She let her breath out in a long sigh. 'I'm focusing, focusing. I'm searching for the real essence of Penny Platypus. The essential platypus…'
Alf gazed at her, nonplussed.
'Do you even know what a platypus is?' I asked.
Melodie frowned, 'Um…' The phone rang. She seized it like a drowning woman would a lifeline. 'Good afternoon! Kendall & Creeling.'
Out in the car park, I stopped to blink at the gigantic pink convertible sitting in the visitors' spot. 'Where did that come from?'
'It's a vintage Cadillac,' Alf said, sweeping open the passenger door with a flourish. 'Got bored with the car I had, so I went for something a bit flashier. The bloke that rented me this specializes in unusual luxury cars. There was a gold Maserati I had my eye on, but this beauty was calling my name.'
As we pulled out into the traffic, Alf said, 'Watch the heads turn, old love, watch the heads turn.'
And turn they did, although it may not just have been the pink Cadillac. Alf drove like a man possessed. 'I like to put the pedal to the metal,' he bellowed above the slipstream we were generating.
'I can see that,' I shouted back, hanging on for dear life.
On Burbank Boulevard we mercifully hit heavy traffic, and Alf was forced to slow down. I took the opportunity of relative silence to say, 'Alf, lay off those one-armed hugs you like so much. My biceps are black and blue. You don't know your own strength.'
'Sorry, mate. Will do.'
My cell phone hiccupped. It was Melodie. 'Your Aunt Millie's on the line. She says she's rested and ready to go.'
'Oh, hell,' I said. 'Tell her I'm on a job and that I'll call her back as soon as I can.'
'A problem?' Alf asked.
'My Aunt Millie's in town.'
He looked at me uncomprehendingly, then his expression changed. 'Strewth! Not Millie Haggety?'
I nodded. 'My Aunt Millie.'
Alf looked as though he'd swallowed something very unpleasant. 'Ah, jeez, love. I don't have to see her, do I? Last time I ran into Millie Haggety was at our big family do at Chrissie. I suppose you know she's a sort of distant cousin of ours by marriage. Her hubby had Hartnidge blood somewhere.'
'What happened?'
'We had words. That's all I'll say.' He shook his head despondently, then said, half to himself, 'The world's just not big enough to escape her, is it?'
Thirteen
The Oz Mob office was in a smallish, dun-colored building just off Burbank Boulevard. Alf plummeted down the driveway into underground parking and screeched to a halt in a spot too small to contain the whole length of the Cadillac. Getting out, I inspected the considerable overhang at the back, caused by a boot clearly large enough to transport several bodies without crowding.
'It's sticking out quite a way,' I observed.
'No worries,' said Alf. He gestured at the other parked cars. 'No one here wants to get pink paint on their transport.'
I could see what he meant. Most of the cars seemed very new and very pricy. 'All leased,' said Alf, leading the way to dusty concrete stairs. I wobbled along behind on my extremely high heels. 'Part of the package to get good staff.'
'You're paying all these leases? Isn't that expensive?'
'Technically, our Oz Mob company's picking them up. It was on Tami's advice.'
'Tami of Lamb White?'
'That Tami. She personally recommended this crash-hot accountant, Ira Jacobs, and we snapped him up, quick smart. Ira's a wonder. Showed us how leasing was by far the best way to go. In fact, he's got everything financial humming along, both here and in Australia. Don't know how Chicka and I did without him.'
'So he has considerable control over the company's money?'
Alf glanced over at me rather defiantly. 'I know what you're going to say. You've warned us some of our staff might not be true blue, but I'm sure Ira's the genuine article. I'd know if he wasn't.'
Ariana, Bob, and I had talked it over and decided to give the Hartnidges a general warning that we'd found indications that some of their staff could be plants. We weren't going to specifically name anyone until Lonnie came up with concrete evidence.
'Who did Ira work for previously?' I knew from Lonnie it was the Church of Possibilities, but Alf would be in the dark about that.
'Some film company in New York,' said Alf vaguely.
'You don't know the details and still you hired him?'
Alf frowned at my critical tone. 'Tami had her Lamb White people run a background check. Told me Ira was dinky-di.' Reaching the top of the stairs, he put his hand on the latch of the heavy metal door bearing the sign first floor and looked at me searchingly. 'Do you know any different?'
Alf didn't strike me as good at hiding his feelings. If I revealed Jacobs had lied about his past employment, I was pretty sure Alf would start glaring at the accountant suspiciously. It wouldn't help our investigation if the bloke got wind of the fact that Alf was on to him, so I said, 'We're still digging. I'll get back to you when we've got something specific.'
'Because,' said Alf, pushing open the heavy door, 'I wouldn't want to let Ira go. Top bloke in every way. You'll see what I mean when you meet him.'
I followed him into a thickly carpeted area, partitioned off into many largish cubicles. The Oz Mob setup was too small to employ a receptionist, so I had no need to worry about the RN- as I now mentally referred to the receptionist network.
I readied myself to twitter, as I imagined a rather dim girlfriend would. Tugging at my too short skirt, I contemplated my legs. They did look good in heels, but the blasted things were just as challenging to walk in as I'd feared. I thanked the genetic gods for my strong ankles.
Apart from Ira Jacobs, there were two others I was interested in meeting. One was Patsy Eckholdt, Tami's sister, who was calling herself Paula Slade. The other was Ron Udell, who had done public relations for COP, but, like Ira Jacobs, had concealed this when joining the Hartnidges' company.
Alf was looking around, seemingly expecting something to happen. Apparently the something was Chicka. He suddenly popped out of one of the cubicles. 'G'day,' he said, then swallowed nervously. Beads of sweat trickled down his face.
Alf had confided to me earlier that Chicka suffered from stage fright. 'But it's
'He feels he has an important supporting part. He's taking it very seriously. Even skipped breakfast this morning to practice.'
Clearly, practice hadn't made perfect. As an audience arrived, namely a woman with a bunch of folders in her hand, Chicka fixed her with a desperate stare and blurted, 'Look who's here. What a surprise. It's Alf with his girlfriend, Kylie.'
The woman halted and glanced sourly from me, to Alf, to Chicka.
Chicka cleared his throat. 'Alf, have you brought Kylie here to impress her with the office?' He paused to give me a lips-drawn-back grin, so obviously false I had to change my involuntary giggle into a cough.
'Yes, Chicka,' said Alf, apparently suddenly infected with the same bad-acting virus. 'I
Yerks! I had to put a stop to this fast. 'I'm Kylie,' I said to the woman, putting out my hand.
'Paula.'
Ah! So this was Tami Eckholdt's sister, Patsy, acting a role, just like me. She didn't resemble Tami, except
