by Claire McNab
She shook her head despondently, her long blond hair flying around photogenically. It just wasn't fair the way she looked good, no matter what.
"The studio hasn't green-lighted the movie yet." A sigh. "And I've worked so hard on the Aussie accent. Malcolm, my voice coach, says Aussie's a terrific challenge. One in a thousand have the ear, you know. It's like having perfect pitch, my voice coach says."
I barely stopped myself from telling Melodie exactly what I thought of her voice coach, who clearly wouldn't recognize a genuine Australian accent if his life depended on it. Changing the subject to something safer, I said, "What happened to all the boxes that were here before?"
"The disaster stuff? Fran moved it. She wanted me to help carry the boxes to the store room, but I couldn't"—she flashed her fingers in my direction—"because I've just had my nails done and the polish is hardly dry. Like the color? It's new. My manicurist says it's the latest thing."
Melodie's nails were an odd sort of yellowish puce color. No way could I honestly admire them. Besides, technically she was my employee, and I was about to lower the boom. "Melodie, you promised, if you could, to schedule your auditions at lunch or after work," I said severely. "And I don't recall time for manicures was included."
Melodie blushed a little, but not much. "I knew Lonnie was looking after the phone, so..."
To her obvious relief, Bob Verritt, tall and scarecrow-thin, chose this moment to angle his way through the front door. He was juggling two big rectangular shapes wrapped in brown paper. I didn't need to ask what they were, and neither did Melodie.
"More old-movie posters?" she said with a touch of scorn. The walls in Bob's office were covered with framed posters from the decades Bob enthusiastically referred to as the golden age of film.
"Bringing Up Baby and The Unforgiven," he said, his homely face split in a grin. "Mint condition. Cost a fortune but worth every cent."
Melodie showed a degree of interest. "Did you say The Unforgiven7. I just love Clint Eastwood. He's an actor's director, you know. I can see myself working with him in a small, intense, meaningful movie."
"You've got the wrong movie," said Bob, resting the weight of the frames on the front desk. His knowledge of film lore always impressed me. "You're thinking of the early nineties film, Unforgiven. I'm talking about The Unforgiven, shot in 1960. My opinion? One of the best westerns of all time. Directed by Huston, it stars Burt Lancaster, Audrey Hepburn, Audie—"
"Yeah, very interesting," interrupted Melodie, her wide green eyes glazing over fast. She rallied to ask, "Bob, did you see me in the Refulgent ad last night?"
"As a matter of fact, I did. You were great."
"Oh?" Melodie was exceedingly pleased. "How was I great, exactly?"
Bob seemed puzzled. "Well, every way, I suppose. Just great."
"But how great? I mean, was it my appearance, or my interpretation?"
Bob frowned. "Interpretation? You didn't say anything."
It was Melodie's turn to frown. It was a sore point with her that she'd auditioned for a speaking part in the tooth-whitening ad, but ended up with an inferior role with no dialogue.
Too late, Bob realized what he'd said. "Of course you didn't need to use words," he declared hastily. "Your smile said it all."
"Really?" said Melodie, mollified.
She'd opened her mouth to ask him how her smile said it all, but Bob made his escape, saying, "Sorry, gotta go. Have to get these up on the walls."
He passed Fran, who was striding down the hall toward us with purpose on her face. "Kylie, I've been looking for you."
"And here I am." I waited with apprehension. Fran rarely wanted to see me about anything good.
Fran put her hands on her hips—she did that a lot—and declared, "The storage room is totally inadequate. Simply not big enough. We need more space."
"Well, if you didn't have forty gallons of water..."
Fran made an impatient gesture. "Water is essential for our continuing survival. Besides, there are more crucial disaster supplies coming. I've ordered gas masks."
"Stone the crows!" I said with a laugh. "Next you'll be telling me we're getting isolation suits for everyone."
Fran jutted out her shapely jaw. "And you don't think that's a good idea?"
I looked at her, speechless. She was fair dinkum!
"Where are we going to put all this stuff?" asked Melodie.
Fran fixed me with a militant stare. "I'm thinking a dedicated disaster annex," she said.
