Kylie Kendall Mystery: The Wombat Strategy Part 19

"Do you still want to get rid of me?"

Ariana blinked. "Is that what you think?"

"I know you wanted me to get lost that first day, and probably the second and the third." I grinned. "h.e.l.l, that whole first week."

"I admit it was a surprise to have you arrive out of the blue."

"I know you wanted to freeze me out. But lately you've stopped. Why is that?"

"Exhaustion," said Ariana.

I was sending a bunch of postcards back to Oz to a.s.sure friends I hadn't been mugged or carjacked yet. I took them to the front desk, where there was a basket for outgoing mail. Melodie took a call, then said to me with open curiosity, "Dr. Deer's wife is on the line for you." She shoved the receiver at me. "You can take it here."

I chatted with Elise for a few minutes, then handed the phone back to Melodie. She looked at me so expectantly, I grinned, "You're dying to know what that was about, aren't you?"

"I sure am."

"Elise wants to take me to some spa place today. She's says it's a gift from her for putting myself on the line at Deerdoc."

"No! Which one?"

"I think she called it Pampering Hands."

"Pampering Hands?" Melodie looked at me with something approaching awe. "They've got a real exclusive clientele. You know who goes there? Cameron Diaz, and George Clooney, and Oprah Winfrey when she's in town..." She shook her head in wonderment. "You have all the luck, Kylie. You've barely hit the ground, and you're going to Pampering Hands!"

I left her calling the receptionist hotline.

"What am I letting myself in for?" I asked Elise. "I've never been to one of these spa places. You'd better tell me what to expect."

She flashed me a smile. "I'd like it to be a complete surprise."

"I'm not too sure I'm ready for it."

"Trust me," she said. She ran a light and turned left to a chorus of horns. "I just know you're going to love Pampering Hands. When I'm tense and tired, there's nothing better. I try to go at least once a week."

We glided down Rodeo Drive, Elise's blood-red Rolls Royce convertible getting plenty of stares. She patted the pale cream leather of her seat. "Birthday present from Dave. Sensational car, isn't it?"

I smiled at her, warmed by her unaffected pleasure in luxury. "Terrif," I said, "but I'd worry every time I parked, in case someone scratched it."

Elise gave a airy wave. "When I'm out I never park the thing myself. There's always valet."

The proof of this statement was demonstrated when we drew up at the curb in front of a gorgeous little building made to look like a miniature Greek temple. Almost before we'd stopped, two blokes wearing black jumpsuits with the words pampering hands spa on their chests had our doors open.

"Ms. Deer! Welcome to Pampering Hands!"

We were met at the door by a slim young woman wearing a white tunic and sandals. "Ms. Deer! How wonderful to see you again."

She turned her smile on me. It wavered for a moment when she saw my black eye, which was now an interesting shade of khaki, and my still-swollen nose. Even so, I thought she might still say it was wonderful to see me too, but she didn't. "And your guest...?"

"G'day. Call me Kylie," I said.

"What a lovely name."

"It's Aboriginal for boomerang."

The woman seemed a bit thrown by this. "How fascinating."

She glided off toward a big stone altar affair and consulted a screen set into its surface. "Ah!" she exclaimed with professional delight. "Ms. Deer, I see you've chosen for yourself our ultra-detoxifying mud wrap, followed by a Ayurvedic s.h.i.+rodhara. And for your friend..."

"Kylie," I said.

"And for Kylie you've chosen a salt exfoliation, followed by the Pampering Hands full-body ma.s.sage. An excellent regimen for one's first visit to our wonderful spa. And then, of course, both of you will complete your pampering with a relaxing Pampering Hands mineral salts spa bath."

As she led us down a white marble corridor, I said to Elise, "I can make a stab at what a mud wrap might be, but what's the thing you're having after it?"

Overhearing me, the young woman said in reverent tones, "Ayurvedic s.h.i.+rodhara is a wonderful, ancient East Indian ritual. Warm sesame oil is poured over the third eye in one's forehead, followed by an Indian head ma.s.sage. We highly recommend it, to release blocked energy and to clear the mind."

"Sounds wonderful," I said, with just a touch of mockery.

She gave me a patronizing smile. "Would you like me to explain your salt exfoliation and full-body ma.s.sage?"

"Please don't. Let's leave it as a wonderful surprise."

I was left alone in a candlelit room, furnished with a ma.s.sage table. I felt its surface and found it was heated. Beside was a chrome bench covered with a mult.i.tude of exotically shaped bottles containing lotions and oils. I discovered they were warmed too. My skin p.r.i.c.kled: Someone was watching me.

A short, tunic-clad woman with alarmingly muscled arms had soft-footed it into the room. "I'm Veeda," she hissed, peering at me with an evaluating stare. "Your first time here at Pampering Hands Spa?"

"Too right."

"Please disrobe completely."

"What? Everything?"

"Everything."

I met up with Elise again in the mineral salts spa bath. "Phew," I said, slipping into the bubbling water beside her. "I'm exfoliated and ma.s.saged to the billy-oh. There isn't a bit of me that hasn't been pounded and squeezed."

"You didn't absolutely love every moment?" She seemed astonished.

"I'm not used to total strangers getting quite that intimate with my body," I said.

"Who was your ma.s.seuse?"

"Veeda."

"Oh, Veeda. I've had her." Elise chuckled. "She has a particularly vigorous approach and a firm touch."

