Kylie Kendall Mystery: The Wombat Strategy Part 14

"Do you?" Kristi Jane regarded him with surprised irritation. "I never knew that. Why didn't you tell me?"

So by mid afternoon I had three down and one to goa" Reuben Kowalski. I found Kristi Jane in the PR department shouting into a phone. When she'd finished, I said, "Dr. Deer told me to speak with Reuben Kowalski. He's supposed to be in the billing department, but I can't find him."

"That's because the b.a.s.t.a.r.d will be outside the building, smoking. b.l.o.o.d.y pathetic, don't you think? Not being able to give up an addiction that's going to kill you is pretty p.i.s.s-weak."

She added I couldn't miss him as he'd be the only one wearing a purple s.h.i.+rt. "Always wears purple, and he's not even b.l.o.o.d.y gay," she advised. I thanked her, wondering if Kristi Jane had defeated her own addiction to alcohol.

Reuben Kowalski was exactly where she said he'd be. Los Angeles, I'd been learning, had some of the strictest anti-smoking ordinances in the country, so smokers in office buildings were forced to go outside to avoid inflicting secondhand smoke on colleagues. There was a narrow alleyway running down one side of the building, and a small group of tobacco lepers had congregated there to puff furiously on cigarettes.

I stopped to examine the spot where the Hummer had been destroyed. The road was blackened, but every piece of the twisted remains had been removed, probably for forensic examination.

In the alleyway, Reuben was sucking on a cigarette and talking with great animation on a mobile phone. As Kristi Jane had told me, his s.h.i.+rt was deep purple, and oddly enough this color seemed to suit him. He had tight curly hair turning gray and a droopy, nicotine-stained mustache.

I'd manufactured a reason to see hima"a billing that had supposedly gone astray. I introduced myself. Playing anxious-to-please temporary worker, I said, "So sorry to interrupt you, Mr. Kowalski, but Dr. Deer will be calling this afternoon about this matter and..." I let my voice trail off and sloped my eyebrows the wrong way.

He took a final mighty suck of his cigarette. "Okay, I'll come in now."

"Oh, thank you, Mr. Kowalski."

Melodie might have done a better job, but I had to admit I quite impressed myself. Not to skite, but I wasn't half bad at this acting routine. And now I'd accomplished step one, which was to establish casual contact with the suspects, I could keep up the act by getting them to accept me as just another member of the Deerdoc staff.

I left at five so I could catch Ariana in the office and give her my first day's report. I felt a bit guilty leaving early, which was stupid, as I wasn't really Dave Deer's personal a.s.sistant. I wasn't going to sneak around, so I said "Good night, Chantelle" as I pa.s.sed her on the way out.

"Hold on a moment, Kylie."

I came back to her desk, ready to argue I could leave the premises when I wished. She said, "I've got tickets for a play Friday night. It's a little local theater. I was wondering if you'd like to come with me."

I wasn't lost for words often. This was one of the times. "Urn," I said.

Chantelle chuckled. "Yes, it's a date. I'm asking you on a date. Think it over and tell me tomorrow. Or you can call me." She pa.s.sed me a Deerdoc business card. "My cell number's on the back."

"Right-oh."

I rode down to the parking structure deep in thought. I was looking at Chantelle in an entirely different light. It was rather flattering to be asked, I told myself, but how did she know..?

"Melodie!" The receptionists' bush telegraph had been at work.

"Excuse me?"

"Oh, sorry," I said to the bloke sharing the lift with me. "I was thinking out loud."

When I got to Kendall & Creeling, I was ridiculously disappointed to find Ariana had left for the day, however Melodie had a consolation prize for me. "You can meet Fran's husband, Quip, if you like. He's in the kitchen talking to Rich."

"Quip? Is that a name?"

"I think it's actually Bruce, but Quip wanted something that'd stand out on the first page of a script. Quip Trent. Comedy writer, so it suits, don't you think?"

"Would I have seen any of his work? Movies? TV?"

Melodie shook her head, a look of deep compa.s.sion on her face. "The biz can be so hard. Quip hasn't sold a script yet." She brightened up to add, "Any day now, though. Rich says he might use Quip as a script doctor for his new project."

This was one for the books. "How can Quip be a script doctor if he's never had any of his own scripts made?"

With a forbearing smile, Melodie explained, "You don't get how the biz works. Hardly any scripts get made. It's the writing of them that's important."