"So Fran took it rather to heart when I said I couldn't agree to having an annex dedicated to disaster supplies constructed at the back of our building."
Ariana and I were sitting in Ariana's stark black-and-white office. She'd turned up just as everyone else was leaving, which was bonzer, because I was dying to tell her all about Oscar and his possible attempted murder.
Ariana's lips twitched. "I imagine Fran wasn't happy with your decision."
I visualized Fran's face when I'd put the kibosh on her plan. Her porcelain skin had turned tomato-red, and for a moment I'd had a real fear she'd blow a gasket and fall lifeless at my feet. "You could say that."
"So where's she going to put all these disaster supplies? Is there really no space in the storage room?"
"Not a sausage," I said. "Besides, I've got an idea for that room."
A wary expression crossed Ariana's face. She'd already seen me go to work, knocking down a wall and installing a laundry alcove off the kitchen. "What sort of idea?"
"Tell you later," I said, not wanting to bring up a topic that would mean finding somewhere else to put all those office supplies. "Fact is, Fran's going to come to you direct. She says even if I don't, you will see the value of a disaster annex."
"I'm on your side, Kylie, all the way."
That gave me a ridiculous thrill. If it was only true about everything...
Wrenching my attention back to the matter at hand, I said, "Fran is a bit of a sad sack, isn't she? A proper miseryguts."
Ariana shook her head. Her pale, sleek blond hair was pulled back tightly in a chignon, so there was none of Melodies shampoo-commercial activity. "I blame Homeland Security," she said. "Fran always tends toward pessimism, and the colored alert levels have just made her worse."
"It beats me where she gets it from," I said. "I mean, your sister Janette's got what I'd call a sunny personality."
Fran's mother and Ariana's sister was quite a famous artist and was known only by her first name. Janette had a cheerful nature, though as I thought about it, she did paint some rather disturbing things. That could point to something pretty dark in the deep recesses of her mind.
Ariana raised her shoulders in a minimal who-knows shrug. I wished I could manage to convey as much as that so gracefully. I wished—
"Kylie?"
Oh, stone the crows! I was staring again, and I'd spoken to myself severely about that before. I said hurriedly, "Did you hear what happened to Oscar Braithwaite this morning, after he'd left our offices?"
"I ran into Melodie as she was leaving."
Enough said. Melodie was part of the receptionist network, and prided herself, as they all did, on being the first source of sensational information whenever possible.
I gave Ariana a detailed rundown on what had happened, and how I'd driven Oscar home and met his sister. As she always did, Ariana listened with close attention, her eyes on me the whole time. 'Strewth, it was uncanny how intensely blue they were. I wondered if the color would fade when she got really old, so there’d eventually only be a faint suggestion of the jolt a look from her could give. I'd like to be with her long enough to find out—
"As soon as possible," said Ariana.
"Sorry?"
"I said it would seem there's a lot to discuss with the Braithwaites, so we need a meeting as soon as possible. I'm free tomorrow morning."
"I'm on it," I said. "Can I use your phone?"
"Of course."
I've always had a head for figur
es, and I'd memorized Penelope Braithwaite phone number without difficulty. She answered at the second ring: "Braithwaite."
"Dr. Braithwaite, it's Kylie Kendall."
"Pen. Call me 'Pen.'" Her voice came roaring down the line and bounced against my eardrum. I moved the receiver further away. "What can I do you for, Kylie?" Hoot of laughter. Ariana raised an eyebrow.
Pen Braithwaite certainly was cheerful, considering her brother had just had a brush with death. I said with a suitably serious tone, "My partner and I have been discussing a meeting with you both, maybe tomorrow morning."
"Done! Time?"
I offered to hold the meeting at her apartment, as by tomorrow Oscar would certainly be feeling even more bruised and stiff, but Pen brushed that aside with a brisk, "Nonsense. It'll do him good to get out and about." She added heartily, "And Oscar says your partner's a bit of all right. I've always had a weakness for blonds. I can't wait to see for myself."
"Right-oh," I said, conscious that Ariana could hear every word the woman was bellowing. "So that'll be nine o'clock, here at Kendall & Creeling."
"Can hardly wait!"
