Kylie Kendall Mystery: The Wombat Strategy Part 12

"What's Tiffany do?" I asked.

Melodie pouted. "She's a professional gift buyer. Like, she could take time off easily"

"What's a professional gift buyer?"

"Tiffany works for Superior Gifts Plus. She shops for stars but never meets them. Like, the movie studios, the producers, and the talent agencies all give gifts to their actors on special occasions like the start of a new movie, or an Oscar nomination, or signing a big contract."

"She gets paid for buying presents for people?"

Melodie nodded. "The sky's the limit. Tiffany can spend what she likes. The studios spend millions of dollars on gifts for talent throughout the year. Someone's got to buy them. That's where Tiffany and Superior Gifts Plus comes in."

"I'd never do that job," I said. "I'm not all that keen on shopping."

Melodie's eyes widened. "You're not?" She considered my failure in this area for a moment, then, recalling her situation, said mournfully, "Tiffany was my last hope."

"I'll answer the phone for you this arvo." When she looked puzzled, I translated. "Afternoon. The phone. I'll answer it."

Transformed, she leapt to her feet. "You will! Oh, Kylie, I owe you one!" Apparently fearful I might change my mind, she grabbed her things and galloped for the front door.

"You're leaving already?" I called, but she was gone.

I settled down with my book, keeping a Hollywood Reporter handy to conceal it should anyone come along. I'd be red-faced if peoplea"well, Ariana mainlya"thought I needed extra help, but it couldn't hurt to do some studying on the side.

Several calls came through, but the phone set-up was chickenfeed compared to the pub, so I aced it without any prob. I put a call through to Bob, and he chuckled when he heard my voice. "Melodie won out, did she? Watch out, Kylie, this won't be the last time she asks you."

I was really into a chapter on industrial espionage when a voice said, "Whatcha reading?"

I closed my book and covered the t.i.tle with my hand. "Nothing."

"Looks like something to me." It was a delivery bloke in a daggy outfit of brown shorts and s.h.i.+rt. He slapped the package he was carrying down on the desk and gave me an overly familiar smile. "Where's Melodie? Auditioning again?"

"That's right."

He was one of those mega-annoying friendly types who can't mind their own business. "Good book?" he asked. "I'm a reader myself. Spy stuff. Techno-thrillers. Tom Clancy. Read him?"

"Not lately."

"You should." Before I could react, the twerp had reached over and grabbed my book. "Well, well," he said, grinning. He read the t.i.tle in a loud voice. "Private Investigation: The Complete Handbook."

"Give me that!" I s.n.a.t.c.hed it back from him.

Too late. Fran was on the scene. And she was smiling.

TWELVE.

"I'm throwing myself on your mercy," I said, shoving the book into my bag.

"Oh, yeah?" Fran was still smirking.

I looked around. The coast was clear. The delivery bloke had left, whistling cheerfully, not giving a thought to the fact he'd given Fran a weapon to king-hit me with.

"You know how you've aced this gofering thing..." I began.

Fran's smile vanished as though it had never existed. "What? What thing?"

"Ariana said you were a gofer, so I suppose when you're doing it, you're gofering."

It was impossible, but her hair seemed to suddenly flame a deeper red. "I'm not a gofer," she ground out. "I'm the office manager."

"Good-oh. Well, you know how you've aced this office managering thing?"

Fran narrowed her eyes to slits. "Yes?" she said, drawing the word out.

I was going to have to be a real bulls.h.i.+t artist to pull this one off, but I'd give it a go. "It's sort of like you're an inspiration to me. I want to ace private-eyeing the way you ace your job. That's why I'm studying on the sly. Don't want anyone to think I'm not a natural at this P.I. stuff."

I paused to see the effect of my words. Not encouraging. Fran wasn't frowning, but she wasn't looking receptive either. Blast her. I wasn't going to beg.

"Let me put it this way, Fran. I'd be really embarra.s.sed if it got out I was reading a book on how to be a P.I. So I'm asking you to forget you saw it."

"Okay."

"Okay? You won't say anything?"

