Kylie Kendall Mystery: The Wombat Strategy Part 7

After the darkness of the streets, the huge house was so bright it hurt the eyeb.a.l.l.s. There were two stories, laid out in an "E" plan with the center part facing us. Every window of every room appeared to be lit. The entrance area was so brightly illuminated it seemed more like a stage set than anything else. Three shallow steps led up to a front door that had to have been snaffled from a castle somewhere. This enormous door was framed by two columns, each with lots of fussy stonework at the top. Lighting fixtures looking like gigantic, swollen lanterns were set into the wall on either side.

"Crikey," I said. Then I shut up. I didn't want Ariana to think I was a little bus.h.i.+e who'd never been close-up to anything like this in her life.

It wouldn't have been a surprise if a butler in full uniform had opened the door, but instead it was Dave Deer himself. He was dressed in what I'd call upmarket casual. His fair hair gleamed, his teeth gleamed, the gold watch he was wearing gleamed. I felt dull beside him.

"Come in, Ariana. Kylie, delightful to see you again."

Inside the door there were more columns, ornately carved, bracketing the entrance into the main part of the house. Our feet clacked on the parquet flooring. I was wearing heels tonight, not too high, and my best dress, plain and a sort of plum color. Fran, after a pause to whinge, had dug up an iron, and I'd unpacked everything and had an orgy of ironing to make my clothes presentable.

Arianaa"surprisea"was wearing a black skirt and frothy black blouse. I figured if I had her coloring, I'd wear black too. The contrast made her blond hair blonder, her blue eyes bluer.

A woman in a short, lacy dress came down the curving stairs, like she'd been cued to appear. Dave Deer said, "My wife, Elise. Elise, you know Ariana, of course. And this is Kylie Kendall."

I already knew he was married to Elise Patterson. She was an Aussie and had been a professional tennis playera"good but not top-ten material. The best ranking she'd had, I recalled, was somewhere in the low twenties. A few years ago, with her tennis career on the way down, she'd met and married Dave Deer. They'd had a big society wedding in Sydney that'd been splashed over all the popular magazines and made the front pages of most newspapers.

Elise wasn't blonda"I'd say her husband wouldn't want the compet.i.tiona"but mid-brown with red highlights. And she was really friendly, taking my arm and leading me through an arched doorway into a living room that dwarfed the furniture and all of us.

"Big, isn't it?" Elise said, as I gazed around the room. Seeing me look up at the two heavy chandeliers suspended from the ornate gold-painted ceiling, she laughed. "I always think the b.u.g.g.e.rs will come cras.h.i.+ng down, but so far they haven't."

We had drinks and chit-chat seated on two red couches placed on a fluffy white carpet that floated in a sea of parquet flooring. Between the couches a low table had a huge marble ball balanced in the middle as decoration.

The conversation turned to the likelihood of a major earthquake giving LA. a good shake-up. Apparently there'd been a couple of minor quakes the week before I arrived, and this had got "the big one," as Ariana called it, on the agenda. "Do you get any warning before an earthquake happens?" I asked hopefully.

When everyone agreed such disasters struck out of the blue, I spent the next few minutes waiting for the chandeliers poised above us to fall or the marble ball to roll off the table and squash someone's foot.

A maid, dressed in a black dress and white ap.r.o.n, just like in some old movie, came in to say dinner was served. We all got up and headed out the arched doorway, which I noticed also had columns, these ones painted gold. As I pa.s.sed the maid I said "G'day." She gave me a funny look. "Good evening, madam."

"We're in the smaller of the two dining rooms," said Elise.

The other one must have been humongous, as this dining room was pretty big. A wall of gla.s.s looked out over a swimming pool. Underwater lighting turned it into a glowing blue-green rectangle.

At one end of the room was a fireplace with a highly wrought metal screen. I hid a smile at the portrait above the mantle, an oil painting of Dr. Dave Deer himself, gazing self-importantly out of the heavy gold frame.

"Don't blame me for the decor," Elise said once we were seated at a large gla.s.s-topped dining table with metal legs and black metal chairs padded with cus.h.i.+ons embroidered in gold and black. "We're renting this place, fully furnished. I wanted something somewhat less grand, but Dave insisted," she sent him an indulgent smile, "we needed room to entertain."

