KK01 - Wombat Strategy

by Claire McNab

  WOMBAT STRATEGY

  Book 1 of the Kylie Kendall series

  Claire McNab

  ONE

  "G'day. I’m Kylie Kendall." I thrust out my hand. "And I reckon you’re Ariana Creeling."

  The woman seated behind the broad, black desk had pale blond hair, pulled back from her still, cool face. I immediately wished I had eyes like hers—icy blue. Mine are boring brown.

  She repeated, "Kylie Kendall?" as if I’d unexpectedly popped out of a hole in the ground and she had no idea what to do with me. Then she got up and came round to shake my hand with a fast, hard pressure. "I’m Ariana Creeling. Again, may I say how sorry I am about your father."

  I’d spoken to her once before, on the phone when she’d rung from Los Angeles two months ago to say my dad had suddenly died. I’d been shell-shocked by the news, but still could remember how I liked her American voice. Now that we were face-to-face, her accent didn’t seem quite so strong.

  She was older than me, almost as tall, and she needed to put on some weight. Of course, black’s slimming, like my mum always tells me, so the fact Ariana Creeling was wearing black from head to foot—black top, black pants, black high-heeled boots—probably made her look thinner than she really was.

  I looked down at myself. Quite a contrast. No one’s ever called me skinny, plus I hadn’t had time to change from the plane, so I was in jeans and a T-shirt, both a bit grubby. What I wouldn’t have given for a hot shower, after twelve hours in a Qantas jet. "I’ve come straight here from the airport," I said.

  "You flew from Australia today? You must be tired." She didn’t sound too concerned, but at least she added, "Would you like coffee?"

  "Tea? Tea would be great. Black, two sugars."

  Ariana picked up the phone and pressed a button. "Melodie?"

  I had a fair suspicion she wasn’t going to get a reply. "Hope I’m not dobbing someone in," I said, "but there was no one at the front desk. The sign said Melodie, but Melodie wasn’t there. Waited around for a bit, then shoved my suitcase behind the chair and came looking for you."

  "I imagine she’s off on one of her many auditions." Ariana didn’t sound too chuffed about it. "Make yourself comfortable. I’ll be back in a moment."

  Too restless to sit, I slung my shoulder bag onto a chair, shoved my hands into the pockets of my jeans, and began to stalk around the office. Diffuse light poured in through a skylight, emphasizing the room’s white-walled starkness. There was a black desk, its surface bare of anything but a telephone and an onyx desk set. A plain, high-backed chair sat behind it. The filing cabinets were black too. Near the window were two black leather lounge chairs separated by a white marble coffee table. The floor was dark polished wood with a couple of rugs with geometric designs in earth colors. There were a few framed photos on the wall behind the desk, mainly groups of LAPD cops in uniform. It wasn’t difficult to pick out Ariana, as she’d scarcely changed from the hard-faced, narrow-eyed cop she’d been when the shots were taken.

  She came back with two steaming mugs. "Coasters," she said, indicating with a jerk of her head a pile of them sitting on top of the filing cabinets.

  "Right! Coasters." I grabbed two, and was heading for the comfort of the lounge chairs when I noticed she was on her way to her seat behind the desk. So that was how it was going to be. I reversed direction, plunking one coaster on her side and one on mine.

  I looked suspiciously at the mug she set down in front of me. A teabag was floating in it, and the smell wasn’t what I’d expected. "Is this tea?"

  "Herbal."

  I inspected the little tag on the string. BlissMoments, it said. Jeez...

  Waving me to a chair—a spindly thing with a tall back and a sort of black leather sling for a seat—she said, "I’m very surprised to see you here, Ms. Kendall. I had no idea you were visiting the States. If I’d known, I’d have arranged for someone to meet you at the airport."

  "Call me Kylie. Everybody does. Sorry to lob in on you like this, but I didn’t know I was coming until the other day. Sudden impulse, know what I mean?"

  This one looked like she’d never had a sudden impulse in her life, but then again, I’d only just met her, so it wasn’t fair to judge.

  "You’re here on vacation?" she asked.

  "Business, really." She raised one eyebrow just a fraction, so I added with my best mischievous grin, "To be straight-up with you, I’m here to collect my inheritance."

