The Dingo Dilemma

'Oh, all right. Yes, it was Pauline's gift to me.'

'It's beautifully made. Something quite out of the ordinary.'

Chuffed by my praise, Lonnie said, 'Pauline's something quite out of the ordinary, too.'

'She certainly seems to be.'

'Best thing that ever happened to me.' Lonnie's smile faded. He was obviously sorry that he'd let his guard down, so he went on briskly, 'Did you want something in particular, or is this a social call?'

I knew it was perfectly safe to raise the topic of Darleen's possible abduction with Lonnie, as long as I said it was confidential. 'I'd rather you didn't mention this anywhere,' I said. Lonnie mimed zipping his lips, so I continued, 'I've heard a rumor there's some plot to abduct Darken the dingo, the star of Darken Come Home, for ransom. Have you heard anything?'

Lonnie's expression showed his keen interest. 'Not a word, but it could be true. The show's the biggest hit Bellina Studios have had since their slate of reality programs tanked. Darken would be well worth snatching, even though she's not the only dingo they've got.'

This was news to me. 'There's more than one Darken?'

'There's the main Darken, but there'll be one or two backups. You don't want shooting to grind to a halt because the star animal is sick, or has been hurt. It's a time-honored tradition. You don't think there was only one Lassie, do you? Or Rin Tin Tin, or Mr. Ed-'

'Stop,' I said. 'I get the idea.'

'I'll ask around, discreetly of course. Bellina Studios run a tight ship, but there's always someone who'll leak any sensational news.'

Knowing how Lonnie spent a good part of his time online, I was confident if there was any chatter about an extortion scheme involving Darleen, Lonnie would find it.

I told him about Dingo O'Rourke and how, because of distant family ties, I'd been compelled to investigate what was up with him. 'I can't get Dingo to answer my calls, so I reckon I need to get onto the television set and front up to him face-to-face. The problem is, I don't know how to go about it.'

'Studio security.'

'Security is what's keeping me out.'

'Security's what will get you in. Talk to Ariana. She's sure to have a contact through the LAPD. Many ex-cops end up in security.'

I'd love to talk to Ariana, but not necessarily about security at Bellina Studios. I left Lonnie enthusiastically starting his search for information on possible dingo-napping and went back to my office. I tried Ariana's cell, but only got voicemail. I didn't leave a message. Then I called her house. The answering machine cut in after three rings.

Feeling angry and apprehensive and helpless all at once, I called her cell again and left a message: 'Ariana, it's me, Kylie. Please call me when you get a chance.' I'd intended to say I was concerned about her, to ask if there was anything I could do, but I chickened at the last moment. It was probably a good thing I did, I decided. Ariana was so intensely private that she'd recoil if I got too pushy.

I was so het up about everything that I couldn't sit still. I ran into Fran outside the storage room, now officially the disaster supplies room. She was in the process of affixing a sign to the door. It read:

Designated Disaster Supplies. For use only in a genuine catastrophe. any other use strictly PROHIBITED. If IN ANY DOUBT, CONTACT OFFICE MANAGER FOR A LIST OF ACCEPTABLE CALAMITIES.

'Strewth!' I said. 'Acceptable calamities? Wouldn't it be obvious even to blind Freddy when it was a total disaster?'

Fran shot me a chilly look. 'It might be obvious to blind Freddy, whoever he is, that a genuine catastrophe has occurred, but I'm more concerned with the likes of Lonnie. He's got no common sense, and is liable to raid the supplies just for some piddling accident.'

I was about to ask what the harm was if he did use some of the stuff in the event of an accident, when Fran said in a challenging tone, 'Melodie tells me you're not keen on the Cordova. I particularly chose that model for you. However, if you'd prefer another desk, the Cadiz is very attractive. I can supply an illustrated catalog.'

That did it! To hell with waiting to consult with Ariana! 'Fran, I want you in my office, now,' I said. 'We have to discuss this whole matter of the faux Spanish furniture.'

For a moment, Fran looked uncertain, then her diminutive form seemed to swell a little as her Amazonian persona reasserted itself. 'I can give you a few minutes,' she said with the air of one granting a favor.

'You can give me as long as it takes.'

It would have been nice if Fran had meekly followed me to my office. Nice, but unrealistic. Instead she strode militantly ahead of me, arms swinging.

As we reached my door, I said, 'I'm surprised you're not whistling a happy tune.'

'What?'

I sang her a few bars from The King and I. Fran rolled her eyes, snarled, 'Oh, please,' and then marched into my office, every line of her body suggesting she wasn't afraid.

To bolster my authority-not that it needed much bolstering at this point, as my rage was taking care of that-I sat down at my desk and pointed to the visitor's chair on the other side. 'Sit.'

Fran plunked herself in the chair and glared at me defiantly. 'Well?'

Making a real effort to be imperturbable, I said, 'Your friends, Isabel and Spike, own Maximum Spanish.'

I thought she'd ask how I knew this, but all she said was, 'So?'

'Without clearing it with me or with Ariana, you decided to order furniture for Kendall & Creeling from your friends' business.'

'I am the Office Manager.'

'You don't have the authority to spend that kind of money without checking first.'

Fran folded her arms under her impressive breastworks. 'Ariana would have said yes, I know she would.'

'You don't know that. And it's not only Ariana's decision. It's mine, too.'

Fran shrugged. 'Sorry,' she drawled.

'But there's something that disturbs me even more.'

'Hmmm?' Fran's expression was one of complete boredom.

'Perhaps I'm just a little Aussie sheila, but from where I come from, secretly taking commission for goods-in this case furniture-ordered on behalf of your employer is unconscionable.'

Fran's pale face flushed. 'I…' She seemed to shrink in the chair. 'We need the money. We've got problems.'

'What do you mean?'

'It's Quip. He's writing a novel. It's taking up every moment of his time.'

I knew that Quip, even though he'd never had a movie produced, still managed to make a living consulting as a script doctor. And there was the stage play he'd written and directed. When I mentioned this, Fran gave a bitter laugh.

'The play ran at a loss. In fact, we borrowed to pay for the theater, and the box office nowhere near covered our costs.'

Fran looked so embarrassed to be telling me this, I felt a pang of pity. 'Maybe Quip's novel will be a big success. What's it about?'

'At first Quip was going to write about the dark underbelly of Hollywood. How the entertainment industry grinds you up and spits you out.'

Even an outsider like me thought this sounded awfully familiar. 'It's a theme that's been covered lots of times before, hasn't it?'

'That's what I told him-Hollywood underbelly stories are a dime a dozen.' Fran's expression lightened and a smile appeared on her lips. 'Quip's so talented. He came up with a new concept almost immediately.'

'A coming-of-age novel, perhaps?' I inquired.

Fran's smile disappeared. 'Are you trying to be funny? Everyone knows coming-of-age novels are a dime a dozen too.'

'Crikey, Fran. Spit it out. What's he writing?'