The Dingo Dilemma

'You're in no position to judge these things, Kylie. Screen dialogue is an artistic rendition of conversation. Like, it's not real!'

'It certainly isn't. No Aussie wrote that rubbish.'

My scathing tone seriously irked Melodie. 'You being a total outsider and all, I don't suppose you've even heard of the writer/ director of Darken Come Home, Earl Garfield. He's had so many successful series, he's like, a god in this town. Quip says he's a scriptwriter's scriptwriter. The best.'

I knew who Earl Garfield was, having done some online research into the show yesterday. Years ago Garfield had been the TV industry's boy wonder. Now I guessed he'd be the industry's middle-aged wonder. 'This Garfield bloke writes every script, does he?'

'He wouldn't have time to do that and direct,' said Melodie with the tone of one talking to someone terminally dim, 'so he employs a team of writers. But he'd read every word. There's nothing gets by him. He's famous for controlling every facet of his show.'

'Crikey, he's not controlling the quality of the scripts if what I just heard is any indication.'

A dreamy look appeared on Melodie's face. 'It was one of my best auditions, Kylie. I shone! Although it's only for two episodes at the moment, I'm hoping once they see me in action, the character will be written into further episodes. Larry-my-agent told me the casting director was just bowled over by my Olive, so I expect to be meeting Earl Garfield soon. Of course, he has the final word on the cast.'

She mused on this happy event for a moment, then said, 'I mean, not just anybody meets him. Garfield's a famous recluse, who won't give interviews or socialize. Like Bette Davis.'

'I think you mean Greta Garbo.'

Melodie flapped a hand. 'Whatever.'

'There's a fair chance I'll be seeing Mr. Garfield this morning.'

That got Melodie's wide-eyed attention. 'You're visiting your dingo wrangling relative today? On the set of Darken Come Home?'

'I'll give it a burl.'

She wrinkled her nose at me. 'Like it'd be nice if you spoke plain English for a change.'

'I said I'm going to attempt to see Dingo.'

'Don't move.' Melodie rushed off, her high heels beating a rhythm down the hall. A couple of moments she was back, a large photo in her hand. 'It's my best headshot,' she said, shoving it at me. 'If you could just get Timmy to sign it, or failing that, anyone else in the cast, that would be awesome!'

The first time I'd been asked to do this I'd been working undercover at a celebrity doctor's offices. At the time I'd thought it very odd to ask for a star's autograph on someone else's photograph. Now I knew nothing was too strange for the entertainment industry.

'I'll try,' I said, 'but no guarantees.'

Melodie gave me a quick hug. 'You're the best, Kylie. Of course, the chances are I'll soon be on the set myself as Olive, Timmy's sister. Still, I never like to miss an opportunity, just in case.'

'Too true,' I said, 'some sheila might snatch the part from you.

Melodie smiled complacently. 'Larry-my-agent says I'm the closest he's ever seen to a sure thing.'

****

I drove my unexciting, anonymous wheels to Bellina Studios. The address was in a semi-industrial part of Los Angeles and I got lost a couple of times while avoiding huge trucks that seemed determined to squash my car like a tin can.

Finally I located my destination. Bellina Studios covered a considerable area, and comprised a collection of industrial buildings, all slightly shabby but serviceable. Huge billboards advertised the shows made there. Darlene Come Home held pride of place, with the Hardestie family grouped together, their smiles impossibly warm, while Darken-more sleek than any dingo I'd seen in the wild-sat beside them staring nobly into the distance.

I turned through the entrance gates and obediently rolled to a stop at a Stop Here sign. The truculent guard in a pale gray uniform stepped out of the booth and eyeballed me. 'Name?'

'Kylie Kendall.' His first name appeared on his chest, so I said, 'G'day, Desmond.'

'Trunk.'

'I beg your pardon?'

'Trunk.' When I stared at him, puzzled, he said, each word distinct, 'Open your trunk.'

Now it was clear to me what Desmond meant. 'Oh, you mean the boot'

He didn't reply, but marched to the back of my car. I pressed the release. After a moment he slammed down the lid. He came back to me, squinted at his list, ticked off my name, handed me a clip-on that proclaimed Authorized Visitor, and directed me to the furthest corner of the parking lot.

Before I set off, he pointed to nearby sliding glass doors. 'Park and lock your vehicle, then come back here and go through those doors to security, where you'll collect your host.'

'I don't just get a map of the place with an X marking the spot?' I asked with a grin.

'All visitors have to be accompanied by designated hosts while on the studio grounds,' he said. He added, after a meaningful pause, 'I'll be watching you.'

He wasn't kidding. From the time I got out of the car and headed back across the lot, he had binoculars trained on me. I gave him a cheerful wave before I disappeared inside. He didn't wave back.

I went up to the reception desk and gave my name to a blond woman who was pretty much a clone of Melodie, only not so good-looking. Eppie Longworth, Ariana's erstwhile colleague, came out of her office to greet me. She was wearing the same pale gray uniform as the guard at the gate, but hers sported a badge reading Head of Security. She was medium height, with a stocky build and a no-nonsense air. She had a crash-hot smile, which transformed her rather plain face into something close to beautiful.

'Call me Eppie,' she said, shaking my hand. 'Ariana tells me you're keen to become a licensed private investigator.'

'I'm giving it a go.'

'Pity you've never been in law enforcement. As an amateur, you've got quite a few more supervised hours to accumulate than an ex-cop.'

'Too true,' I said. 'Thousands.' I added quickly, in case she thought I was a no-hoper, 'But I'm going to stick it out, no matter what.'

She laughed. 'Ariana said as much.'

It gave me a ridiculous little thrill to think Ariana had mentioned something personal about me. I only just stopped myself from looking like a total galah by asking, 'What else did she say about me?'

Eppie took me through to the back of the building where dozens of electric carts were lined up. Several people were lounging about, chatting. I took it they were the hosts the guard at the gate had mentioned.

'I'll take you to the Darken soundstage myself,' said Eppie, sliding into the driving seat of the nearest cart. I got in beside her.

As we jolted along a cobblestone street-I vaguely recognized the facades around us as belonging to some series I'd seen on television-Eppie said, 'I gather Doug O'Rourke is a relative of yours?'

'Distant. Dingo's a cousin removed a few times.'

'This isn't a social call?'

'Not really.' I told her how Harry and Gert O'Rourke had become worried when he'd become uncharacteristically uncommunicative. 'I'm here to say g'day and find out if anything's wrong with him.'

She flicked a quick look at me, then said, 'O'Rourke had a full background check before he was employed by Bellina. Passed with flying colors.'

This was mildly surprising, as Dingo had always been a bit of a wild bloke, though he'd never been in the slammer.

Being as Eppie was head of security, and should know what was going on, I said, 'Have you heard of the Collie Coalition?'

'I don't believe so,' she said, her tone dismissive.