She broke off as the delivery bloke in the daggy brown outfita"who'd made me feel a real galah yesterdaya"came in with a pile of boxes. While Melodie was sorting through them, the bloke nudged me in the ribs.

"Well, well," he said, grinning. "Solved any big crimes lately?" He looked me up and down, noted my tailored dress, and chuckled some more. "Dressing for success, are we?"

"I am," I said, "but jeez, look at you."

"What?"

"It's hard to look good in brown. Especially that brown." I added, as my exit line, "It's cruel, really, making you wear that uniform."

"Hey, wait a minute..."

I strode off, mad as a cut snake. This blasted bloke would tell Melodie how he found me reading Private Investigation: The Complete Handbook. This news would hit the receptionists' telegraph. Soon everyone would know. Including Ariana.

There were four people in the kitchen: Lonnie, clutching his ever-present mug of coffee; Rich Westholme, lounging against the counter; Fran, frowning; and someone who must be Quip.

His handsome face lit with amus.e.m.e.nt, he was saying, "Oh, my G.o.d, I saw Molly Ringwald the other day. I mean, hi, can we say blast from the past? I mean, what has she done since Pretty in Pink? h.e.l.lo!"

This bloke had to be gay. He was everything I loved in a man: humorous, delightful, and h.o.m.os.e.xual.

A hot glare from Fran caught my attention. "He's mine," she said. "Keep your paws off him. I won't say it twice."

FOURTEEN.

Early next morning I was explaining to Julia Roberts how she'd have to keep a stiff upper lip because I'd be gone again today, when Ariana knocked on my door. Fortunately I'd made the bed and everything was tidy.

Ariana stood in the doorway, wearing her signature black. Her pale hair was as smooth as her expressionless face. It mystified me how she projected that aura of cool, contained authority without appearing to do anything at all. My imagination skittered around, trying to visualize her in the depths of pa.s.sion. Before I got to the point of short-circuiting, Ariana said, "I tried to get you on your cell phone, but no luck."

"Sorry, I didn't think anyone knew the number to ring me, so I didn't turn it on." I went over to my bag, retrieved the phone, and activated it. "Hey, now that I know you have the number, it'll be on twenty-four-seven, no worries."

"Tell me about yesterday."

I gave her a complete rundown, including my a.s.sessment of how crook the security at Deerdoc was.

She listened without comment, then said, "Dave Deer called last night. He wants to know when you're moving in."

"I'm not."

"Why? Is it leaving Julia Roberts that's holding you back?"

"It's that Dave Deer's a lech. If I move in there, sooner or later Elise is going to catch him putting the hard word on me. It'd be a nasty sitch."

"What makes you think you won't face the same situation in the office?"

"Look, Ariana, I know he's our client, and he's an important one. I'll do my best to make sure it doesn't happen, but he can't cop a free feel and not have me get snarky about it."

"Just so long as you don't throw him over your shoulder, as I recall you did the captain of the football team."

I blushed a bit, remembering how I'd boasted about that the first day we'd met. "h.e.l.l's bells," I said. "Do you remember everything?"

"Everything."

"I'd better be careful what I say."

When a ringing sound started, I looked around, puzzled. "Your cell phone," said Ariana.

It was Chantelle. "Have you decided about Friday?"

I didn't ask how she'd got my number. I knew. "You could have asked me at work," I said, aware Ariana, who'd moved to stroke Jules, couldn't help overhearing my end of the conversation.

Chantelle's chuckle was warm and promising. "I couldn't wait."

"Okay, I accept."

"Terrific. See you soon."

The mobile gave a discreet burp when I ended the call. "Someone from work has tickets for a play," I said, feeling the need to explain.

"I hope not on Sat.u.r.day night."

"No, Friday. Why?"

"You mentioned you'd like to see my sister's work. The gallery has a private showing of Janette's new exhibition this Sat.u.r.day night."

Now, this wasn't a date, not really, but I still felt a tingle of excitement. "That'd be great, Ariana."

Crikey, I was even getting a charge out of saying Ariana's name. I mentally tried Chantelle. Bit of a jolt, but not as much. I frowned to myself. This was rebound stuff. I couldn't say, or even think, Raylene's name without a pang. Overcompensating, that's what it was. I was trying to fill the void she'd left with other women. Maybe I needed some Slap! Slap! Get On With It therapy. Or maybe I just needed some good, healthy, uncomplicated s.e.x.