"Not a word. But you owe me. And believe it, I'll collect."

The front door opened, and in came a tallish bloke wearing ancient jeans and a red T-s.h.i.+rt with the words slow-slow fast-fast across the front in purple letters. He didn't fit Melodie's description of intense, having a putty face and a blob of a nose, although I noticed in contrast his thin-lipped mouth was set in a hard line. I took a punt and said, "G'day. You'd be Rich Westholme."

He glared at me suspiciously. "Who told you that?"

"She's training to be a P.I.," said Fran, with a touch of malice.

I indicated his chest. "Melodie mentioned that was the t.i.tle of one of your movies."

His dark frown lightened. "Yeah," he said. "You can catch it on cable next month."

Julia Roberts came stalking down the hallway, then leapt with great grace up on the desk. He recoiled. "Jesus, get her away from me."

Jules, sensing someone who was repulsed by her feline self, walked delicately in his direction. I took pity on him, scooped her up, and deposited her on my side of the desk. She gave me a disgusted glare, then walked off, her tail snapping with irritation.

"Thanks. I can't stand cats." Rich Westholme peered around as though Melodie might be crouching beneath the desk. "Melodie here?"

"Audition," said Fran. She put her hands on her hips, which shoved her spectacular bosom out another centimeter or so. "You've missed her."

I got the impression she'd taken an instant dislike to Westholme, though with Fran it was hard to tell. She didn't look on anyone with much approval.

On the other hand, Rich Westholme was giving Fran, and her bosom, the glad eye. "Call me Rich. And you are...?"

"Not available."

He laughed, apparently thinking she was joking. "Good one. No, seriously, what's your name?"

"Fran," I said. "She's our office manager."

"Watch it," said Fran to me.

Rich Westholme slapped on a slimy smile. "Well, Fran, have you ever thought of being in movies?"

She directed a look at him I thought might burn his sallow face, but he continued to grin at her.

"What about me?" I said. "Maybe I've got ambitions to be in movies."

"Yeah, yeah." He didn't even bother looking in my direction. To Fran he said, "I'm casting at the moment. There could be a part for you."

I winced as Fran opened her rosebud mouth, having a fair idea what her response was going to be. With terrific timing, Melodie blew through the door at this exact instant. "Rich!" She rushed over and planted a proprietary kiss on his cheek. "You didn't say you were coming by."

"Yeah, well, I was in the neighborhood."

The phone rang. I waited to see if Melodie was intending to resume her duties, but she was too busy looping her arm through Rich's and leading him off. "Honey, you said you wanted to see where I work, so let me give you the official tour. And you'll want to hear about my audition..."

Fran said, "d.i.c.khead."

I said, "f.u.c.kwit."

We looked at each other. "You're all right," said Fran.

I was excited but not showing it. I'd expected we have dinner in some local restaurant, but instead we were going to Ariana's place. Bob Verritt was driving and I was playing it cool. He was negotiating the sharp bends of the ascending Hollywood Hills road with more smooth skill than I had shown this morning. Of course, Bob probably had the advantage of knowing exactly where he was going. "Have you been to Ariana's place many times?"

His long face split in a smile. "Not often, and every time it's like receiving an invitation from the queen."

"She lives alone, doesn't she?"

"Apart from Gussie."

An arrow of disappointment skewered me. Then I thought how stupid I was to have thought otherwise. Why would someone as attractive as Ariana be alone?

"Here we are." Bob pulled through an entryway into a smallish parking lot just off the road. There was room for three, maybe four cars. A barred gate began sliding across to secure the area from the road. Facing us was the door of a double garage, and I supposed Ariana's BMW was nestling in there side-by-side with whatever Gussie drove. I pictured something sportya" maybe even a Porsche.

Not much could be seen of Ariana's house from this vantage point, just a blank wall with an entrance door. "Smile," said Bob, "you're on Candid Camera!'

I looked more carefully at the entrance. "There's a surveillance camera here?"

"Don't bother lookinga"you won't find it. The lens is tiny."