I had the uneasy feeling she really meant it.
FIVE
It was such a beautiful early-summer morning that Julia Roberts and I had breakfast out in the backyard, which I'd furnished with a redwood table complete with big dark-green umbrella, matching chairs, and a reclining lounge with green all-weather cushions. I sat at the table with my porridge and a pot of tea. Jules reclined on the lounge, keeping a lazy eye on the bird life cavorting in the three trees.
The birds had the choice of citrus—lemon and lime—or an ancient jacaranda, and they were bouncing around making a hell of a racket. I thought this might be because of Julia Roberts, and that they were shrieking the equivalent of "Cat! Cat!" Then I noticed a gathering of crows on the roof, each an untidy bunch of glistening black feathers topped by a smooth head with bright, intelligent eyes and a murderous beak.
Crows in Australia were known to eat the babies of smaller birds, and I reckoned they would do the same here in the States. The nesting season was still underway, so the avian alarm in the trees was well-founded.
"Crows!" I said to Julia Roberts, pointing to the fat, curved red tiles of the roof. "Go get 'em."
One crow wandered casually down to the edge of the gutter and peered over. Jules gave the big black bird a desultory glance, then favored me with a wide pink yawn. It was apparent crow-scaring was not high on her to-do list.
"Gorgeous morning," said Harriet Porter, coming out the back door with a mug of ghastly herbal tea in one hand. I knew what it was from the brightly colored BlissMoments tag dangling down one side. Honestly, I could never understand how anyone could drink herbal tea, but Harriet gave every evidence of enjoying the stuff.
She sat down opposite me. "Sure I can't get you a cup of herbal tea?" she said teasingly. "Chamomile is nice. Calms and refreshes."
"Oh, please," I said. Harriet grinned.
She was working part-time at Kendall & Creeling while she put herself through law school. Soon, Harriet would be working rather less, as her pregnancy was well advanced. Harriet was one of those women for whom pregnancy was a breeze. Her chestnut hair was glossy, her complexion clear. She glowed with good health and never seemed to have her equanimity disturbed by things that would rile me and send Fran into a total hissy fit.
"I hear you have a client whose sister happens to be Dr. Penny of radio fame," Harriet said.
I sat back. "How did you know that?"
"One guess."
"Melodic"
Harriet nodded. "Melodie's a dyed-in-the-wool fan. Says she listens to the show every chance she gets."
"You'd better give me the good oil." When a faint shadow marred Harriet's sunny expression, I added a quick translation. "She and her brother are coming here this morning for a meeting with me and Ariana, so any background will be a help. What I'm asking is, what do you know about Dr. Penny and her show?"
"Sexuality Unchained is on after ten, and it's wildly popular. People call in and Dr. Penny answers any and all questions on sexuality— explains, gives advice, refers callers to other resources, and so on. No area's taboo."
"Blimey," I said, "that's a pretty wide field."
Harriet took a sip of her herbal concoction. I wrinkled my nose. I could smell it clear across the table. "It is," she said, "but I've never heard her thrown by a question."
"You listen to the program?"
"Sometimes." She laughed. "Often, actually. Dr. Penny's very entertaining."
"Does she take the micky out of callers? Send them up?"
"Not at all," said Harriet. "Dr. Penny treats every person's question seriously, even when it's obviously a setup. She gets a few of those."
"I bet she does," I said, thinking of sniggering little kids—of all ages—daring each other to make it through the screening to get to air with some puerile question.
"Dr. Penny opens and closes each session of Sexuality Unchained with a statement that sex is her great passion," said Harriet. "She gives every evidence that it is."
"I met her yesterday," I said. "She's a large woman in every way. It could be a bit quelling to be the object of her desire."
Harriet chuckled. "Dr. Penny proclaims herself proudly bi-sexual. She hasn't taken a fancy to you, by any chance, has she?"
"I've reason to believe she prefers blonds."
Harriet and I looked at each other and grinned.
"Your meeting this morning should be quite interesting," said Harriet.
Melodie called me from the front desk to say Oscar and Pen Braithwaite had turned up early for their appointment. Oscar, his hair even wilder than yesterday—I was betting he hadn't even combed it— was complaining under his breath, and was obviously in some pain. His sister seemed oblivious to his distress.