"What in the world are you thinking about?" Ariana asked.

"Nothing in particular. Why?"

She shook her head, smiled at me, said, "Again, Kylie, you find me lost for words."

She went off, still shaking her head, bemused. I consoled myself with the thought that I had some effect on Ariana, even if it wasn't quite the one I would have hoped.

My mobile rang again. This time it was Melodic "Kylie, I've got a favor to ask, and you'll probably be gone before I get to work."

"I can't look after the phone."

"It's not the phone. It's something else...a big favor, actually. I'll understand if you say no."

She wouldn't, of course. "What is it?"

"In the top drawer of my desk there's an envelope with head and shoulders."

"Yes?" I said doubtfully.

"You know what I mean. My publicity shots. I want you to take one to Deerdoc with you."

"Why?"

"Chantelle called and said Lorelei Stevens has an appointment with Dr. Deer this morning. I'm sure you'll be seeing her. I'm only asking a little thing. All I want you to do is ask her to autograph my photo."

I didn't bother inquiring how she knew about the appointment. The world of spies could learn a lot from receptionists. "Let me get this straight. You want me to ask Lorelei Stevens to put her autograph on your photo?"

"If it isn't too much trouble. It's the recognition factor, you see. When Lorelei and I meet in the future, my face will be familiar to her."

"And are you likely to meet Lorelei Stevens in the future?"

"Oh, yes," said Melodic "I've got an audition. It's a movie where she's the lead, Heart of Pain. Larry says I'm just made for the role..."

Fair d.i.n.k.u.m, I was astonished. My mum would say gobsmacked. Lorelei Stevens signed Melodie's photo! She didn't even blink or ask who the h.e.l.l this dame was. She just scrawled her signature right across Melodie's face. And she smiled while she did it.

Of course, she'd been smiling since she came out of the therapy room, both cheeks a bit pink and eyes a bit watery.

A couple of minutes later Dave Deer appeared, his white medical coat so starched it practically crackled. He purred, "Lorelei, we've achieved so much today. You've been very brave. Very brave. But a wise soul like yours knows pleasure comes through pain."

This sounded like S/M to me, but I reckoned neither of them would thank me for sharing that thought, so I didn't. Instead I'd whipped out Melodie's photo and asked the film star to sign it.

This particular celebrity was the exception to the blond rule. She was a sultry brunet with aquamarine eyesa"I suspected tinted contact lensesa"and an astonis.h.i.+ng cleavage.

"Alert Ms. Stevens's limo driver she's on the way down," commanded Dave. I called Jim, the doorman, who would signal the limousine driver. If all went according to plan, her luxury transport would draw up just as Dr. Deer and his famous patient exited the building through a special side entrance reserved for celebrities.

Another dazzling smile from Lorelei, and she was gone in a swirl of perfume and stardom. I'd been brushed by fame.

As soon as I'd arrived this morning I'd been taken through the session routine. Before each patient arrived, Oscar Sherwood double-checked the recording equipment. The moment the session ended, the therapist removed the disk and placed it in the patient's file. The normal procedure was to leave files in the therapist's office. At the end of the day there'd be a pile of them waiting for me to take to the walk-in safe, where I'd put each one in the appropriate drawer.

This wasn't really good enough, having files hanging around all day, where they'd be even less secure than in the open safe. It would be extra work, but I intended to put away each patient's folder as soon as the session ended. If Dave Deer wanted to review something, I'd go and retrieve the file.

Lorelei Stevens had been the first patient of the day, so I hopped up and went to get her file from Dave Deer's desk. It was gone!

I heard a faint click as the door to the therapy room closed. I flew over to open it, only to see the other door of therapy room swinging closed. I had to see who had the file. I bounded across to the second door and cracked it enough to look out.

Disappearing down the private corridor was Randy Romaine, anonymous accountant, a large manila folder casually tucked under one arm. In it, I had no doubt, was the missing file. He disappeared through another door leading to the main office.

Okay, I had to catch Randy red-handed. But if I nabbed him now, he was sure to come up with some convincing story about how he needed the file for accounting purposes. What I had to do was observe him and see what he did. If Randy hid the file, that might be enough. It would be better, though, if he tried to take it out of the building.