Kylie Kendall Mystery: The Wombat Strategy Part 3

Melodie turned her wide green eyes on me. "How come you've upset Ariana?"

Bob Verritt answered for me. "Kylie's aiming to become a P.I. and replace her dad in the business."

"No!" Melodie looked at me with admiration. "But it's so hard. And you'll have to get a green card and everything."

"I don't need a green card," I said. "I was born in Los Angeles. I'm an American citizen."

"I thought you were Australian." Melodie spoke in the reproachful tone of someone who'd been fooled. "You sound like one."

"I'm an Australian too. I've got dual citizenship."

"Cool!"

Something she'd said hit me. "What do you mean it's hard to become a P.I.?"

Bob said, "You haven't been a cop, have you? Or got a degree in law or criminology."

"That's a no to both."

"Well, since you're starting from scratch, after the FBI says you haven't got a criminal history, you have to put in three years as a trainee under the supervision of a licensed P.I."

"Crikey! Three years? I was hoping I'd just have to take some sort of exam."

My disillusionment seemed to amuse Bob. "The exam's after you've completed a total of six thousand hoursa"two thousand each year. And you have to be paid for your time, or it doesn't count."

This was turning out to be a bigger commitment than I'd bargained for. "Let me get this straight. I'm an apprentice for three years, then I take an exam, then I'm a true-blue PL? Right?"

"Unless you've got a criminal record."

Hoping my disappointment didn't show, as I hated it when anyone felt sorry for me, I grinned at him. "No record. They never caught me."

"I auditioned for a P.I. role once," said Melodie. "One of three girls working for this millionaire. Guy's Eyes, it was called. Glad I didn't get the part. The show never made it past the pilot episode."

"Major b.u.mmer," I said, being polite. Three years was buzzing around in my head. But h.e.l.l's bells, I didn't have any concrete plans for the future. I could start off, and if I didn't finish, well, that was the way it went.

It suddenly occurred to me that Ariana could stonker me completely by refusing to be my supervisor. "You're a licensed P.I., aren't you?" I said to Bob.

He put up his hands. "Oh, no, Kylie. I'm not going to be the meat in the sandwich between you and Ariana. Work it out with her."

"I'll do that."

No time like the present, as my mum always says. I'd need my strength, so I grabbed a plain doughnut and washed it down with coffee. Then I strode down the hall to Ariana's office, set on following yet another of my mum's pieces of advice: Start as you mean to continue. I was going to start off confident, sure of myself. Ariana would be begging to take me on as a trainee.

The door was open and Ariana was behind her desk, her blond head bent over something she was reading. "Got a mo?" I said.

She skewered me with her blue gaze. "Sure."

I felt my self-confidence leaking away a bit. Maybe I should chat her up first, approach the subject from the side, burble on for a minute or two about nothing in particular.

"Yes?" Ariana said.

"I want you to be my supervisor. Bob Verritt's explained the whole P.I. thing. I know about the three years and all that." When she continued to look at me, expressionless, I added hastily, "I'm really keen, d.i.n.k.u.m I am. You won't be sorry."

"I get inquiries almost every week from individuals who think it would be great to be a private investigator. I tell them all the same thing: It's not enough to want the job. You have to have the skills."

I couldn't think of any particular skill that would help me here, so I said, trying not to sound defensive, "I'm interested in people. What makes them tick." Jeez, did that sound like I might be a bit of a stalker? "But I'm not what you'd call a real sticky-beak, so no worries there."

Ariana sighed. "Okay, Kylie, I'll ask you the questions I use for would-be interns."

I sat up straight. "Fire away."

She didn't look enthusiastic. "Do you have computer skills?"

"Yes."

That took her back a bit. "You do?"

I took a minute to detail how I'd set up the pub's system and how I'd learned a lot of different programsa"word processing, accounting, home office printing, and so on. And then I remembered the courses I'd done, so I told her about them.

It seemed to me Ariana had perked up a little. "How about photography? Any experience?"

"Back home, I've got my own darkroom." Now I was sounding up myself, just like Dave Deer. "Look, I'm not claiming to be a crash-hot photographer of people, which is probably what you're looking for. All my shots are of wildlife, or landscapes."

She asked me a few questions about cameras, and I must have answered okay, because she nodded. She said, "I don't suppose you're familiar with digital cameras?"

"I brought one with me. Got it as a Chrissie present last year." I didn't add it had been a gift from Raylene and I'd seriously considered leaving it behind. But h.e.l.l, it wasn't the camera's fault that she'd turned out to be two-faced.

Ariana's expression had gone from blank to maybe-considering. "You won't be sorry," I said again. "I think I probably will be."

I jumped to my feet. "Leaping lizards! You're taking me on!"

"Oh, G.o.d," said Ariana to herself, but I heard it clearly. "What have I done?"

FOUR.

Figuring I'd better learn the ropes, I started off at the reception desk. Melodie was in residence, consuming what had to be the last available doughnut. I eyed it covetously, as my success with Ariana had sparked my appet.i.te.

"What did you think of Dave Deer?" Melodie asked.

"How did you know I'd met him?"

