
"You have no idea," said Lonnie. "For one thing, your insurance goes sky-high. Believe me, traffic school, painful though it will be, is the only way to go."
"Traffic school?" Ariana was standing in the doorway, looking so cool and contained I imagined the air around her must be a degree or so colder than the rest of the room.
Time for humble pie. "You were absolutely right, Ariana. I shouldn't have taken Dad's car. I've come a gutzer."
A shadow of alarm crossed her face. "And a gutzer would be?"
"No worries, the Mustang's all right. What I mean is, I was really a mug lair this morning, sailing along thinking I had everything under control. But when I came off the freeway I got confused and drove on the wrong side. Not for long, but long enough for a cop to see me and lower the boom." I see.
"I should be thrashed within an inch of my life," I declared. The corners of Ariana's mouth curled. "I think traffic school will be punishment enough."
"It's that bad?" She actually smiled. "Worse than you can imagine."
I wasn't keen on moving to the Deers' mansion this weekend. The reason I gave Ariana was I didn't want to leave poor Jules alone in the place all Sunday, just when she'd got used to having me around. Ariana may have guessed it was also because I was feeling rather more at home here at the office and didn't want to leave it.
There was something else too. I didn't trust Dave Deer. On the mansion's front steps, when we'd all been saying our farewells the night before, his hand had lingered on my shoulder, and his smile had seemed tinged with a hidden meaning. Perhaps it was my imagination, but I didn't think so. Back at the pub I'd had to beat off enough passes from blokes who'd hit the booze too hard not to recognize a come-on when I saw it. I'd take a bit of time and work out my strategy before I jumped feet-first into trouble.
Ariana gave Harriet time off to take me shopping to buy something new for the party tonight. I'd been resigned to wearing my plum dress again, so this was a bit of a surprise.
I got my second surprise-not nearly as welcome-when we got back a couple of hours later. A leggy, cheerful woman was waiting for Harriet. "Hi, honey," she said, followed by a kiss and a hug. Then she smiled widely at me. "I'm Beth. You must be Kylie. Harriet's told me all about you."
Major disappointment. It seemed I could cross Harriet Porter off my wish list.
My mind was taken off this setback by the arrival of Dr. Deer's security chief to discuss my undercover role.
We met in Ariana's office. "Fred Mills," he said, extending one pudgy hand. He had one of those clammy, spongy handshakes that always make me want to wipe my fingers afterward.
Ariana, I noticed, avoided shaking hands at all by retreating behind her desk.
"I've been liaising with Fred over the missing disks," she said to me, "so he's fully in the loop."
Frankly, looking at the piggy eyes and loose mouth of the security chief, I had my doubts this was a good thing. Fred Mills was middle-aged and not wearing it well. He had a gut that threatened to pop the buttons off his shirt and a thick neck bulging over his collar. And I'd describe his expression as a smirk shading into an outright leer.
Hands on hips, he stood back to look me up and down. "Well, well, and this is the undercover babe, eh?"
I glanced over at Ariana. She disguised it well, but I caught a look of distaste before her face became professionally blank again.
"Jeez, Fred," I said, "haven't been called a babe since I was in nappies."
"Nappies?"
"Diapers," Ariana translated.
"Heh, heh." Fred apparently thought I'd made a joke of some sort. When no one joined in, he stuck out his lower lip, and said in a truculent tone, "No need to get on your high horse. I was just being friendly."
"That's bonzer, Fred. Thank you so much. And how are you?"
He blinked at my cheery tone. "Me? I'm all right."
"Good-oh," I said. "So let's get down to business. Who do you think took the disks?"
Fred narrowed his piggy eyes until they almost disappeared in folds of flesh. "I believe that's Kendall & Creeling's worry, not mine. I'm concerned with the security of Dr. Deer's professional building in Beverly Hills and, of course, his home."
"Aren't patient records part of what you're supposed to secure?"
His jowls jiggled as he shook his head. "No, no. That's medical. I don't touch medical."
Ariana said, "The in-depth background checks on Deerdoc staff we've been doing are turning up some anomalies. It's apparent that some people would not have been offered jobs if the information had been available."
We got the jowl ripple again as he shook his head some more. "Not my responsibility. That's human resources."
"What is your responsibility, Fred?" I asked with genuine curiosity.
He shot me a look that said Bitch! but his words were mild. "I'm in charge of all measures to keep Dr. Deer and his wife safe and free from harassment. That includes maintaining the integrity of the two buildings, and in the case of his home the surrounding grounds as well."
He seemed pleased with his answer, which had the sound of something rehearsed.
I should have resisted asking, but I didn't. "Isn't the theft of the files breaking the integrity of the building, even if the files themselves aren't your responsibility?"
Fred gave an irritated grunt. "Look, little lady, I'm a professional. Ariana here's a professional too. If you don't mind me saying so, you're an amateur. A rank amateur. I don't want to be unkind, but to be brutal, you don't know what you're talking about. And if it was up to me, you wouldn't be in the picture at all."
Ariana dispatched a warning glance in my direction, which I took to mean she wanted me to stop chiaking this bloke. So I did, listening with hardly a comment while he rabbited on about how I had to report to him if I noticed anything unusual or noteworthy.
When he stood to go, his good humor had been restored. With a superior smile, he said, "Could be you'll get out of your depth. Could be you actually find something useful. Whatever, just holler, little lady, and I'll be there. Just holler."
Ariana saw him out and came back amused. "Reassured?" she said with a sardonic lift of an eyebrow.
"Heaps. This little lady just has to holler. Simple, really."
EIGHT
Ariana couldn't be seen giving me a lift to the Deers' function, and I wasn't game to drive the Mustang at night, so Fred Mills was to pick me up. He arrived in a shiny, bulky black vehicle that looked as though a truck and an SUV had mated. The cabin had four doors, and then there was a short truck bed tacked on behind it. Neither fish nor fowl, my mum would say.
Thinking I might as well use the time with Fred to learn something useful, on the way I asked him questions about Deerdoc. He was delighted to be the expert, telling me more than he should about Dave Deer and his famous patients. Fred Mills had a loose mouth in more ways than one.
When we got to our destination the gates were open, manned by two burly guards with clipboards who checked us out then waved us through. Ignoring the fact that cars were queuing up behind us, Fred braked when he drew level with them. I figure he wanted to show off a bit. "Everything in order, men?"
"Yeah."
Fred's face darkened. "You mean, 'Yes, Mr. Mills.'"
"Yes, Mr. Mills." The guard's tone was insolent, but Fred didn't seem to notice.
We followed a stream of cars toward the house. "If you want to learn the inside story about security," Fred said, "you'll want to stick with me." His right hand hovered, as if he were going to pat my thigh. Lucky for him, he chickened out at the last moment.
Yerks! Fred's company on the drive over had been enough. Even if I had to hitch, I was getting back to Kendall & Creeling some other way.
The driveway near the house was lined with parked vehicles, lots of them bulky SUVs. When we got near the front door, there was a mini traffic jam. A couple of young men in black outfits were dashing around opening doors of arriving cars to let the passengers out, then leaping into the vehicles to drive them out of the way. Past the entrance was a bunch of big, black limousines lined up like beached whales. Drivers leaned against them, talking.
The house was lit up, just like last night, but this time there was noise. A buzz of conversation and music rose above the building like an invisible cloud. People were wandering everywhere. "Security must be a nightmare," I said to Fred, "seeing there's so many guests."