Kylie Kendall Mystery: The Wombat Strategy Part 16

"Of course."

There was no easy way to get this out, but I had to know. "Did Melodie tell you I'd been reading a book on how to be a P.I.?"

A faint smile touched her lips. "I believe she did mention something along those lines."

"I knew it! I knew that guy in the brown uniform would blab."

"I don't know why you're worried," said Ariana. "It just shows you're taking the job seriously."

I looked at her closely, thinking she might be having me on.

"I mean it," she said.

"Good-oh."

After Ariana had gone I went to find a mirror to a.s.sess the damage. I'd had a quick look in the washroom at Deerdoc, and my face had looked a bit battered but not too bad. The pa.s.sage of time hadn't helped, I found. The swelling was more p.r.o.nounced, and my black eye was distinctly blacker.

Today was Wednesday. I wouldn't be presentable by Friday. I was about to call Chantelle when she called me on my cell phone. "How are you? I must have just missed you."

"Lucky you. I look like something out of a horror movie. We'd better cancel Friday."

"You're breaking our date? No way."

That warmed me a little, as I'd looking forward to seeing Chantelle outside her work. Perhaps she was destined to play an important part in my future. I could hope.

Julia Roberts turned out to be my solace for the rest of the day, although Ariana did her share by arranging for a local restaurant to deliver dinner.

On Thursday, Dave Deer asked me to come into Deerdoc to meet the detectives on the case. He put me in his office and advised me not to volunteer anything. I expected Miles the creepy lawyer would be there, but it seemed the heat was off and I could be trusted on my own.

The interview was short. It was clear they were merely going through the motions. After the two cops had gone, Dave Deer smiled at me with a certain smugness. "Kept the lid on it," he said. "The media sniffed around but got nothing. Lorelei is very pleased." He rubbed his hands. "I still need you, Kylie. I'm interviewing for a new personal a.s.sistant, but in the meantime..."

He never got to hear my answer. Chantelle appeared at the door. "Dr. Deer? Mr. Perkins insistsa""

She was bodily knocked out of the way by Jarrod Perkins. I'd seen plenty of people lose their tempers, but this bloke beat them all. He was literally purple in the face. The moment he saw Dave Deer, he screamed, "You motherf.u.c.king b.a.s.t.a.r.d!" In one shaking hand he held a crumpled sheet of paper. "Explain this!"

Dave Deer zipped behind the protection of his desk. He put up placating hands. "Jarrod, it's me, your therapist."

"f.u.c.k that for a joke! Some b.a.s.t.a.r.d's trying to blackmail me." Perkins stood there panting, poised as if about to attack something or someone.

Chantelle, eyes wide, hovered in the doorway. "I'll get Fred Mills."

I saw it dawning on Dave Deer that this was something that must at all costs be kept quiet. "No, Chantelle. This is a medical matter. Please shut the door and make sure we're not disturbed."

Chantelle caught my eye. "Get out," she mouthed.

It was sweet of her, but I wasn't going.

After the door closed, Dave Deer said soothingly, "Now, Jarrod, sit down and let's discuss what's worrying you."

"You supercilious p.r.i.c.k. You knew about this and you didn't tell me." He threw the crumpled page onto the desk. "How long have the recordings been missing? How long have you known, you c.o.c.ksucker? How long?"

Dave Deer looked so sincere I thought his face would melt. "Jarrod, Jarrod. I was just about to contact you."

Perkins leaned over the desk and grabbed Dave's tie. Although he was a much smaller man, his rage had obviously given him strength. He pulled until Dave Deer, red-faced and choking, was halfway across the desk. Shoving his face with its huge beaky nose into the doctor's, Perkins ground out, "I'll ruin you, Deer, ruin you. When I've finished, there won't be a person in Hollywood who'll touch you with a ten-foot pole."

Released, Dave Deer fell back spluttering. Perkins turned to me. "You!"

