Kylie Kendall Mystery: The Wombat Strategy Part 6

Dr. Deer's face was impa.s.sive. "You're deeply troubled," he agreed. "Deeply, deeply troubled."

The patient nodded. "Deeply. I have fame, fortune, but inside I'm empty. A husk of a man."

"You have fame, fortune, but inside you're a husk of a man. An empty husk."

Harriet hooted. "Who wrote this dialogue? I could do better myself."

The patient opened his mouth to speak but was transfixed by the screen behind Deer's head, upon which had appeared in block letters: don't come the raw prawn with me. I smothered a laugh.

"What's that for?" the patient said.

The screen went blank. Dr. Deer looked behind him, then back at the patient. "There's nothing there. Do you believe you saw something?"

"There were words up there on the wall. Something about a prawn."

Dr. Deer had another look. "I don't see anything. Possibly an electronic malfunction..." He gave the patient a meaningful stare. "Or a projection of your troubled, inner child."

SOOKS NEVER PROSPER.

"There it is again!" exclaimed the patient. "What's a sook?"

I answered him. "A crybaby."

The words had obligingly disappeared by the time Dr. Deer looked over his shoulder. "Have you had hallucinations before?" he asked.

Harriet said, "What's coming the raw prawn?"

"Aussie slang," I told her. "Means don't try to trick me, slip something past me, like putting a raw prawn in with all the cooked ones."

Dr. Deer's patient was becoming more and more agitated and didn't cope well when no hide, no chrissie box appeared.

The bloke leapt to his feet, screaming, "Look at the mother-f.u.c.king wall! And don't tell me I'm seeing things!"

The action froze, and Dave Deer's voice-over remarked, "You will note these Australian colloquial sayings, presented to the patient, have a function something akin to Zen koans, which challenge the audience to make sense of nonsense. The patient's struggle to discern meaning facilitates the development of a potential that dwells in all of usa"that is, the perception of true selfdom."

A close-up of the patient's contorted face, caught in mid bellow, appeared. "Note the frustration, the lack of control, the almost childlike behavior of the patient," said Dr. Deer. "This marks the seminal, the determining, the shaping point of my therapy."

The frozen picture jerked into life. The patient, spluttering with rage, confronted his therapist, still sitting relaxed on his chair. "I've paid a small fortune for this...for this..."

As words failed him, Dr. Deer stood, drew himself to his full height, slapped the patient very hard on one cheek, then backhanded him equally hard on the other, while saying in a loud, commanding voice, "Slap! Slap! Get on with it!"

"You hit me! You physically a.s.saulted me!"

Dr. Deer smiled, warmly, compa.s.sionately. "Your terminology is faulty. What you experienced was not a.s.sault. It was, in fact, an enlightening, freeing, clinically controlled, physical gestalt."

"Say what?"

Deer bent to pick up the patient's specs, which had been sent flying at the first hearty slap. "How do you feel?" he asked solicitously, handing them over. "What thoughts are arising from your deepest, innermost, most profound self?"

"That you're an a.s.shole."

Dr. Deer beamed. "Excellent. Your healing process has begun."

SIX.

As the screen went blank, Lonnie said, "I know I'm going to be sorry I asked, but what does 'No hide, no Chrissie box' mean?"

"It's a bit complicated," I said. "See, the day after Christmas is Boxing Day. In England it was the day the lord and lady of the manor came around to give food and other goodies to the peasants. See? They handed out Chrissie boxes."

"I'm already sorry I asked," said Lonnie.

"You've lost me," said Harriet. "What's this to do with hiding?"

"Not hiding. Having a hide. Like a rhinoceros. You, know, being thick-skinned, so you don't get discouraged easily."

They looked at me blankly. This was uphill work. "Okay," I said, "here it is in a nutsh.e.l.l. If you're not pushy, you don't get a reward. Got it? No hide, no Chrissie box."

"Then I guess you get a lot of Chrissie boxes, Kylie," said Lonnie with a grin.

"Let's get on with it," said Ariana.

Her cool voice got Lonnie moving fast. He rapidly handed out stapled pages to Ariana, Harriet, and me. "This is a staff list, including social security numbers, for Deerdoc Enterprises in L.A. Thirty people are either on the payroll now or were recently employed by Deerdoc."

His look of disapproval plain, Lonnie went on, "Before these people were employed, there were very cursory background checks, or in some cases none at all." He squinched up his face as though in pain. "I keep asking myself, when will they ever learn?"