"Speaking of entertaining," he said, beaming, "we're having a party tomorrow night. I know it's short notice, but Elise and I would love to have you both attend. And of course, bring a guest if you wish."

"Thank you," said Ariana. "I'll come alone."

I wasn't sure whether Ariana would want me at the Deers' party, but when everyone looked my way I had to say something. "Sounds bonzer to me."

The maid, accompanied by a twin of herself also in black with a white ap.r.o.n, came in with the first course, a complicated salad with slices of smoked salmon. The first sip from my winegla.s.s widened my eyesa"this wasn't bad plonk at all. In fact, I had to admit it was pretty good.

"An excellent Australian wine," said Dave Deer. "Perhaps you recognize it, Kylie."

Oh, sure, like I'd ever have the money to buy top-of-the-line stuff. "Chardonnay," I said. "Margaret River area of Western Australia?" I'd cheated, of course. Having ripper eyesight, I'd read the district on the bottle's label.

"Very good." He looked impressed.

I felt embarra.s.sed to have fooled him, so I said, "I didn't really know. I read the label."

Instead of being offended, he was amused. "You'll find honesty isn't always the best policy, Kylie."

"Dave and I have been talking about the idea of you going undercover at Deerdoc," Elise said to me. "We think it might work. We've got a cover story. You're to be my cousin, looking for a temporary job while you're in L.A. On Monday Dave's going to tell his a.s.sistant to take a couple of weeks' vacation, so you can fill in for her."

"Kylie can't be seen to be a.s.sociated with Kendall & Creeling," said Ariana.

"We've thought of that," said Dave Deer. "Kylie can move in here with us. That's what Elise's cousin would do, if she existed." He sent a toothy grin my way. "We've got plenty of room, I a.s.sure you."

I felt a pang of alarm. Had Dave Deer always had a shark's smile?

SEVEN.

After Ariana dropped me off, I did my security rounds, had a shower, and then Julia Roberts and I had a good night's sleep. I only woke briefly when Jules had a full wash at three o'clock. By eight in the morning I was dressed, well breakfasted with porridge and tea, and had studied a street directory called the Thomas Guide. I was ready to brave the streets of Los Angeles.

Ariana had mentioned that both Lonnie and Harriet would be in later. Even though it was Sat.u.r.day, background checks on Deerdoc staff had to be finished. She said she'd be in the office by eight-fifteen to show me the ins and outs of the Mustang. True to form, she was there on the dot.

Ariana opened the garage, and I saw the car she'd called my father's pride and joy. No way did its vibrant red self look almost 40 years old. Ariana stood with her hand resting on the hood, rather like she was soothing some thoroughbred animal, as she explained how she'd turned the engine over every week or so to keep the battery charged. Then she drove the Mustang out into the lane and painstakingly took me through everything she thought I should know.

I was impatient to get going. I undertook to keep chanting "Keep right! Keep right!" to override my natural tendency to veer left. Ariana wished me luck in a tone that indicated she believed I'd be needing it. I took off slowly, careful not to kangaroo hop down the lane, the engine rumbling with the promise of thrilling acceleration. Glancing in the mirror, I saw Ariana watching. I had a fair idea she had her fingers crossed. It was obvious she admired the Mustang but harbored severe doubts about me driving it.

Turning off Sunset onto Laurel Canyon, I let her rip in a minor way, enjoying the wind in my facea"I had the windows downa"and the feeling that somehow Dad was watching me and he approved of me driving his car. My concentration didn't lapse. I admonished myself to keep to the right. I didn't crunch the gears or run into anything. The red Mustang obediently climbed to the top of the canyon road, then hastened down the other side into a suburb I remembered from the directory was called Studio City. How exciting to be driving around the movie capital of the world!

It was awfully disconcerting to have the oncoming traffic on the left-hand side of the road, but after a while I congratulated myself that I was getting used to it.

I had some idea where I might get on one of the many freeways criss-crossing Los Angeles. Until I experienced the rush of joining that headlong stream of vehicles, I couldn't with any truth say I'd driven in L.A. It seemed a good omen when, after swooping down into the Valley, I found the 101 freeway on-ramp without difficulty.