"Me?"

"You drove me home."

I nodded warily. Who knew what was coming next?

"Tell that b.a.s.t.a.r.d over there I want everything in this building that has anything to do with me packaged up and delivered to my house. Every file, every sheet of paper, every f.u.c.king recording of every f.u.c.king session I've had here. Got that?"

"Got it."

"And I want you to deliver it, tomorrow morning." He cast a look of burning scorn in Dave Deer's direction. "I don't intend to breathe the same air as that f.u.c.kwit ever again. Tell him if he comes near me I'll kill him."

Crikey, I believed that. "I could probably have the stuff to you this afternoon," I said helpfully.

"I'm on a night shoot, you stupid b.i.t.c.h. Tomorrow morning at ten."

He s.n.a.t.c.hed up the letter from the desk and stalked out of the office.

Dave Deer cleared his throat. "That went well," he said.

I'd never have suspected he was capable of such irony.

Friday morning we took my car, with me driving and Ariana navigating. We were using my car because there was a chance Jarrod Perkins might recognize it as the one I'd given him a lift in last Monday. The way the bloke was at the moment, it was wise to avoid upsetting him, and Ariana's BMW would be a strange vehicle as far as he was concerned.

"Can you believe it was only Monday I gave Jarrod Perkins a lift home?" I said. "It seems to have happened yonks ago."

"You've had an eventful week," said Ariana in her customary dry tone.

"Thanks for coming with me," I said. I was more grateful than she knew. I'd visualized myself going up to the director's Hollywood Hills home and, as I seemed to often do, saying something that got quite the wrong reaction. And Jarrod Perkins totally losing it, and before Sven could intervene, strangling me. That was my first scenario. Then I had him shooting me. Or maybe throwing me over the cliff.

So when Ariana had said, "I'm not going to let you go alone, not after that outburst from Perkins. He's unstable at the best of times," I'd been secretly relieved.

"Good-oh. If you insist," I'd said, nonchalant.

Now we were on the way, driving up one of the steep, ascending streets of the Hollywood Hills. A large envelope containing the material Perkins had demanded was sitting on the backseat. Ariana was beside me, wearing black jeans and a black jacket. I glanced over at her. "You've got a gun, haven't you?"

"I do. And before you ask, yes, I'm licensed to carry a concealed weapon."

I felt a whole lot better knowing she was armed. "Are you a good shot?"

"Adequate."

"So you won't go for a head shot, then." I'd been studying The Complete Handbook and had just covered the chapter on the use of deadly force.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw Ariana shake her head. "I'll aim for the torso, if that's your advice." I heard the amus.e.m.e.nt in her voice.

"What if he's wearing a bulletproof vest?"

I actually got a chuckle. "Highly unlikely."

She gave me directions, much more calmly than Jarrod Perkins had. When I turned into the drive, the gates were open. I drove slowly up to the house, figuring there were probably cameras eyeing us; I wanted Perkins to have plenty of time to satisfy himself that I was the Aussie bringing the stuff from Deerdoc to him.

I parked by the front door. There were no other vehicles in evidence. We got out. I didn't even glance at the view. Noticing Ariana's right hand under her jacket, I felt slightly more securea"but not much. If bullets started flying, my TV-viewing told me to drop to the ground. I checked it out. Gravel. It'd be hard on the skin.

"Ariana, the front door's open."

She motioned me to get behind her. "Let me go first."

The hairs on the back of my neck p.r.i.c.kled. It was a cliche, but funny how true. "Something's wrong."

Ariana felt it too. She took out her weapon, a sleek automatic. Black, of course. Her body was coiled steel, ready to react to any threat. I think that was the moment I really fell for her.

She pushed at the front door. It swung open. "Mr. Perkins?" I called. "It's Kylie Kendall. I've got the stuff from Deerdoc for you."

Silence. Ariana, not moving her eyes from the hallway in front of us, said, "Is his a.s.sistant, Sven, supposed to be here?"