  Crikey, that got a reaction. "Pardon me?" When this sheila frowned, it was like a light went out in her face. "Your visit isn’t necessary," she snapped. "My attorney has been in touch with your..." She waved a hand around, searching for the word. I noticed she was wearing a heavy gold signet ring.

  "Solicitor," I said helpfully. "That’s what they’re called in Oz. Bluey Bates. He’s the best solicitor in Wollegudgerie. Not hard to be, since he’s the only one." She didn’t crack a smile at that, so I went on, "Bit of a bush-lawyer, but Bluey’s got his head screwed on right. He told me you want to buy the fifty-one percent of Kendall and Creeling my dad left me."

  I hadn’t believed it when the Los Angeles lawyers had got in touch and said Dad’s will gave me a controlling share of his private-eye business, a chunk of money, plus some old car he’d restored.

  Ariana’s eyes were like twin blue lasers. "I have forty-nine percent, as you know. I need to consolidate in order to run the company effectively. I believe my offer’s a fair one. However I am willing to negotiate—"

  She broke off as the phone on the desk shrilled. Excusing herself, she picked up the receiver. "Melodie? Oh—Lonnie. Melodie’s not back yet?" She listened, then said, "He’s here already?" She checked her watch, a neat gold number. "Give me a couple of minutes, then show him in."

  I got up, clutching the mug of pretend-tea. "You’ll want me to make myself scarce, then?"

  "If you don’t mind. I have an appointment with a client. We can continue our conversation later, but I do want you to think over my offer. As I said, it’s negotiable."

  "Fact is," I said, "I’m thinking about staying in LA. I was born in the States, and got a Yank passport, so no worries about working."

  "Working?"

  "I know I’ll have to do some pretty tough training, but I’ve never been afraid of hard work. And I’ve done the self-defense course the Wollegudgerie Police Club put on."

  "The Wollegudgerie Police Club?"

  I ignored the hint of incredulous amusement in her voice. "Too right," I said. "And I’m not skiting, but I wasn’t too bad, if you can believe it. Tossed the captain of ‘Gudge’s footy team over my shoulder, no trouble."

  Ariana didn’t look the slightest impressed, so I went on, "I’m not a total no-hoper, you know. For one thing, I’m a crack shot with a rifle and fair enough with a shotgun. Never fired a handgun, though, as you can’t get them in Oz the way you can here."

  She was tense as a coiled spring behind her desk. "Why are you telling me this?"

  "I’m deadset keen. You won’t be sorry."

  Her jaw absolutely dropped. "Oh, no, you’re not..."

  "Yeah," I said, "I’m thinking of becoming a private eye. Like, how hard can it be?"

  TWO

  As I juggled my shoulder bag and the mug outside in the hall, I caught a glimpse of a man on his way to Ariana's office. He was a big bloke, and he looked vaguely familiar. Not wanting to get into a conversation, I hoofed it down a whitewashed hallway looking for the kitchen. No way could I drink this BlissMoments stuff. Maybe there was some proper tea somewhere. Finding a cactus planted in a tall jar, I poured the contents of my mug around it, figuring something as tough as a cactus could survive even herbal tea.

  I had a feeling I was being watched. Sure enoug
h, there was a big, tawny cat sitting in the hallway looking blankly at me. "Hello, cat," I said.

  It blinked at me slowly, twitched a whisker in a sneer, then got up and walked off, giving a little flick to its tail as it passed. Even the cat didn't like me.

  Out of sight around a corner, I slumped against the wall. Things were grim. My dad was dead before I'd even got to know him. Back in Wollegudgerie was Raylene, the woman I'd believed was The One, but last week she'd given me the heave-ho for someone else. On top of that, Mum was getting married again, and three was going to be a definite crowd. Then on an impulse I'd hopped a plane and traveled to a country I didn't remember from my childhood, to find Ariana Creeling making it very clear I was a lot less than welcome. And to top it all, I was jet-lagged.

  I wiped my eyes with the back of my hand and straightened up. So today wasn't the best. I was bloody well not going to let it get me down.