When I got there to collect them, Melodie was beaming up at Pen Braithwaite. "You're Dr. Penny! I just love your program!"
Pen Braithwaite beamed back. "Excellent. Do you have any question you'd like me to answer on air?"
Melodie looked rather nonplussed. "About sex, you mean?"
Pen flung her arms wide. "About sexuality. About the whole magnificent sweep of humanity's most intimate relationships."
Melodie blinked. "I can't think of anything at the moment, Dr. Penny, but thank you for asking."
She looked faintly alarmed when Pen leaned over her to inquire, "Have you plumbed the depths of your full, sexual being? Realized the sensual self in all its glory?"
"Urn..." said Melodie.
I broke in to ask Melodie to tell Ariana our clients had arrived, and then I led the Braithwaites down the hall to my office, Oscar shuffling and Pen striding as though on parade. On the way we passed Julia Roberts, who gave brother and sister the once-over, clearly came to the conclusion they had little to offer, and continued on her way.
My office had originally been my dad's, and I hadn't changed the furnishings. He hadn't been a gray man in person, but that was the color he'd chosen for the charcoal carpet and metal furniture. I'd jazzed the room up a little with a wall full of framed Australian wildlife photos, but otherwise it was as he'd left it.
"Nice," said Pen, making a beeline for the photos. "You take these? Yes? Professional standard—I'm impressed."
"I need coffee," said Oscar, lowering himself gingerly into a chair. "Strong black coffee with a lot of sugar."
His sister snorted. "Coffee! You'd be better off without that muck in your system, Oscar."
Yerks! Don't tell me I had another herbal tea addict on my hands. "We have BlissMoments herbal stuff," I said to her. "Would you like a cup?"
Deep loathing appeared on Pen's face. "More muck," she boomed. "What's wrong with honest-to-God tea, eh? That's what I drink. Black, no sugar, and certainly no artificial sweetener of any kind."
A woman after my own heart. "Be back in a mo," I said.
Zipping off to the kitchen, I found Harriet inspectin
g the contents of the refrigerator. "What's happened to the peach-and-mango tea," she asked plaintively.
She laughed at my mimed revulsion. "Chill it, Kylie. Life's too short to waste strong emotions on tea."
"Flavored tea."
Harriet asked me why I was wasting time in the kitchen, as Melodie had told her the famous Dr. Penny of radio fame was in my office.
When I said I was getting coffee and tea for Dr. Penny and her brother, Harriet offered to make it for me. Bonzer woman, Harriet!
Ariana was just opening my door when I galloped back from the kitchen. I followed her into the room. Pen Braithwaite swung around from the wall, where she'd been examining the photos, and said, "Ah! The Creeling of Kendall & Creeling, I presume."
Oscar struggled to his feet. "This is my sister Penelope Braithwaite."
Pen was looking narrowly at Ariana. "Have we met before?"
"I don't believe so."
Still obviously puzzled, Pen shook hands, then flung her considerable self into a chair. "You were a cop—an officer with the LAPD." She flashed big, very white teeth. "I do my homework, you see." A hoot of laughter. "That mainly means Googling. Amazing what you can find out when you Google."
Ariana's still face didn't change. "I was with the LAPD."
Ariana's cool tone would have got me off the topic fast, but Pen Braithwaite persisted. "Why did you leave the force?"
"For personal reasons." Before Pen could frame another question, Ariana continued, "Shall we discuss your brother's case?" Turning to Oscar, she said, "If an attempt to maim or kill you was made, this puts an entirely different complexion on the matter. I strongly urge you to report the attack to the authorities."
"There was a patrol cop there at the scene," said Oscar. "He was worse than useless, but he would have to report the incident, wouldn't he?"
"Did you tell the officer someone had pushed you into the traffic?"
"No chance to. I was too busy arguing with the bloody blokes who were trying to strong-arm me into the bloody ambulance. What do you call 'em here? Paramedics?"
"No cops," said Pen Braithwaite decisively. "Don't trust the wallopers. Never have."