"Perkins never mentioned him. He just said he expected me at ten."

The house was furnished in generic rental style. It had an empty feeling. I didn't know whether to trust my instincts, but I said, too loudly, "Ariana, no one's here."

She signaled to me to be quiet. "Room by room," she said.

The living room was empty. So was the kitchen. We went into the master bedroom together. The bed was made, everything was tidy. I pushed open the door of the adjoining bathroom. "Ariana."

She moved to stand beside me, then grabbed me when I sagged. Jarrod Perkins was sitting in the shower recess, legs splayed, a gun in his lap, his brains blown in a red-and-white pattern across the tiles.

SIXTEEN.

Ariana handled the LAPD when the patrol car arrived. Until then I'd wandered around the house, trying to hang on to the contents of my stomach. Ariana had found me in the study, checking out the papers on the desk. "Don't touch anything."

Now I sat quietly to one side while Ariana talked to the two young patrol officers. I'd seen dead bodies before, my grandparents, for example, but their pa.s.sing had none of the violence of this. Perkins had been a despicable human being, but I felt hollowed by his death.

More cars arrived, more cops conferred with Ariana. It was obvious she knew one bloke personally. Even before the coroner's people had arrived, I heard the cops talking suicide.

We gave brief statements and were about to go when Sven arrived in a huge black vehicle. I peered at it, and Ariana said, "It's a Cadillac SUV."

Sven flung his bulky body out of the SUV and demanded of the nearest cop, "What the f.u.c.k's happened?"

"Your name?"

"Sven La.r.s.en. I live here. Personal a.s.sistant to Mr. Perkins." He swung his head around, his angry expression fading. "What's wrong? What's happened?"

"Where have you been, sir?"

"The gym. I go every morning. What's going on?"

We left as he was led into the house. Ariana drove, because I was still too shaky. After a long few minutes, I said, "Was it suicide?"

"h.e.l.l, no," said Ariana. "Can you really imagine Jarrod Perkins killing himself? Killing someone else, yes. Himself? No."

"Are you saying murder?"

Ariana shot me a hard blue stare. "I'm saying murder."

I thought of begging oft" my date with Chantelle, having seen a corpse that morning, but I was looking forward to going somewhere new, with someone I didn't really know. It would be an escape from the indelible picture of the slumped body in the shower recess. I kept myself busy checking through Dad's things in the boxes Ariana had packed up and customizing his computer to suit me. Ariana had gone out, and n.o.body disturbed me, except for Harriet, who sweetly checked to make sure I was okay then left me alone.

Chantelle had told me to dress casually, so I put on freshly ironed jeans and a blue tunic top. My battered face was a disaster area beyond repair, so I decided to tough it out with dark gla.s.ses until the lights in the theater went down.

I explained to Julia Roberts I was going out and might be quite late. She checked that I'd filled her dinner bowl then made it clear she didn't care.

Chantelle was picking me up, and she arrived as Melodie was leaving. "You're Melodie!"

"You're Chantelle!"

I realized they had never met in person, though they'd certainly shared quite intimate information via the receptionist gossip network.

Melodie was appraising Chantelle with approval. "Acting?"

"Amateur stuff mainly. You?"

Melodie a.s.sumed a modest expression. "Some. I have a callback for Angel Rejects"

"Angelique?"

"How did you know?"

"You're perfect for the part."

Later, in Chantelle's car, a red Jeep, I said, "I didn't know you were into acting."

"I'm not, really. Practically everyone in this town dreams of being an actor. The rest are aiming to be scriptwriters." She gurgled with laughter. "Sweeping statement, of course, but with a core of truth."

Something was puzzling me. "If you and Melodie have talked so much, how come you didn't know she was"a"I was about to say a would-be actor, but Melodie would hate thata""an actor?"

"We don't talk about personal things, we're at work."