Sunday I went shopping for garden furniture, having decided I'd spring for the cost, since I'd be the one using it. I had a beaut time choosing what to get, finally settling on a round redwood table with a hole in the middle for a shade umbrella, four chairs, and a reclining lounge with dark green all-weather cushions. The umbrella I ordered was dark green too. Delivery, the bloke assured me, would be next week.
I realized this was an awful lot of furniture just for me, but I reckoned I could lure some of the others out there too, once I'd gussied-up the backyard with plants, and maybe a pot or two.
That thought sent me in search of a nursery. It was amazing how many Aussie plants were there. I said so to one of the nursery people, and she said California had a similar climate to Oz, which made a lot of sense. I'd already noticed the gum trees everywhere, and they all seemed to be doing well.
Second-to-last stop was a pet store, where I bought Jules a couple of grooming brushes, a wire comb, and clippers to trim her claws. I felt a bit guilty doing this without asking Melodie if she minded, but it seemed to me Julia Roberts and I were destined to spend the foreseeable future together. Not that I could foresee very far.
Last stop was the supermarket. Hell's bells, the supermarkets in L.A., compared to Wollegudgerie, really were supermarkets. The 'Gudge Mart was a puny little thing compared to the one I was in, which was so vast and had so many choices I almost wished I'd brought a thermos with hot tea so I could have a reviving cuppa halfway through.
When I got home I called Chantelle, told her I'd had a terrific time on Friday, and sort of hinted I might be available for more of the same. Obligingly, she suggested we do something next weekend. My social life was looking up.
Monday morning I went to confess to Ariana I'd ordered garden furniture and to float the bright idea I'd had of putting a washer and a dryer in the storage room next to the kitchen. It'd be child's play, I'd explain, to knock down a wall and make the laundry an alcove to the kitchen. And any plumber could connect the clothes washer to the kitchen drain. Of course, there'd probably have to be an exhaust fan to get rid of the heat from the dryer, but no real probs.
When I knocked on her door I discovered Sven Larsen was there. His Mr. Universe body overwhelmed the chair in which he sat, and I had the thought that it might collapse at any moment.
'Come in, Kylie. Mr. Larsen's here to give his side of the story.'
'The cops are stupid,' Sven declared. 'I know what they're thinking. That I killed Jarrod. Why would I do that, eh? Kill my meal ticket? I'd be a fool.'
'The LAPD are saying it appears to be suicide,' Ariana said.
'No one who knew Jarrod would believe that. He'd never kill himself, never in a thousand years.'
'What's your scenario?'
The chair creaked despairingly as Sven leaned forward, his face intense. He really wanted Ariana to believe him. 'Jarrod had a night shoot on Wednesday. A scene that didn't work in the final cut of
He jerked his head in my direction. 'He knew she was coming at ten, so he set his alarm for nine-thirty. After I left, someone came in and killed him. Made it look like suicide.'
Ariana said, 'Did you tell the detectives your theory?'
Sven scowled. 'It's not a theory, lady! It's what happened. And yes, I told them. They said they were following every lead.' He gave a derisive grunt. 'Every lead? I don't think so.'
'When you last saw Mr. Perkins, what sort of mood was he in?'
Sven smiled sourly. 'He was like always, only louder. He chewed me out in front of the crew on the shoot.'
'Chewed you out, how?'
'He fired me. But he was always doing that. I paid no mind to it. And it wasn't me he was mad at, it was Deer. He said he'd tear his balls off and push them down his throat. Blamed him for the whole blackmail thing.'
Feeling left out, I said, 'Did you see the blackmail letter?'
Sven gave me an irritated glance. 'He told me about it. Half a million. For that he'd get the recordings back.'
'Would Mr. Perkins have paid?' Ariana asked.
Sven laughed harshly. 'You kidding me? Jarrod was a mean motherfucker. He wouldn't pay a cent.'
I said, 'Was anything missing from the house?'
Sven swung his heavy head around. 'What?'
'Was anything missing?'
He frowned. 'Only scripts. Jarrod always had his desk piled with movie scripts. But they were gone. I figured the police…'
He heaved himself to his feet. The chair seemed relieved. 'I know you're working for Deer. I wanted you to hear my side of the story.' His face contorted with anger. 'Fucking cops. Once they think it's murder, it'll be me. Easy target. Dumb bodybuilder. They won't look any further.'
There was something almost pathetic about Sven as he leaned forward earnestly and said to Ariana, 'I didn't do it. Please believe me.'
After he'd gone, Ariana said, 'I'd hate to think he's right, but if murder's on the table, Sven Larsen's the easy target, with opportunity and motive. Why look any further?'
'Why would anyone take scripts?' I asked. 'What would be the point?'
Ariana looked thoughtful. 'That's a good question.'
We discussed it for a few minutes, then I changed the subject. 'I've ordered some garden furniture. I'm paying.'
'Fine.' She tilted her head. 'I've got a feeling there's something more.'
'I do have this idea…'
Wary, Ariana said, 'Yes?'
I explained my vision of a laundry room. Ariana listened without comment. When I ran out of steam, she said, 'So you've given up on the idea of an apartment? You're going to stay here instead?'
'In the short term, yes.'
'And in the long term?'
'Do you still want to get rid of me?'
Ariana blinked. 'Is that what you think?'
'I know you wanted me to get lost that first day, and probably the second and the third.' I grinned. 'Hell, that whole first week.'
'I admit it was a surprise to have you arrive out of the blue.'
'I know you wanted to freeze me out. But lately you've stopped. Why is that?'
'Exhaustion,' said Ariana.
I was sending a bunch of postcards back to Oz to assure friends I hadn't been mugged or carjacked yet. I took them to the front desk, where there was a basket for outgoing mail. Melodie took a call, then said to me with open curiosity, 'Dr. Deer's wife is on the line for you.' She shoved the receiver at me. 'You can take it here.'
I chatted with Elise for a few minutes, then handed the phone back to Melodie. She looked at me so expectantly, I grinned, 'You're dying to know what that was about, aren't you?'
'I sure am.'
'Elise wants to take me to some spa place today. She's says it's a gift from her for putting myself on the line at Deerdoc.'
'No! Which one?'
'I think she called it Pampering Hands.'
'Pampering Hands?' Melodie looked at me with something approaching awe. 'They've got a real exclusive clientele. You know who goes there? Cameron Diaz, and George Clooney, and Oprah Winfrey when she's in town…' She shook her head in wonderment. 'You have all the luck, Kylie. You've barely hit the ground, and you're going to Pampering Hands!'
I left her calling the receptionist hotline.
'What am I letting myself in for?' I asked Elise. 'I've never been to one of these spa places. You'd better tell me what to expect.'