"Crikey, she sure does."

"But don't you feel relaxed?" Elise asked. "Renewed?"

I wriggled my shoulders. "You know," I said, "I think I do."

Elise discussed the spa for a few moments, stopped to point out she was sure she'd seen Barbara Walters in the adjacent ma.s.sage room, then said, mega-casually, "How's the investigation going?"

"Investigation?"

"Oh, come on, Kylie. Don't play dumb with me. You know what I'm talking about. The whole Jarrod Perkins thing."

"Didn't Dave tell you all about it? He hired us."

Elise frowned heavily. "Dave won't discuss the matter. He's suddenly developed the old-fas.h.i.+oned idea that his wife should be protected from harsh reality."

"What harsh reality?"

"That's what I'd like to know," said Elise. "Frankly, I'm worried Dave is hiding something from me."

Feeling like a real detective, I weighed up what searching question I should ask. The best I could come up with was, "Do you think he had something to do with the murder?"

This amused Elise. "Dave kill someone? He hasn't got the guts. And even if he did, I could handle it. It's something a lot more serious."

More serious than murder? "What is it?" I asked.

"The most important thing in the world. Money. Think what the publicity could do to Deerdoc if the murder investigation gets too close."

"I thought any publicity was good publicity."

Elise made a face. "Not with Dave's clients." She dropped her voice so low I could hardly hear her above the bubbling water. "I'm not expecting you to break confidences, but one Aussie to another, I'm asking you to warn me if the s.h.i.+t's going to hit the fan in a big way. I want to get out with my finances intact, no matter what happens to Dave. Know what I mean?"

I knew what she meant.

NINETEEN.

I spent the rest of the week working on my private eye skills. Harriet and Lonnie gave me preliminary lessons on using public records to background individuals, and showed me how to trace people who had skipped to avoid debt or responsibilities like child care payments.

This exercise got a bit more interesting when Randy Romaine skipped bail and disappeared.

Bob took me out in his car and demonstrated moving surveillance. It was fun learning how to follow someone without being noticed. Then I practiced on unsuspecting motorists. Mostly the techniques were common sense, like putting several cars between you and the subject, and driving by then doubling back if the subject turns into a service station. Some things, though, I'd never thought of before.

One was, Bob said with a wink, illegal. This was to get at the subject's vehicle when it was parked. Using a pen or screwdriver, a small hole was punched in one of the plastic brake light covers. This made the car much easier to follow, even in heavy traffic, as every time the driver braked a bright white spot of light blinked on.

I didn't see much of Ariana. She had a deposition in Nevada and then a court appearance in Santa Barbara.

My Aunt Millie called me on Wednesday. As soon as I heard her tart voice I could visualize her sharp-featured face. Aunt Millie was a vinegary soul with an unerring ability to find the negative in every situation.

I'd hardly managed h.e.l.lo before she started. "Kylie Kendall, you're trouble, pure and simple. I said it from the time you were borna"that girl's trouble, I said."

"And how are you, Aunt Millie?"

"Not good, but a lot better than your mum."

I felt a thrill of alarm. "What's wrong with Mum?"

"You've broken her heart."

Relieved, I said, "Oh, is that all?"

"Is that all?" she repeated sarcastically. "Typical! Just take a look at your att.i.tude, my girl."

"Aunt Milliea""

"I'd have thought you'd have had some consideration for your family before you went gallivanting over to the States. But no." She paused for me to absorb this. "You always were a headstrong, self-absorbed girl. Even as a child, I knew you'd bring heartbreak to your mother."

"Mum put you up to this, didn't she?"

"I don't know what you mean," said Aunt Millie indignantly.

"Then why are you calling me?"

"Isn't it obvious? You're needed back here at the Wombat's Retreat. Your poor mother is barely coping."

"What about Jack?"

"He's a man," said Aunt Millie. "He does his best, but well..."

Lonnie's birthday was on Sat.u.r.day, and I was touched to be included in his birthday celebration, which was to be lunch at a restaurant of Lonnie's choice.

"Would you believe," said Melodie on Friday, "Lonnie's gone and picked Shel 'n' Hymie's again?. He's got no imagination."

"What's wrong with the place?" I asked.

"It's a deli. You don't have a birthday lunch at a deli, 'specially when Kendall & Creeling is picking up the tab."

"Are you talking about a delicatessen? A shop where they sell ham and cheese?"

"No, a New York deli. You know, like Nate 'n' Al's or Jerry's." She gave a discontented sigh. "Why couldn't Lonnie choose one of them? The stars go there."

Shel 'n' Hymie's Deli was in Studio City on Ventura Boulevard. Harriet volunteered to pick me up from Kendall & Creeling so I wouldn't have to find the place myself. We parked across the road in a supermarket lot, meeting up with Lonnie as we walked to the traffic lights. He beamed when we both wished him a happy birthday. "It's so great of you guys to come," he said.

On the other side of the road a faded sign on a nondescript building announced SHEL 'N' HYMIE'S DELI. A metal railing enclosed a few tables in the front, each bolted to the ground and with a grubby yellow umbrella. Traffic thundered past, perfuming the air with exhaust fumes. I couldn't imagine why anyone would sit out there, but most of the tables were occupied.

As we waited for the lights to change, Lonnie said approvingly, "Shel 'n' Hymie's is just like a genuine New York deli. They got it righta"the ambiance, the in-your-face style."