Claire McNab: The Dingo Dilemma

"I can see why Fran's concept of disaster supplies might catch official attention," said Ariana, "but any background check will show there's no one at Kendall & Creeling who could conceivably be a terrorist."

"Ah," said Lonnie, waggling a forefinger, "that's precisely why that bunch of paranoid incompetents think we are likely terrorists-our covers so good. Milt explained how they love to connect the dots and come up with conspiracy theories that would put Hollywood to shame."

"And how does Quip being a murder suspect play into this?" Ariana asked.

"That's the best part." Lonnie beamed at us. His dimples and lock of hair falling over one eye made him look like a mischievous kid. "The murder victim worked for Norris Blainey." He paused for a dramatic beat-honestly, Lonnie was as bad as Melodie at times-then said, "And Norris Blainey has been an informant for Homeland Security for some time. You can imagine when his name came up and there was a connection with Kendall & Creeling, a suspected terrorist cell, it caused quite a stir."

"Much dot-connecting," I remarked.

"Who's Blainey been targeting with the tips he's been giving Homeland Security?" Ariana asked.

"Business competitors mainly. One of Blainey's favorite claims is to suggest the person he's named is laundering money for terrorist organizations."

"Doesn't he get discredited," I said, "when none of his tips are dinky-di?"

"That's where Blainey's clever," said Lonnie. "He's in a good position to hear whispers of larceny and worse in the financial world, so some of his accusations do turn out to be true."

"That gives him credibility," said Ariana.

Lonnie grinned at me. "Speaking of connecting the dots, there must have been some excitement when some bright spark in Homeland Security realized Douglas 'Dingo' O'Rourke was your cousin."

"Blainey dobbed Dingo in to Homeland Security?"

Lonnie nodded. "He told them he thought O'Rourke should be treated as 'a person of interest,' and you know what that means."

"It means your life's not your own anymore," remarked Ariana acerbically.

Lonnie chimed in with, "A magnifying glass on anything and everything you've done or said. No stone left unturned."

"Crikey," I said, "if that's the case, what are we, being suspected terrorists?"

Lonnie made a face. "Persons of extreme, intense, and acute interest."

Wouldn't it rot your socks?

On Thursday I wasn't required at the studios until the afternoon, so there was no problem about attending the meeting Ariana had called. Bob and I had carried extra chairs into Ariana's office and by nine o'clock we were all seated. Ariana was behind her desk, the rest of us arranged in a semi-circle facing her. The phones were still switched through to the answering service we used after hours, so Melodie was present, as were Bob, Lonnie, and Harriet. Quip, looking like death warmed up, was slumped in one of Ariana's comfortable black leather armchairs. Fran, looking not much better, was next to him.

On the surface Ariana seemed her usual cool, reserved self, although there was something brittle about her manner, as if she maintained a facade by sheer force of will.

"Before we begin," she said, "you all now know that the local office of the Department of Homeland Security has seen fit to designate Kendall & Creeling a possible terrorist cell."

Melodie glared at Fran. "Thanks, Fran," she said with heavy sarcasm. "Thanks very much."

A flash of her customary combativeness animated Fran's face. "Don't blame me for doing what any good citizen should do for disaster preparedness. You'd be the first in line, Melodie, if smallpox happened to be ravaging your body, covering your skin with bursting, toxic pustules."

This gave Melodie a bit of a jolt. She looked down at herself as though expecting to see signs of smallpox popping out all over.

I said, "It's hardly Fran's fault if these government galahs leap to ridiculous conclusions on the flimsiest of evidence."

Fran stared at me, clearly astonished to find me defending her. I gave her a little grin. "You can pay me later."

"The only way to deal with such accusations," said Ariana, "is to make a several-pronged counter-attack. Bob has contacts high up in the FBI and CIA, and he's made them aware of these totally unwarranted allegations."

I glanced across at Bob, his skinny frame folded awkwardly into his chair. I'd taken his pleasant, uncomplicated surface personality as being all there was to him. I was realizing belatedly I didn't really know much about the real Bob at all.

Ariana went on, "For my part, I've spoken with Senator Lawry, who is not only our Federal representative, but also a long-time critic of government intrusions into citizens' lives. I'm hopeful he'll pull some strings on our behalf. Finally, Lonnie is in the process of spreading details of our persecution, as he rightly calls it, across the Internet."

"What about the media?" Harriet asked. "You know how they love 'it happened to them and horror! it could happen to you' stories."

"That's our next move," said Ariana, "if we get nowhere with the head of the Los Angeles DHS. He's indicated he'll be happy to discuss the matter. I'm waiting for a firm appointment. Now let's move on to the much more important subject of Quip."

In a husky, halting voice, Quip recounted what he remembered of Tuesday night and Wednesday morning. When he and Yancy had left me they'd walked along the lane and onto a side street where Yancy had parked his car. Yancy had been literally shaking, Quip said, although no one seemed to be watching them and they saw nothing suspicious.

Once in the car, Yancy had blurted out that he was so terrified of what Blainey might do to him that he'd made the decision to leave town that very evening. If Quip wanted all the material Yancy had taken from Blainey's office, he would have to come with him to the self-storage complex where Yancy had the documents safely under lock and key.

"Yancy had a hip flask of whiskey," said Quip. "Before he started the car he took a swig from it-at least I thought he did-and handed it to me. By this time I was feeling every bruise and cut from the beating I'd taken, so I took a couple of good mouthfuls. Yancy started driving, and I remember he kept looking over at me. After a few minutes, I began to feel dizzy, and then, like they say in books, everything went black."

"Date rape drug," said Fran bitterly. "Rohypnol, GHB, something like that. Leads to partial amnesia-that's why Quip can't remember much of what happened."

Quip described his total confusion when he regained consciousness inside the storage unit to discover Yancy's body on the floor beside him. He couldn't find a light switch, but the roller door was half open, so Quip could see that Yancy's head had been dealt several savage blows. In the dim light, he'd missed seeing the crowbar which had now been proved to be the murder weapon. Quip had stumbled out into the street to find help and had found himself blinking in the glare of police lights.

"They made me empty my pockets. I still had my wallet, credit cards and money untouched, but my cell phone was gone and when we went back to the storage unit, so was the document case Kylie saw Yancy give me earlier."

"I reckon the hip flask had disappeared, too," I said.

Quip nodded. "Of course it had. I was set up for Yancy's murder."

"Bad apple," Melodie said dejectedly. Everyone looked at her.

"Who is the bad apple?" Fran asked with a dangerous glint in her eye.

"Not Quip," said Melodie. She sighed gustily. "You think you know someone, speak with him practically every second day, and you never suspect he's a bad apple."

"Enough with the bad apples!" Fran snapped. "If you're talking about Yancy Grayson, say so."