Ariana said, "We need to dig a great deal deeper."

"You've got that right. Harriet, you take the first fifteen, I'll take the last. There are some Australian nationals, and we could have some difficulty with them because most of their personal information will be in that country."

"The usual info?" Harriet asked.

Ariana nodded. "Contact previous employers and anyone who gave personal references. Look for criminal arrests and convictions, property transactions, credit ratings, bankruptcies, any involvement in civil cases, including divorce. And double-check educational qualifications, especially for anyone claiming a medical degree. We all know how often people lie about their credentials."

A telephone rang. Lonnie had to hunt around to find the handset under the stuff he had piled on top of his desk. "It's Dave Deer for you, Ariana."

"Tell Melodie I'll take the call in my office." She beckoned to me to come with her.

On the way down the hall, I said, "I wouldn't be all that keen on being slapped across the face, specially by a big bloke like Dave Deer. It's a wonder that any of his patients come back for more."

"They come back, all right. He has no trouble keeping his clientele. In fact, he's so much in demand, new patients can expect to wait months for a first appointment."

"You mean if someone like Nicole Kidman rang Dave Deer and said she'd go stark raving mad unless he saw her right away, he'd tell her, 'Sorry Nic, no can do?'"

"I imagine he'd take Nicole Kidman without delay," she said dryly.

In her office, she motioned for me to take a seat as she picked up the receiver. "Dave, it's Ariana." She listened calmly as he spoke. Even from where I was sitting I could pick up on the agitated tone in his voice.

"You're absolutely right," said Ariana. "We have to be proactive. We should meet." She listened. "Yes, excellent. Your house at eight."

An idea was rocketing around in my head. Ariana'd probably give it the big thumbs-down, but like my mum says, you don't know it's a goer till you give it a go.

As soon as Ariana put down the receiver, I rushed in with it. "I've been thinking, n.o.body knows me at Deerdoc Enterprises except Dr. Deer himself. And Lonnie said there were other Aussies there. So why couldn't I go in undercover? I could suss out the place, no worries."

I half expected I'd finally get a laugh out of her, but it wouldn't be the sort I'd enjoy. That didn't happen. She regarded me thoughtfully, smoothing her pale hair with one hand. This was the first edgy gesture I'd seen her make, apart from drumming her fingers yesterday when I said I was set on becoming a P.I.

At last she spoke. "Maybe that's not a bad idea." There was another long pause while she thought some more, then she said, "I'll call Dave Deer back and tell him you're coming with me tonight, and I'll run the idea past him. It's for dinner, so don't ruin your appet.i.te beforehand."

With a ghost of a grin, she added, "That is, if you're available..."

"Oh, I'm available."

"For actors, the right name is vital," Melodie advised. She paused to answer a call, then went on, as though nothing had interrupted, "Yours, for instance, would be a good one."

"What? Kylie Kendall? You're joking."

I'd come up front to the reception area to ask Melodie if there was an iron around, as I had to make something in my spa.r.s.e wardrobe look presentable for dinner at the Deers' place.

"Of course, I had to change mine."

"Your name's not Melodie?"

She frowned. "Not the Melodie, the Schultz. Now I ask you, does Melodie Schultz make you think star?"

I had to admit it didn't.

"So I took Davenport as my professional name. How do you think that sounds? Melodie Davenport?" She paused as if listening for an echo.

"Ripper name," I said. When she looked at me with doubt, I went on, "Like, it's absolutely excellent."

Julia Roberts, who had been curled up in a tight ball on the reception desk, pleased me by waking up, stretching, and coming over to be adored.

"She likes you," said Melodie. "Julia's real choosy, so you should be flattered." Then she was back on topic, clearly into deep musing over monikers. "Julia Roberts is a terrific name, but Bob Verritt couldn't be a success in the biz with his. The Bob's the problem. If he used Robert, he might make it. And Lonnie Moore? No way. Not that he's star material in any case."

Another call came through. "Kendall & Creeling...I'll put you through to Mr. Verritt." That done, Melodie moved onto Harriet Porter, commenting that although Harriet was an old-fashioned name, it might be okay, being as there weren't that many Harriets in compet.i.tion.

I put my search for an iron on hold, and asked, "What do you think of Ariana Creeling as a name? Got possibilities?"

Melodie wrinkled her nose, managing to look attractive doing it. "Don't like the Creeling."

"It's not her married name, is it?"

My casual question earned a casual shrug. "No idea."