Melodie gave me a knowing smile. "First rule any P.I. should learn: Ask the receptionist. We know everything that's going on."

She didn't seem to notice when I turned the question around. "What do you think of Dave Deer?"

Melodie took a white-toothed snap at the doughnut. It was, I noticed, dripping with chocolate icing. Chocolate's one of my weaknesses. "I went out with him once," she said indistinctly.

Now this was interesting. Ariana still hadn't told me what Deer had been doing in her office yesterday, and in the excitement of discussing what I'd be paid and confusing stuff like health insurance and social security, I'd forgotten to ask her.

"You only went out with him once?"

She swallowed the last of the doughnut. "My acting. Dave wasn't all that interested."

I folded my arms and sat on the edge of the desk. "No? That's a surprise."

"I can't date anyone who isn't supportive of my career. I mean, it's a jungle out there. Do you have any idea how many hicks bus into L.A. every day expecting to be discovered?"

"How many?"

Melodie frowned at me. "A real lot," she said. "Every audition's a zoo."

"When do you hear about yesterday's audition?"

"I haven't even got a call-back yet. That reminds me, I've got to get hold of Larry and see if he's heard anything." She added with a hint of satisfaction, "My agent. Larry Argent. That's the first step in an acting career. You've got to have an agent, and they don't take just anyone. You have to have talent, looks, and," she gave me an intense stare, "that star quality..."

"So no probs for you, Melodie."

This got me an indulgent laugh. "You're so cute!" She sobered. "There's a million would-bes with talent and looks and star quality. You gotta have luck too. Be seen by the right people." She sighed. "It's real hard work, I can tell you."

I'd opened my mouth to ask what reason Dave Deer would have to be a client of Kendall & Creeling when Fran, her expression dark, came into view. "You write this? About the tea?" She flapped the list in my face.

"That would be me."

"You're asking for a teapot."

Melodie watched with interest as Fran looked me up and down. "A teapot," Fran repeated. "A teapot? What's wrong with tea bags?"

"Can't live without a teapot. And I forgot to ask for a tea-strainer too, please."

Fran c.o.c.ked her head at me and smiled a truly cynical smile. "Let me get this straight. You want me to get a teapot and a tea-strainer?"

"Yes, please. And tea. A packet of the loose stuff. And make it fair d.i.n.k.u.m tea, not those yucky tea bags with flavors."

"Hey," said Melodie, "when I'm stressed after an audition, black currant tea is just about the only thing that can calm me down."

Fran rolled her eyes. "Stressed? Give me a break."

"Could I add something to the list?" I asked.

"And that would be? Russian caviar? Truffles, maybe?"

She reminded me strongly of my Aunt Millie, who's as sour as a lemon and has a line in sarcasm that could wrinkle paint.

"Porridge," I said. "And not the flavored sorta""

"Yadda yadda yadda."

"I beg your pardon?"

Fran made an elaborate act out of adding porridge to the list. "Satisfied?"

"This is just bonzer of you, Fran," I said, with the warmest smile I could manage. "I'm ever so grateful." I continued to grin at her benevolently.

My Pollyanna act was practically guaranteed to irritate most people, and Fran was no exception. "Oh, Jesus," she said. "I'm gone." She paused at the entrance to say to Melodie, "Dentist first, then shopping. Don't expect me before lunch." She slammed the door behind her.

"I suppose you wonder how Fran keeps her job," said Melodie.

"It had crossed my mind."

"She's Ariana's sister's daughter."

Ariana had a sister? I found myself deeply interested and was about to ask a few questions when Bob Verritt interrupted with, "Melodie, I've got an urgent integrity check. The client's getting antsy. You can take Fran along."

"No can do. Fran's at the dentist."

"Again? She's as bad as you."

"Cosmetic dentistry's an art," said Melodie, clearly stung by his comment. "It can't be rushed."

"I suppose you'll have to take Lonnie, then."

I piped up, "I can go instead of Fran."

Bob looked me over. "You'll have to change your top. That T-shirt won't hide the camera lens."

"Good as done."

Melodie laughed. "You don't have a clue what this is about, do you?"

"Not a clue. But I'm here to learn the ropes."

"Excellent," said Bob, although I could tell he had reservations. That made me a bit niggly. I'd show him I was a quick learner.

Half an hour later, Melodie and I were getting into her little convertible. Naturally I headed off to the wrong side because I expected the steering wheel to be on the right, where it would be in Oz.

"We drive on the other side of the road in Australia," I said as I went round to the pa.s.senger seat.

"That must be real strange."

Melodie leaped in, started the engine, shoved it into reverse, and stamped on the accelerator in one continuous movement. We shot out backwards onto Sunset Boulevard, were narrowly missed by a bus, and then zoomed forward, all before I could get my seat belt fastened.

The traffic was, well, unbelievable. I'd had a taste of it in the taxi yesterday, but this morning it seemed even worse. I couldn't remember even the cousin of a traffic jam in the 'Gudge, except once when our footy team won the Country Challenge Cup for the first, and probably only, time. Here in LA. there seemed to be a zillion vehicles driven by people all busting to get somewhere fast.