  From the little I knew of him, I thought my dad would be disgusted with me for being such a sook. I was guessing about that, because the only chance I'd had to spend any time with him, apart from when I was a really little kid living in Los Angeles, had been a couple of years ago when he'd lobbed into Wollegudgerie and given Mum the shock of her life, because she hadn't thought she'd ever see him again.

  The way Mum told it, she'd fallen in love with a visiting Yank who was all man and then some, married him, and moved back to the States to set up house. A year later she had me. Dad joined the LAPD and everything was hunky-dory until he announced he'd realized he was gay and was in love with another bloke—a builder who'd been doing alterations to the house. Dad left the police and started a security business; Mum divorced him and moved back home to the 'Gudge, where she bought the local pub.

  Mum always blamed the pollution for Dad turning gay. Said he'd never had ideas like that until they'd lived in the Los Angeles smog for a few years.

  Opal mining is Wollegudgerie's main business, which means there's pretty well no pollution, so she couldn't blame the air quality when at 17 I told her I was sure I was gay too. Mum said it was a phase, and I'd grow out of it. I didn't.

  Dad paid support for me until I was 16, but the money was sent direct to Mum's bank account. She'd heard nothing from him for years, and he never even remembered my birthdays, so it was quite a surprise when he appeared out of the blue. I'd only seen him in old photographs and wasn't prepared for this handsome stranger who looked a bit like me. I'd gotten my dark hair, brown eyes, and olive skin from my mum, who's part Aboriginal, but now I could see I had my father's nose and hands and height.

  Though a bit stunned, Mum was pleased to see him, because, as she said, it wasn't like he'd thrown her over for another woman. She asked him what had happened to Ken, the guy he'd fallen for, and he said they'd lived together until recently, when Ken died. I remember he got tears in his eyes when he said Ken's name.

  Anyway, Dad and I got on like a house on fire, straight off. He told me all about the private-eye business, how he'd started Kendall Investigative Services as a loner but then taken in a partner, a woman who'd been a cop in the LAPD, so the company had been renamed Kendall & Creeling Investigative Services.

  I was kicking myself now for not ever having asked him if Ariana Creeling was gay, but how was I to know I'd need that information? I'm just not good at the gaydar thing, and the only vibes I'd got from Ariana so far were pretty hostile. Could hardly blame her, with me suddenly turning up to throw a spanner in the works.

  After his visit, Dad and I had kept in touch by phone and e-mail. As far as anyone knew, he was in perfect health, but then he'd had a sudden, fatal heart attack. He'd never even hinted that he was leaving me his share of the business, so his will came as a big surprise—but not half the surprise it must have been for Ariana.

  I heard someone behind me and turned around. "Hi," said a bloke coming down the hall. He was trying to hide it, but he walked with a slight limp. He'd leave the kind of track in the bush that'd be child's play to follow.

  He stared at me with open curiosity, then cocked his head and frowned, probably seeing some family resemblance. "Can I help you?" he asked.

  I waved the mug. "Looking for the kitchen."

  "Right here." He gave me the once-over. "I'm Lonnie. And you...?

  "Kylie." I gave him the once-over back. He was a little shorter than me and rather chubby, with a roundish face complete with dimples. He had straight, floppy brown hair that fell over one eye, and I'd guess when he was a kid someone had told him he had an adorable smile, because he was giving me a little-boy grin that I had to admit was pretty disarming.

  I grinned back at him. "My dad was Colin Kendall."

  His smile disappeared. "I'm so sorry. Your father was a great guy. It was terrific working for him."

  "What do you do here?"

  "The technical side—computers, tuners, scanners, anything electronic. Want to know everything about a certain someone? You come to me. All I need is a name and a social security number and I'll tell you a person's finances, credit rating, driving record, any criminal charges...and that's just the beginning."

  "Crikey. What happened to privacy?"

  Lonnie laughed like I'd said something funny. "Long gone, honey. Long gone."

  I opened a cupboard and gazed hopefully into it. "You think there's any decent tea around here somewhere?"

  "The tea bags are right in front of you."

  With growing revulsion I examined the brightly colored assortment: dandelion root, peppermint, strawberry, mint, ginseng. Not a genuine tea leaf in the lot. "These are flavored. Beats me how anyone can drink them."