Did that mean Ariana was married, or that Melodie didn't know one way or the other? "You mean you don't know if she's married or not?"

"Maybe she has been, maybe not. She's a very private person. All I can tell you is she lives in the Hollywood Hills. I've been to her place. It's lovely. Got a great view."

Someone took this moment to dial Kendall & Creeling's number. Melodie glared at the phone. "Look, people, it's Friday afternoon. Give me a break."

This call turned out to be much more welcome, as it was from one of Melodie's friends. Before she and Tiffany could get too deeply into plans for the weekend, I interrupted with, "I'm looking for an iron. Any ideas where I might find one?"

"Hold on," she said to Tiffany. Melodie then gave me the bad news. "You'll have to ask Fran. She's the only one who'll know."

In the BMW, Ariana and I went west along Sunset toward Beverly Hills. Sunset Boulevard was obviously the place to be on Friday night. Twin streams of cars, many of the occupants shouting and tooting, clogged the roadway. The footpaths were crowded with people walking, talking, and standing in queues to get into places. Several of the billboards lining the road didn't just sit there, they scintillated and flashed and boomed with music and sound effects.

Ariana drove the way I expected: smoothly, competently, and with patience. This last quality I admired, not having all that much of it myself.

"That's the House of Blues," she said, gesturing to an awkward-looking building on the left. I didn't have the faintest what the House of Blues was, but I said "Right" as if I did. It was clear to me I needed a crash course on this sort of stuff if I was ever to get anywhere as a P.I. I resolved to quiz Melodie about Sunset nightlife and so on, working on the principle that she'd certainly be in the know.

We swept around a corner and down a hill, and abruptly everything changed. Gone were the crowds, the gesturing motorists, the gaudy lights. A discreet sign indicated that we were entering Beverly Hills. The traffic jams disappeared as the roadway widened. Vehicles sped along, minding n.o.body's business but their own. I caught glimpses of large houses and luxurious gardens behind concealing walls.

After we'd driven a couple of kilometers, Ariana turned right off Sunset and onto a narrow, winding street. Houses crowded both sides, but no one was out walking the dog or taking an evening stroll. Because there were hardly any streetlights and lots of trees, it was a bit like driving through a leafy tunnel.

I glanced over at Ariana. Illuminated by the lights from the dash, her profile was serene, but I reckoned that inside she couldn't be. "This case is really important, isn't it?" I said.

"Every case is important."

"Fair go, you know what I mean. Dave Deer's a big shot. If things go wrong, he'll cut up rough. It'll be our fault, not his."

She glanced over at me. "What makes you say that?"

"Back in Oz, before he ever came to the States, there was this big fuss when one of Dave Deer's patients, a TV personality, used a shotgun to murder his wife and his mother, then blew himself away. The word got out that in therapy sessionsa"some with Dave Deer and some with another therapist who worked for hima"the bloke had talked about what he was planning, but nothing was done about it. For a while it looked like Dave Deer was in for it, but then, all at once it was entirely the other doctor's fault and Dr. Deer was totally off the hook."

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying if things go down the gurgler, Dr. Deer won't get sucked in. It'll be someone else's fault, never his. And if he has to blame Kendall & Creeling, trust me, he will."

"Thanks for the warning."

I got the impression she wasn't taking my advice all that seriously, and that made me bring up something that'd been nagging at me since she'd agreed to let me get involved in the case. "I want it straight, Ariana. Are you going to recommend to Dave Deer I go undercover just so you can get me out of your hair?"

She gave an amused snort. "It'd be a lot easier to take you for a one-way ride to the Angeles National Forest."

While I was deciding how to reply to this, she took a sharp right, then a sharp left. Turning into a driveway, we pulled up at fancy wrought-iron gates. Tall walls stretched off on either side. The gates looked substantial enough to stop a tank. I noticed a movement at the top of one gatepost, as a camera swiveled around to stare at us.

Ariana slid down her window, and when a disembodied voice asked for identification, said, "Ariana Creeling and Kylie Kendall. Dr. Deer's expecting us." I liked the way she said my name. Her American accent made it sound exotic.

Silently, in a mega-spooky manner, the ma.s.sive gates swung open. I twisted around to look back as we went up the driveway. They were swinging closed behind us. "What if the power goes out?"

I didn't need to explain. Ariana said, "I imagine there's a manual release. Besides, my guess is there'll be an emergency generator up at the house."

I guessed she was right. The place was a mansion and a half.