Wombat Strategy

Kristi Jane had told me, his shirt was deep purple, and oddly enough this color seemed to suit him. He had tight curly hair turning gray and a droopy, nicotine-stained mustache.

I'd manufactured a reason to see him-a billing that had supposedly gone astray. I introduced myself. Playing anxious-to-please temporary worker, I said, 'So sorry to interrupt you, Mr. Kowalski, but Dr. Deer will be calling this afternoon about this matter and…' I let my voice trail off and sloped my eyebrows the wrong way.

He took a final mighty suck of his cigarette. 'Okay, I'll come in now.'

'Oh, thank you, Mr. Kowalski.'

Melodie might have done a better job, but I had to admit I quite impressed myself. Not to skite, but I wasn't half bad at this acting routine. And now I'd accomplished step one, which was to establish casual contact with the suspects, I could keep up the act by getting them to accept me as just another member of the Deerdoc staff.

I left at five so I could catch Ariana in the office and give her my first day's report. I felt a bit guilty leaving early, which was stupid, as I wasn't really Dave Deer's personal assistant. I wasn't going to sneak around, so I said 'Good night, Chantelle' as I passed her on the way out.

'Hold on a moment, Kylie.'

I came back to her desk, ready to argue I could leave the premises when I wished. She said, 'I've got tickets for a play Friday night. It's a little local theater. I was wondering if you'd like to come with me.'

I wasn't lost for words often. This was one of the times. 'Urn,' I said.

Chantelle chuckled. 'Yes, it's a date. I'm asking you on a date. Think it over and tell me tomorrow. Or you can call me.' She passed me a Deerdoc business card. 'My cell number's on the back.'

'Right-oh.'

I rode down to the parking structure deep in thought. I was looking at Chantelle in an entirely different light. It was rather flattering to be asked, I told myself, but how did she know…?

'Melodie!' The receptionists' bush telegraph had been at work.

'Excuse me?'

'Oh, sorry,' I said to the bloke sharing the lift with me. 'I was thinking out loud.'

When I got to Kendall & Creeling, I was ridiculously disappointed to find Ariana had left for the day, however Melodie had a consolation prize for me. 'You can meet Fran's husband, Quip, if you like. He's in the kitchen talking to Rich.'

'Quip? Is that a name?'

'I think it's actually Bruce, but Quip wanted something that'd stand out on the first page of a script. Quip Trent. Comedy writer, so it suits, don't you think?'

'Would I have seen any of his work? Movies? TV?'

Melodie shook her head, a look of deep compassion on her face. 'The biz can be so hard. Quip hasn't sold a script yet.' She brightened up to add, 'Any day now, though. Rich says he might use Quip as a script doctor for his new project.'

This was one for the books. 'How can Quip be a script doctor if he's never had any of his own scripts made?'

With a forbearing smile, Melodie explained, 'You don't get how the biz works. Hardly any scripts get made. It's the writing of them that's important.'

She broke off as the delivery bloke in the daggy brown outfit-who'd made me feel a real galah yesterday-came in with a pile of boxes. While Melodie was sorting through them, the bloke nudged me in the ribs.

'Well, well,' he said, grinning. 'Solved any big crimes lately?' He looked me up and down, noted my tailored dress, and chuckled some more. 'Dressing for success, are we?'

'I am,' I said, 'but jeez, look at you.'

'What?'

'It's hard to look good in brown. Especially that brown.' I added, as my exit line, 'It's cruel, really, making you wear that uniform.'

'Hey, wait a minute…'

I strode off, mad as a cut snake. This blasted bloke would tell Melodie how he found me reading Private Investigation: The Complete Handbook. This news would hit the receptionists' telegraph. Soon everyone would know. Including Ariana.

There were four people in the kitchen: Lonnie, clutching his ever-present mug of coffee; Rich Westholme, lounging against the counter; Fran, frowning; and someone who must be Quip.

His handsome face lit with amusement, he was saying, 'Oh, my God, I saw Molly Ringwald the other day. I mean, hi, can we say blast from the past? I mean, what has she done since Pretty in Pink? Hello!'

This bloke had to be gay. He was everything I loved in a man: humorous, delightful, and homosexual.

A hot glare from Fran caught my attention. 'He's mine,' she said. 'Keep your paws off him. I won't say it twice.'

FOURTEEN

Early next morning I was explaining to Julia Roberts how she'd have to keep a stiff upper lip because I'd be gone again today, when Ariana knocked on my door. Fortunately I'd made the bed and everything was tidy.

Ariana stood in the doorway, wearing her signature black. Her pale hair was as smooth as her expressionless face. It mystified me how she projected that aura of cool, contained authority without appearing to do anything at all. My imagination skittered around, trying to visualize her in the depths of passion. Before I got to the point of short-circuiting, Ariana said, 'I tried to get you on your cell phone, but no luck.'

'Sorry, I didn't think anyone knew the number to ring me, so I didn't turn it on.' I went over to my bag, retrieved the phone, and activated it. 'Hey, now that I know you have the number, it'll be on twenty-four-seven, no worries.'

'Tell me about yesterday.'

I gave her a complete rundown, including my assessment of how crook the security at Deerdoc was.

She listened without comment, then said, 'Dave Deer called last night. He wants to know when you're moving in.'

'I'm not.'

'Why? Is it leaving Julia Roberts that's holding you back?'

'It's that Dave Deer's a lech. If I move in there, sooner or later Elise is going to catch him putting the hard word on me. It'd be a nasty sitch.'

'What makes you think you won't face the same situation in the office?'

'Look, Ariana, I know he's our client, and he's an important one. I'll do my best to make sure it doesn't happen, but he can't cop a free feel and not have me get snarky about it.'

'Just so long as you don't throw him over your shoulder, as I recall you did the captain of the football team.'

I blushed a bit, remembering how I'd boasted about that the first day we'd met. 'Hell's bells,' I said. 'Do you remember everything?'

'Everything.'

'I'd better be careful what I say.'

When a ringing sound started, I looked around, puzzled. 'Your cell phone,' said Ariana.

It was Chantelle. 'Have you decided about Friday?'

I didn't ask how she'd got my number. I knew. 'You could have asked me at work,' I said, aware Ariana, who'd moved to stroke Jules, couldn't help overhearing my end of the conversation.

Chantelle's chuckle was warm and promising. 'I couldn't wait.'

'Okay, I accept.'

'Terrific. See you soon.'

The mobile gave a discreet burp when I ended the call. 'Someone from work has tickets for a play,' I said, feeling the need to explain.