Claire McNab: The Dingo Dilemma

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?"

"Quip was going to base his novel on the career and times of Donald Trump, but then he had a revelation, and switched to Norris Blainey. It's called I, Developer."

"The Norris Blainey who's aiming to tear down this building and ruin the neighborhood?"

"The very one. The novel's a searing expose of Blainey's dirty dealings and ruthless tactics, but in Quip's novel he's called Morris Rainey."

"I've got to give it to Quip," I said. "Not in a million years will Norris Blainey tumble to the fact it's him."

"Of course everyone will know it's Blainey," said Fran with ill-disguised impatience. "That's the point."

"And he won't sue for defamation?"

"Blainey's a public figure. Unless Quip makes up outrageous lies that destroy what little reputation the man still has, Blainey can't sue him."

It sounded a bit dicey to me-I'd got the impression Norris Blainey would be an enemy you'd rather not have-but I said stoutly, "I'm sure I,Developer will be a rip-snorter of a novel."

"I know it will be. Quip's a wonderful writer."

I'd always admired-and envied-Fran's total belief in Quip and his talents. She loved and supported him unreservedly. I was musing on how bonzer it would be if Ariana felt this way about me, when I became aware that Fran had an expression on her face I had never seen before. It threw me for a moment, then I realized it was her version of entreaty.

"Kylie, please don't tell anyone about our money problems." She paused, then with a struggle, forced out the words, "I'm begging you."

"You don't have to beg me. Does Ariana know about this? I'll have to tell her."

Fran shook her head. "No one knows."

"Not even your mother?" Ariana's sister was a successful artist. I found Janette's paintings rather disturbing, but they sold well, so I presumed she was in a position to help out.

"Mom doesn't know. Quip's proud. He doesn't want to ask for charity."

"He'd rather you sneaked commission on the sly?"

Another new expression crossed Fran's face. Could it be mortification? I thought it was.

"Quip doesn't know anything about the commission," she said. "Isabel and Spike agreed to keep it secret."

I found this new, unsettled Fran disconcerting. I wanted the old, acerbic, warrior-princess Fran back. "I'd be surprised if you wanted my advice, but I'll give it anyway. Discuss all this with Ariana."

This got a grudging nod from Fran. She got to her feet. "Is our little talk over?" she asked, with a flash of her usual caustic self.

"If you agree to no more Spanish furniture."

She nodded reluctantly. "OK."

Lonnie came shooting through the door as Fran was leaving. "Watch it!" she snarled.

He waited until she'd gone, then said to me. "The Collie Coalition."

"What's that?"

"The shadowy group threatening to snatch Darken. They're outraged that a dingo is playing the role that Lassie the collie made famous."

I grinned. "The Collie Coalition? What a joke."

Lonnie wasn't laughing. "Homeland Security have them pegged as a terrorist group," he said.

The next morning I was up with the birds, keen to get the Dingo situation sorted out. Ariana had called me last evening while I'd been getting ready for my dinner date with Brucie. Her voice had been subdued, her usual crisp tones blurred with fatigue. "I'll be in the office tomorrow afternoon," she said before I could ask any leading questions. "In the meantime, is there anything I should know about?"

"Nothing that can't wait. Oh, except for one thing." I'd told her how I needed to get into Bellina Studios to see the elusive Dingo O'Rourke. "Lonnie says it's possible you might know an ex-cop working in the studio security unit."

"I can do better than that. The present head of security is Eppie Longworth. She and I worked together in the LAPD and we've kept in touch. I'll call her and get back to you."

I hadn't expected Ariana to do anything about it until the next day, so I'd been surprised when fifteen minutes later she was on the line again. "Your name will be on the entry list at the gate. Eppie will be expecting you. She's on duty from eight tomorrow morning."

"Ariana?"

I'd heard her sigh. "Don't ask, Kylie. Tomorrow, OK?"