  Spooning coffee into a percolator, Lonnie said, "Fifteen minutes, tops, you can have some of this."

  I usually don't drink coffee, but I was starting to wilt pretty badly, so a caffeine jolt sounded good. "Right-oh. I'll have a dekko while I'm waiting."

  "Dekko?"

  "A look around." I frowned at the heavy black wood of the kitchen door. The same as Ariana's office door, it was studded with fat brass buttons. So, I recalled, was the front door. And the building itself, clearly once a house, was a bright sort of pinkish-ocher color. I asked, "Is this place in some sort of particular style?"

  "Spanish," said Lonnie, screwing up his face. "Pseudo-Spanish, actually. Very big in Southern California."

  He leaned against the counter and crossed his ankles, looking like he was settling in for a long chat. I didn't feel like nattering on, so I said bye and went off exploring.

  Finding the back entrance, I stepped out into the glare. This door was plain, made of metal painted dark brown. It was on a spring, and it slammed shut behind me, so I'd have to go around the front to get in again. The sun had a bite. It was late autumn Down Under, so it had to be late spring here. Half the yard was taken by a garage; the rest was filled by a couple of citrus trees— a lemon and a lime—plus a jacaranda, heavy with purple blooms, that hung half over the high back fence. The garage door was locked, and the back gate was barred with metal rods secured by padlocks. Standing on tiptoe, I could see a narrow laneway.

  I turned around to survey the house. It sort of squatted there, its thick stucco walls supporting a roof of fat, curved terra-cotta tiles. High up, the dark brown ends of several beams protruded from the walls. There were dark brown shutters on each window, but they were fakes: They looked like they'd just been flung open but were really screwed into the wall as fixtures. Every single window at the back and down the side when I made my way there was barred, like the place was a prison. Good luck if there was a fire inside and you wanted to get out.

  On my way along the side of the house I peered through one window and found the room contained a bed and dresser. Pressing my nose to the glass, I saw the open door of what looked like a bathroom with a shower recess. Right then I imagined what bliss it would be to stand under a spray of hot water.

  I made it to the front, where the taxi had dropped me off. "Sunset Boulevard," I'd announced when I'd got in at LAX, a bit thrill
ed to be saying such a famous name. The driver, a sour bloke with a droopy mustache, twisted round and gave me the hairy eyeball. "Sunset's a long boulevard. Where?" I'd passed him Kendall & Creeling's address, and he just grunted and took off like a startled kangaroo. Never said another word, even though I tried a couple of friendly comments.

  What would have been the front garden had been turned into a parking area, then there was a courtyard leading to the entrance of the building. The courtyard had a red terra-cotta floor and a fountain in the middle dribbling water in a halfhearted sort of way.

  I wandered around the parking area trying to match a car with Ariana Creeling. The most impressive vehicle was a white Rolls Royce convertible with the license plate deerdoc. It hadn't been in the lot when I'd arrived, so there was no way it was Ariana's. Actually, I had her pegged for the dark blue BMW. The Beemer wasn't new, but whoever owned it kept it looking sharp.

  As I was standing there, feeling totally bushed and in desperate need of that coffee, a bright red convertible came roaring through the gates and nearly skittled me. "Watch it!" I said.

  The driver was the missing Melodie. I wasn't psychic. Her license plate said melodie and had musical notes dotted all over it.

  "Oh, sorry," she said, whipping off her sunglasses and unfolding herself from the cramped driver's seat. "Didn't see you."

  I'd thought Ariana a bit on the light side, but this one was famine thin. She had masses of blond hair, high cheekbones, wide green eyes, and teeth so white they reflected sunlight.

  "How did the audition go? You ace it?"

  Melodie looked startled for a moment, but she didn't mind talking about herself, even if she had no idea who the hell I was. She lugged a huge makeup bag from behind the seat. "Real well," she said. "Going for the second lead. I'll get a call-back, I just know it."

  She had a silvery voice to go with her name. And terrific legs—on display, as she was wearing a miniscule skirt and high heels that would've hobbled me permanently. We set off across the parking area, Melodie trotting along quite nimbly, considering her heels, and going on about her audition.