In a mo I was whizzing along with the rest of the cars. The traffic was light, which I attributed to the possibility most people in L.A. were sleeping in this Sat.u.r.day morning. I was thinking we were all moving well, but not particularly fast, until I remembered with a jolt the speedo was showing miles per hour, not kilometers. It didn't take long for me to find I belonged to the tiny minority in L.A. who used indicators. For everyone else it was all swoop and dive anda"surprise!a"I'm changing lanes.

This was fun. Daringly, I zipped into the fast lane, which would have been the slow lane in Australia. The Mustang was a glistening red bullet, and I was sure there were admiring glances coming my way.

Things were hunky-dory until I decided to exit the freeway and try the challenge of surface streets again. An off-ramp was coming up, so I zoomed down it, full of confidence. I'd aced this driving-in-L.A. routine, I was telling myself as I approached the intersection of the off-ramp and a suburban street. The traffic light was green, so I attempted the tricky double task of making a left turn, plus changing down a gear at the same time.

Yerks! Like any Aussie at home would, I sailed onto the left side of the road. Only stayed there a few meters until, thanks to blaring horns and flas.h.i.+ng headlights, I realized what I'd done. I swerved back to the correct side. It was pure luck I didn't hit anyone, and I was congratulating myself a miss was as good as a mile, when I heard the siren.

Fair d.i.n.k.u.m, I got the works from the cop in the patrol cara" lights flas.h.i.+ng, siren screaming, and then a woop-woop sound, plus his magnified voice booming "Pull over, driver."

I obeyed, all the while cursing myself for being a bit of a lair. I felt my face burn with embarra.s.sment. Ariana had been right, and although I was fairly sure she wouldn't say "I told you so," I was d.a.m.n sure she'd be thinking it.

As if she were beside me, I heard her last bit of advice before I'd taken off: "If you're pulled over, Kylie, keep your hands in plain view. The cops in this town tend to shoot first and ask questions later."

I'd laughed then. I wasn't laughing now. Still, I might just talk my way out of this sticky situation. Glancing in the mirror, I saw the cop get out of his car. He approached slowly, deliberately, paused to check out the plate at the rear, then came to the driver's window.

"G'day," I said, with a subdued smile. "Lovely day, isn't it?"

The cop was wearing the sort of dark gla.s.ses that reflect everything back at you, so I couldn't see his eyes. He hitched his belt, which was hung with multiple items, including, I saw with a p.r.i.c.kle of alarm, a very deadly-looking gun.

He said, "License."

I fished around for my wallet, found my Aussie driving license, and handed it to him. He examined it closely, his expression perfectly blank. The odds I'd wriggle out of this one didn't look good. Still, it was worth a try.

"Crook photo." I indicated the license he was holding in this meaty fingers. "Makes me look like I'm dead on a slab, don't you think?"

"Residents of California are required to have a California license."

Before I could stop myself, I protested, "Fair crack of the whip, officer. Like, I've only been in the States two days!"

No change of expression. Could he possibly be a robot? The cop turned his head slowly to check out the location of my wrongdoing, then just as slowly swiveled it back my way again. That settled it: He was a robot. He said in a monotone, "You exited the freeway and turned onto the left side of the road."

Well, that was stating the obvious. I hastened to explain. "Blame jet lag. Flew in from Australia the day before yesterday. In Oz we drive on the other side, so I'm afraid I got a bit confused. No harm done, fortunately."

He ignored the hopeful don't-book-me-officer look I sent him. Plainly a mana"or robota"of few words, he said, "Proof of owners.h.i.+p? Insurance?"

I dimly recalled Ariana mentioning insurance stuff was in the glove box. "You won't shoot me, will you, if I open the glove box?"

No response. Taking that for a pledge not to use deadly force, I rummaged around and discovered a flat wallet containing official-looking papers. I handed it to him, saying, "Actually, it's not my cara""

"Please step out of the vehicle."

Appalled, I stared at him. "You're not going to frisk me, are you?"

I'd seen enough TV cop dramas to visualize this mortifying process. Worse, since I'd been pulled over, the occupants of pa.s.sing cars had been slowing down to have a look. They'd really have something to see if I got patted down while spread-eagled in an undignified position.

