Quokka Question

When I give the word, you will climb into the trunk. Winona will drive you to a friend's place. You'll be his guest until after the symposium. You'll be quite safe. Nothing will happen to you.'

'This friend wouldn't be Wally Easton, would it?'

He was momentarily surprised, then smiled thinly at me. 'How perspicacious of you, my dear. I'm sure you'll enjoy his particular brand of hospitality. I must warn you, however, not to rile Wally. He can be impulsive, I'm afraid.'

The thought of being in Wally Easton's clutches was too horrible to contemplate. I looked around, frantic to find some way out before I lost any option to escape. There were a few students around but no one close to us.

'Don't do anything stupid,' Yarrow hissed. He tightened his arm around my shoulder. 'Try something and I'll pull the trigger. I won't hesitate.'

We were getting dangerously close to the parking structure. I had to do something-now. I'd take my chances at being shot. Anything was better than the fate Yarrow intended for me.

'Judy! Hey, Judy! Over here!'

Twenty meters away stood Clifford Van Horden III, cast in the unlikely role of my knight in shining armor.

While Yarrow swiveled his head, obviously wondering where the hell this Judy was, I summoned up what I hoped was an alluring smile. 'Cliff! Darling! I've been looking for you everywhere!'

The 'darling!' did it. He came rocketing over. 'Here I am, Judy, ready and willing.'

'Meet Professor Jack Yarrow,' I said politely. 'He's intending to murder me.'

Clifford Van Horden III blinked at this but still thrust out his hand. 'Pleased to meet you, sir.'

'He's got a gun,' I yelled, breaking Yarrow's hold on me.

My would-be rescuer's eyes were wide. 'A gun?' he said, shrinking back. Not hero material at all.

As though I rehearsed it every day, a move from my self-defense course at the Wollegudgerie Police Club came back to me. With every bit of strength I could muster, I whacked Yarrow across the bridge of his nose with the side of my hand, then jabbed him in both eyes with my extended fingers. Blood spurted from his nose; he fell to his knees, the silver gun spinning away from him.

I became aware that Clifford Van Horden III was gazing at me, openmouthed. 'Judy,' he said at last. 'Judy!'

TWENTY THREE

I'd broken a bone in my hand and had bruised ribs from being poked by the gun barrel, so I was in some pain, but it was nothing to the pain Jack Yarrow was feeling. Not only had I fractured his nose and given him two black eyes, but his faithful administrative assistant was singing, as Lonnie said, like a yellow canary. Yarrow had been arrested on suspicion of murder, and Winona and Easton were under intensive investigation with charges likely to follow.

Pen Braithwaite came close to snapping my bruised ribs with a huge hug; Di Niptucker sent congratulations from Australia; even my mother admitted I'd done a bonzer job. Everyone at Kendall & Creeling was pleased with me, except Ariana. Oh, she commended me for solving the case of the quokka question, but it was cool praise. A chilly curtain seemed to have come down between us.

Fran chose this point to stage a surprise disaster drill. Everyone was involved: Ariana, Bob, Melodie, Lonnie, Harriet, me, and, of course, Fran herself. The drill did not go well. Fran was seriously displeased with us, observing acidly that if this had been a genuine terrorist attack or natural catastrophe, we would all be stone-cold dead.

Her main ire was directed toward Lonnie, who had finally got his gas mask in place and was doing a jerky robot-walk while repeating 'Take me to your leader' in a machine-voice monotone.

It really was funny, and we all laughed, except for Fran. She smacked Lonnie across the side of the head with a first aid kit, no doubt to jolt some sense into him, but it had the opposite effect. Lonnie did a theatrical swan dive and thrashed around on the floor, saying, 'System crash! System crash!'

Even Ariana had tears in her eyes from laughter, and Bob, who when keenly amused, gave out the most disconcerting, braying cackle and came close to choking. Fran, her hands on her hips, surveyed us stone-faced until we had laughed ourselves out.

'Wonderful,' she said. 'Brilliant. I'm calling a repeat drill at five o'clock. Perhaps by then the importance of disaster preparedness will have sunk in.'

'We can't,' said Melodie, still giggling. 'Tonight's the play reading. We've got main parts, Fran. We have to leave early.'

That wiped the smiles off several faces. This evening there was to be a reading of Quip's Laughter Under Luna in front of an invited audience. Quip had called each one of us to make sure we would definitely be attending. Harriet had shamelessly played the pregnancy card, saying her need for regular bathroom stops would be too disruptive to an audience grappling with an intensely dark tragedy.

The rest of us had no escape, although I halfheartedly tried the fact I had a damaged hand as an excuse. It didn't work: Quip had begged, and I'd given in. Having been exposed to the lines Melodie and Fran had been learning, I had the gloomy conviction we were all in for a very long night.

As convictions go, this one turned out to be only partly accurate. We all dutifully arrived at the theater, which was small, shabby, and cramped, and joined the other members of the audience, none of whom seemed particularly enthusiastic. I did my level best to snaffle a seat next to Ariana but was foiled by Lonnie on one side and a total stranger on the other.

Settling in my singularly uncomfortable seat, I recalled that Harriet had said that Quip intended LUL to distill the angst of the early twenty-first century. She'd been laughing when she'd said it, and as the reading began, I saw why. Quip had unintentionally written a funny deep tragedy.

The muffled giggles started almost immediately. Full belly laughs took a little longer. On the stage, Fran, Melodie, and the rest of the cast, all arrayed on high stools with leather-bound copies of LUL in their hands, seemed more puzzled than upset.

Melodie, apparently believing the levity had been caused by some lack of depth in performance, upped her lines to such searing intensity that the audience howled. So it turned out to be a long evening, but definitely an entertaining one.

In the crush after the performance, I looked for Ariana, but she had slipped away and no doubt was on her way home. For one mad moment I thought of getting in my car and following her there. I had a fair idea why she was giving me the cold shoulder and needed to have it out with her.

Good sense prevailed, and I returned to Julia Roberts instead. I went to bed, brooding. My hand hurt, my ribs hurt, my heart hurt. Jules inconsiderately had a full-scale wash on the bed around three o'clock in the morning. All in all, it was a miserable night.

I got up early, went into Ariana's room, and left a note on her desk. I'd labored over the wording for ages, trying several versions out on Julia Roberts. With her help, I'd finally ended up with the simple, 'We need to talk.'

People arrived. The day began. About nine-thirty Ariana came into my office. Shutting the door behind her she said, 'That was reckless of you. Irresponsible.'

'Rash,' I said. 'Impulsive.'

'Don't laugh at me, Kylie. I'm serious. The first rule you learn in law enforcement is backup. You went in alone.'

'I had to.'

'You didn't.'

'OK,' I said, getting up and coming over to her. 'I wanted to impress you. Prove to you I could be a crash-hot P.I., a worthy partner in the business. Maybe I went a bit far-'

Ariana gave a rueful half laugh. 'I'm not altogether sure I can take the stress of having you as a partner.'

'Do you notice a flock of little pink pigs circling the room, their tiny wings flapping?'

'I don't believe so.'

'Until you do, I'm not going anywhere.'

“I see.”