The Dingo Dilemma

in something nefarious, and that was why he was playing hard to get. For Dingo's sake I'd be cautious, until I knew more.

I turned into Kendall & Creeling's parking area determined to find some way to get onto the set of Darken Come Home. Dad's red Mustang made an untamed, hit-the-open-road kind of statement when I parked it next to my commonplace sedan, which was deliberately bland for tailing suspects. So far I'd only practiced tailing, but any day now I hoped to be pleased I was driving a vehicle so boring it was close to invisible.

Pausing in the courtyard, I admired the little fountain and the other landscaping touches I'd organized. A bolt of resolve ran through me. Over my dead body would a real-estate developer like Norris Blainey replace this with a soulless block of buildings.

I'd already decided not to ask Melodie about any mention of a threat to Darken in the trades. If there'd been no item about it, just my asking would activate the startlingly efficient receptionists' network, and in mere moments rumors of Darleen's pending napping would be all over town.

Melodie wasn't there. Harriet, hugely pregnant, but looking as healthy and content as one could when so ungainly, was at the front desk.

'Melodie promised me it was a vital audition,' she said in explanation. 'She pleaded with me to take over the phones.'

'And you fell for it?' Melodie had recently promised to attend auditions only in her lunchtimes or after work. Mid-afternoon did not fit the specifications.

Harriet grinned at me. 'I got my pound of flesh. She's promised to be available for future baby-sitting duties. Besides, how could I resist when Melodie revealed she'd be auditioning for a part in Darken Come Home? Her big chance, she assured me, to use her excellent Aussie accent.'

'Trust me, Melodie's Aussie accent is not much chop.'

'Say it isn't so!' said Harriet in mock horror. 'Malcolm, Melodie's voice coach, has assured her it's the best he's ever encountered.'

The phone rang. Harriet picked up, and I heard her say, 'Kylie? She's right here.'

I took the receiver, hoping it would be Ariana calling to explain why she'd dashed off earlier, obviously upset. Major disappointment. It wasn't Ariana-it was Cousin Brucie.

'Kylie? This is Bruce. I'm here.'

'Great,' I said, unable to inject much enthusiasm into my voice. 'Did you have a good trip?'

'No complaints.'

Maybe Brucie was at the airport, expecting me to pick him up. 'Where are you?'

'At a motel. Arrived at LAX early this morning and got a taxi here to the Gateway to the Stars Inn. It's not too far from Kendall & Creeling. Stroke of good luck, eh?'

Fortunately he didn't wait for a reply. 'Hang on a mo, Kylie. I've got the address right here somewhere…'

Brucie read me off the phone number and address and I dutifully wrote them down. Summoning up my manners, I said, 'Welcome to LA, Brucie.'

'Bruce,' he said. 'I'm dropping Brucie. Too childish. From now on I'm Bruce, like Bruce Willis. More masculine.'

'Bruce. I'll try to remember.'

'So when can I lob in and meet everyone?'

'You're not jetlagged?' I asked hopefully.

'Naw. That's for people called Brucie. I'm Bruce, remember?'

I blinked. Don't tell me Cousin Brucie actually had a sense of humor! I'd never noticed one before.

It took a bit of persuasion, but I got him to agree not to visit Kendall & Creeling today. I promised to come around later and take Brucie out for an early dinner, since jetlag was sure to hit him mid-evening.

'That was Brucie, Aunt Millie's son?' Harriet asked when I'd hung up.

The very one.

'I hear he has ambitions to work at Kendall & Creeling.'

I wasn't surprised Harriet knew this. 'Melodie has spread the word, has she?'

'She says she's looking forward to meeting an Aussie hunk.'

That was a laugh. 'Cousin Brucie a hunk? Not likely!' I hadn't seen Brucie for a while, but I certainly didn't recollect any hint of hunkdom about him.

A whole set of calls came through at once, so I left Harriet dealing with them and wandered off to the kitchen to make myself a cup of tea and a cheese-and-pickle sandwich to see me through to dinner time. I was pouring the tea when Julia Roberts suddenly appeared. It was almost uncanny, the way she always seemed to know when I was in the kitchen and therefore available to provide nourishment on demand.

'You had breakfast,' I pointed out to her. 'A substantial breakfast, as I recall. You can't possibly be hungry.'

Julia Roberts looked pointedly at the sandwich I'd just made. 'Humans are different,' I said. 'Inferior to cats. We have to eat three times a day.' She gave me a blank stare. I sighed. Standing up to Jules was more than I was fit for today. 'Prawn and white-fish snacks? Will that be acceptable?'

While she leisurely ate her snacks and I munched on my sandwich, I brooded over Ariana. Why hadn't I just gone ahead and asked her what was wrong when she'd said something urgent had come up? What sort of urgent thing could it be? A range of possible disasters presented themselves: there'd been a rockslide in the Hollywood Hills, and Ariana's beautiful cliff-top house was poised to plummet down the precipitous descent; a colleague from her days as an LAPD cop had been shot and was near death; Ariana had been told she had a serious medical condition; or perhaps Gussie, her gorgeous German Shepherd, had been hurt.

There was one possibility I didn't want to think about, so of course I couldn't not think about it. What if it had something to do with Natalie Ives?

Natalie, whom Ariana had loved for so many years-still loved. We'd never met. I'd only seen her in photographs, taken before early-onset Alzheimer's had clouded her mind to the point she'd been admitted to a full-care facility. Ariana saw her every week, even though Natalie only occasionally seemed to have an inkling of who Ariana was.

'It's a triangle, but not a very romantic one.' I said to Julia Roberts. She was occupied with washing her whiskers, but paused to give me what I took to be quite a sympathetic look. 'In fact, it's pretty much a hopeless situation, Jules.'

I leaned over to stroke her, not for her comfort, but to soothe myself. Her sleek fur whispered under my palm as she arched her back. She whipped around in a graceful circle and came back for another caress. 'Beerrow,' she said, a mark of warm approval.

For some reason her appreciation upset me. If I sat here any longer, I'd dissolve into a puddle of self-pity. I gave her a final stroke and took myself along to Lonnie's office. I knocked on his door and adroitly whisked through a narrow opening before Julia Roberts, who'd followed closely, could join us.

'That psychopathic cat's lurking out there, isn't she?' said Lonnie glumly.

'Fair dinkum, Lonnie, I've told you a thousand times she's teasing you. If you could bring yourself to totally ignore Jules, she'd start to lose interest fast.'

'You don't understand. She's possessed of an evil spirit.'

'You're joking, right?'

He nodded reluctantly. 'I suppose…but she's a devil cat.' He brushed his hands together in a that's-that gesture. 'I've wasted enough time on Julia Roberts. You've heard my last word on the subject.'

I hid a smile. There'd never be a last word. He was as obsessed with Julia Roberts as Julia Roberts was obsessed with him.

Lonnie had moved the garden gnome he'd recently acquired from the floor by his chair to a position on his crowded computer desk. I gave the grotesque little figure the once-over. Although it had the characteristics of a standard gnome-garish red and green clothing, a long beard, and a ferocious scowl-it wasn't a roughly cast, mass- produced statue, but clearly handmade.

'Pauline Feeney gave you this, didn't she?' I said in a burst of inspiration.

Lonnie pinked up immediately. 'Maybe.'

'Lonnie?'