The cop barked, "Exit the vehicle."

I made one last try. "You're not going to book me, are you?"

He put his hand on his gun. That was enough for me. I got out of the car.

"So then what happened?" asked Lonnie through a mouthful of ham sandwich. He, Harriet, and I were in the kitchen, which I was coming to recognize as the beating heart of the office.

I was feeling a bit rattled, having driven so carefully on the way back to Kendall & Creeling that I'd been tooted by several impatient drivers, and one had even yelled unkind comments about my relatives as he pa.s.sed me. Even more depressing, I'd gotten lost several times and had to ask for directions.

I gave a squeeze to Julia Roberts, who I'd enticed to sit on my lap to comfort me after my ordeal. "So I get out of the car, and the cop asks me if I've had anything to drink, and I say, no, not unless he counts two cups of tea and a gla.s.s of orange juice."

"Good one," said Harriet.

"Unfortunately the bloke didn't have much of a sense of humor."

"Did he frisk you?" Lonnie's tone showed his strong hope I'd be answering in the affirmative.

"No. He just booked me."

"Moving violation," said Harriet.

"Traffic school," said Lonnie.

"What's traffic school?"

Lonnie and Harriet exchanged glances.

Harriet said, "It's h.e.l.l."

"It's worse than h.e.l.l," Lonnie said. "They take an entire day to bore you to death."

"Then I won't do it."

They both looked shocked. "You have to," said Harriet, "otherwise the violation's on your record."

"Is that so bad?"

"You have no idea," said Lonnie. "For one thing, your insurance goes sky-high. Believe me, traffic school, painful though it will be, is the only way to go."

"Traffic school?" Ariana was standing in the doorway, looking so cool and contained I imagined the air around her must be a degree or so colder than the rest of the room.

Time for humble pie. "You were absolutely right, Ariana. I shouldn't have taken Dad's car. I've come a gutzer."

A shadow of alarm crossed her face. "And a gutzer would be?"

"No worries, the Mustang's all right. What I mean is, I was really a mug lair this morning, sailing along thinking I had everything under control. But when I came off the freeway I got confused and drove on the wrong side. Not for long, but long enough for a cop to see me and lower the boom." I see.

"I should be thrashed within an inch of my life," I declared. The corners of Ariana's mouth curled. "I think traffic school will be punishment enough."

"It's that bad?" She actually smiled. "Worse than you can imagine."

I wasn't keen on moving to the Deers' mansion this weekend. The reason I gave Ariana was I didn't want to leave poor Jules alone in the place all Sunday, just when she'd got used to having me around. Ariana may have guessed it was also because I was feeling rather more at home here at the office and didn't want to leave it.

There was something else too. I didn't trust Dave Deer. On the mansion's front steps, when we'd all been saying our farewells the night before, his hand had lingered on my shoulder, and his smile had seemed tinged with a hidden meaning. Perhaps it was my imagination, but I didn't think so. Back at the pub I'd had to beat off enough pa.s.ses from blokes who'd hit the booze too hard not to recognize a come-on when I saw it. I'd take a bit of time and work out my strategy before I jumped feet-first into trouble.

Ariana gave Harriet time off to take me shopping to buy something new for the party tonight. I'd been resigned to wearing my plum dress again, so this was a bit of a surprise.

I got my second surprisea"not nearly as welcomea"when we got back a couple of hours later. A leggy, cheerful woman was waiting for Harriet. "Hi, honey," she said, followed by a kiss and a hug. Then she smiled widely at me. "I'm Beth. You must be Kylie. Harriet's told me all about you."

Major disappointment. It seemed I could cross Harriet Porter off my wish list.

My mind was taken off this setback by the arrival of Dr. Deer's security chief to discuss my undercover role.

We met in Ariana's office. "Fred Mills," he said, extending one pudgy hand. He had one of those clammy, spongy handshakes that always make me want to wipe my fingers afterward.

Ariana, I noticed, avoided shaking hands at all by retreating behind her desk.

"I've been liaising with Fred over the missing disks," she said to me, "so he's fully in the loop."