I became aware of a deep barking. The dog wasn't hysterical, but merely well-mannered, announcing there were intruders on the premises.

Ariana opened the door, her left hand hooked into the collar of a large German Shepherd. "Don't mind Gussie. She's friendly, as long as you don't attack me."

Gussie, tongue lolling, checked out Bob, gave a quick wave of her tail to acknowledge she recognized him, then switched her watchful gaze to me. I could have flung my arms around her neck and hugged her but thought it better to be more circ.u.mspect. Besides, I know dogs well, and although she seemed friendly, her role was to guard Ariana, and I was a stranger.

Ariana stood aside to let us in. "I got Chinese takeout. I hope that's okay."

"Bonzer." I realized I'd skipped lunch. "I'm starving."

"Then let's eat first and work later."

The house was on three levels, the last being a living room that stretched the entire length of the building. Jarrod Perkins could not have had a more stunning view. Far below us the brilliant lights of the city stretched in sparkling patterns until they reached a darkness I presumed was the Pacific Ocean. How odd to think the waves of that same ocean beat upon the sh.o.r.es of my own country, half a world away.

I'd expected the decor of Ariana's house to be stark, perhaps with black and white predominating, like her office. I couldn't have been more wrong. It was warm, comfortable, and welcoming. The walls were pale cream, the polished wooden floors glowed with honey tints, the couches and chairs, arranged to take advantage of the view, were upholstered in a deep rose fabric.

I would have loved to have had a tour of the whole house, but Ariana ushered us into a dining area adjacent to the kitchen, where we could look at the city lights while we ate.

Gussie stationed herself nearby, keeping an eye on Bob and me. I grinned at her. "You may look fierce, but you're just a big, gorgeous sook," I said. She c.o.c.ked her head, considering me, then flapped her plumed tail a couple of times.

Fortunately Ariana had ordered generously. While she picked at her food and Bob ate moderately, I feasted. Takeaway from Wong's Cafe in the 'Gudge ran a pretty poor second to this spread. And just like I'd seen in the movies, everything came in delightful little cardboard containers that folded over at the top, not the plastic trays I was accustomed to.

"That was beaut," I said, sitting back with a sigh of satisfaction. "Thank you."

We moved to the living room for coffee. "I'm afraid I'm a poor host," Ariana told me. "I don't have loose tea, but I do have Twinings tea bags. Could you slum, just this once?" She almost smiled as she added, "It's not the herbal tea you so dislike."

I said I'd have coffee, but I was charmed by the offer. Almost as charmed as I was by the house, but nowhere near how much I was charmed by Ariana Creeling herself.

When we moved to the living room, Gussie came too, putting herself beside Ariana's chair. Bob folded himself onto one of the couches, and I sat beside him.

Ariana was all business. "Bob, what's the report on the Challoner case?"

He groaned. "Tracking this particular missing teenager is no piece of cake, especially when her parents are in the middle of an acrimonious divorce and blaming each other for their daughter's disappearance. Add to that the girl took quite a sum of money with her, and she's got an excellent support group. Getting information out of her friends is like pulling teeth, but I'm getting there, slowly but surely."

They discussed the runaway Ca.s.sie Challoner for a few minutes, then Ariana said to me, "Let's get to the Deerdoc situation."

"The Hummer?"

"It was an incendiary device. No details yet. Perkins made it easy, as he never bothers to lock his vehicles. The doorman of the building didn't notice anything, but it could have been planted long before Perkins parked the Hummer in Beverly Hills. When he was interviewed by the cops this afternoon, he said he had no idea who could have wanted to harm him."

"Ha!" Bob snorted. "If you included everyone Jarrod Perkins has p.i.s.sed off, potential suspects would number in the thousands."

"Do you think the bomb has anything to do with the missing therapy session recordings?" I asked.

"It's possible," said Ariana. "I did my best to persuade Dave Deer to tell the police about the blackmail threat, but he insists it's got to be kept quiet."

Bob said, "You don't believe they're one and the same? The thief is the blackmailer?"

"It would be very helpful if it were one person, but I've a strong feeling it isn't the case."