Kookaburra Gambit

mele,' she said without her usual verve.

My mum has a saying about Aunt Millie's cooking-not to her face of course. 'When Millie cooks,' Mum would declare, 'it's either a burnt offering or a bloody sacrifice.'

I examined my main course. On my plate sat my very own burnt offering.

Ten

As soon as I saw Melodie's gloomy expression Monday morning, I assumed the Saturday callback hadn't gone well. 'Missed out, did you?' I said, sounding as sympathetic as possible.

'Not at all,' said Melodie. 'That was the first callback. I expect to get a second callback later this week. Larry, my agent, says not to worry-he just knows they loved me.'

First thing every Monday morning a meeting was held in Ariana's austere office to report on all current cases. Everyone was expected to attend, except for Melodie and Fran. Up to this point I'd really only been a spectator, but now, even if I were under Bob Verritt's supervision, I had a case of my very own.

I'd found it was traditional for Ariana to supply doughnuts for the meeting, although I suspected it pained her to have crumbs scattered all about by Lonnie, who, nice bloke though he might be, was an awfully messy eater.

Everyone trooped in with coffee, except me (I had a good strong cup of tea) and Harriet (who insisted on drinking a peppermint concoction made with a Bliss Moments tea bag). We sat in a circle, with Ariana the focal point behind her desk.

Feeling incredibly pleased to be part of this group, I checked out my companions. Bob, thin as a rake, had folded himself onto his chair. Lonnie had dumped a stack of papers on the chair next to mine and had gone to inspect the selection of doughnuts in the cardboard box on Ariana's desk. Harriet, who took notes of these meetings and came up with an efficient two-page precis every week, was shifting around in her chair as though she couldn't get comfortable, probably something to do with being pregnant. Or maybe she just couldn't get comfortable. Ariana's furniture was rather severe, like Ariana.

I saved Ariana Creeling for last, just the same as I always saved the most delicious food for last, or the book I thought I'd enjoy the best, for last. My mum had never understood why I did it, and I never could explain to her why anticipating something made the pleasure better.

Ariana was sitting calmly behind her desk, very still, watching as people took their places. I remembered what a jolt her blue eyes had given me the first time I'd walked into her office. Familiarity hadn't diminished the affect at all. This morning, as she had been that first day, she was dressed all in black, and her pale blond hair was pulled back in a chignon.

Although Ariana was the same, my appearance had improved markedly. The day we'd first met, I'd been jet- lagged and wearing jeans and a T-shirt. This morning I had on a tailored navy suit and creamy silk blouse. And my new hairstyle still looked pretty good, even if I'd ruined Luigi's strenuous blow-drying by washing my hair under the shower, ignoring his advice on using a conditioner, and then letting it dry naturally.

After we'd all settled down, Ariana said, 'I'd like to discuss a new client first, Nanette Poynter. There may be some impact on Bob and Kylie's Hartnidge case, as the problem she has involves Brother Owen of the Church of Possibilities.'

'Nanette Poynter?' said Lonnie, spewing crumbs as he tried to swallow a mouthful of chocolate doughnut and talk at the same time. 'The one who used to be Nanette Sullivan?'

'You want a serviette?' I said, handing him one of the flimsy paper ones that had come with the doughnuts.

He swallowed. 'A what?'

'A serviette.'

'We call them napkins.'

Ariana frowned. We all came to attention. She said, 'Yes, Lonnie, that Nanette Poynter.'

'Trophy wife,' said Harriet. 'Used to be a model. Vernon Poynter's second, or is it third?'

'His third wife,' said Lonnie. I guessed he must absorb everything available about the rich and famous, as he always seemed to know all about them. 'She married him in her late twenties, but now she's pushing forty, rather long in the tooth for a trophy wife. Poynter himself's got to be in his eighties. You've got to wonder how he gets it up.'

'You may not know, Lonnie,' said Bob with a wicked grin, 'but there's these little tablets…'

Lonnie snickered, then caught Ariana's eye. 'Sorry.'

'As Lonnie has pointed out,' said Ariana, 'Nanette Poynter is much younger than her husband. He's extremely rich, being the Poynter of Poynter and Yarnell, stockbrokers.'

'What's the problem?' asked Harriet. 'A prenuptial?'

Ariana shook her head-elegantly, of course. 'Amazingly, no prenuptial agreement is in force. Apparently, against all advice, Vernon Poynter married her without one. What's worrying Nanette is that her husband has been sucked into the Church of Possibilities. Brother Owen is persuasive. He's got Poynter promising to give COP millions.'

'There goes Nanette's inheritance,' said Bob. 'It doesn't seem fair, does it? She does her time in hell, and in the end doesn't get paid for it.'

'Maybe she married him for love,' I said.

Lonnie smothered a laugh. 'Good one.' Then he caught sight of my expression. 'Kylie! Don't tell me you weren't joking!'

'Alzheimer's,' said Harriet. 'Have Vernon declared incompetent.'

'That won't fly,' said Ariana. 'Poynter's recently had a full checkup and he's mentally and physically in great shape.'

'So what's she want Kendall & Creeling to do for her?' I asked.

'Not much,' said Ariana sardonically. 'She only wants us to find evidence that will open her husband's eyes to the confidence game Brother Owen is playing, preferably before the last red cent of her inheritance disappears into the church's coffers.'

We discussed the case for a good while, deciding Lonnie was to research COP's finances and Harriet was to investigate pending and past lawsuits against the 'church.'

Ariana said to me, 'I'd like you to sit in on a meeting I have with Nanette Poynter this afternoon. It may be valuable background for your case.'

My case. In my imagination I sang a line or two of 'My Girl,' substituting 'My Case.'

'Kylie?'

'That'd be bonzer, if it doesn't clash with Alf and Chicka's appointment. They're due here at four.'

Before going to Ariana's office this morning, Bob had told me he'd spoken to Alf, and both brothers were all for me going undercover. They were coming over this afternoon to finalize the details.

'That'll work,' said Ariana. 'Nanette Poynter will be here at two.'

Then we discussed my case, my case-the song kept ringing in my ears like an endless audio loop. Lonnie gave us the results of his preliminary background checks of the Oz Mob staff. As he said he'd expect in any group like this, he'd turned up minor criminal records for some of them-drunk driving, possession of small amounts of drugs, and one domestic violence arrest.

However, there were three people of special interest. As well as Tami Eckholdt's sister, Patsy, working under a false name, Ira Jacobs and Ron Udell had apparently given up very senior positions in the Church of Possibilities to take lower-paying jobs with the Hartnidges' company.

'What did they do in the COP organization?' I asked.

'Ira Jacobs is an accountant, previously handling large sums of money for the church,' said Lonnie. 'Ron Udell was a hotshot in PR. Neither was fired.'

'They've got to be there for some reason,' Bob said.

'I've got to dig deeper,' said Lonnie. 'I'm sure there's much more about these guys, but it's well hidden, which