Claire McNab: The Dingo Dilemma

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?"

"Oh, all right. Yes, it was Pauline's gift to me."

"It's beautifully made. Something quite out of the ordinary."

Chuffed by my praise, Lonnie said, "Pauline's something quite out of the ordinary, too."

"She certainly seems to be."

"Best thing that ever happened to me." Lonnie's smile faded. He was obviously sorry that he'd let his guard down, so he went on briskly, "Did you want something in particular, or is this a social call?"

I knew it was perfectly safe to raise the topic of Darleen's possible abduction with Lonnie, as long as I said it was confidential. "I'd rather you didn't mention this anywhere," I said. Lonnie mimed zipping his lips, so I continued, "I've heard a rumor there's some plot to abduct Darken the dingo, the star of Darken Come Home, for ransom. Have you heard anything?"

Lonnie's expression showed his keen interest. "Not a word, but it could be true. The show's the biggest hit Bellina Studios have had since their slate of reality programs tanked. Darken would be well worth snatching, even though she's not the only dingo they've got."

This was news to me. "There's more than one Darken?"

"There's the main Darken, but there'll be one or two backups. You don't want shooting to grind to a halt because the star animal is sick, or has been hurt. It's a time-honored tradition. You don't think there was only one Lassie, do you? Or Rin Tin Tin, or Mr. Ed-"

"Stop," I said. "I get the idea."

"I'll ask around, discreetly of course. Bellina Studios run a tight ship, but there's always someone who'll leak any sensational news."

Knowing how Lonnie spent a good part of his time online, I was confident if there was any chatter about an extortion scheme involving Darleen, Lonnie would find it.

I told him about Dingo O'Rourke and how, because of distant family ties, I'd been compelled to investigate what was up with him. "I can't get Dingo to answer my calls, so I reckon I need to get onto the television set and front up to him face-to-face. The problem is, I don't know how to go about it."

"Studio security."

"Security is what's keeping me out."

"Security's what will get you in. Talk to Ariana. She's sure to have a contact through the LAPD. Many ex-cops end up in security."

I'd love to talk to Ariana, but not necessarily about security at Bellina Studios. I left Lonnie enthusiastically starting his search for information on possible dingo-napping and went back to my office. I tried Ariana's cell, but only got voicemail. I didn't leave a message. Then I called her house. The answering machine cut in after three rings.

Feeling angry and apprehensive and helpless all at once, I called her cell again and left a message: "Ariana, it's me, Kylie. Please call me when you get a chance." I'd intended to say I was concerned about her, to ask if there was anything I could do, but I chickened at the last moment. It was probably a good thing I did, I decided. Ariana was so intensely private that she'd recoil if I got too pushy.

I was so het up about everything that I couldn't sit still. I ran into Fran outside the storage room, now officially the disaster supplies room. She was in the process of affixing a sign to the door. It read:

Designated Disaster Supplies. For use onlyin a genuinecatastrophe. any other use strictly PROHIBITED. If IN ANY DOUBT, CONTACT OFFICE MANAGER FOR A LIST OF ACCEPTABLE CALAMITIES.

"Strewth!" I said. "Acceptable calamities? Wouldn't it be obvious even to blind Freddy when it was a total disaster?"

Fran shot me a chilly look. "It might be obvious to blind Freddy, whoever he is, that a genuine catastrophe has occurred, but I'm more concerned with the likes of Lonnie. He's got no common sense, and is liable to raid the supplies just for some piddling accident."

I was about to ask what the harm was if he did use some of the stuff in the event of an accident, when Fran said in a challenging tone, "Melodie tells me you're not keen on the Cordova. I particularly chose that model for you. However, if you'd prefer another desk, the Cadiz is very attractive. I can supply an illustrated catalog."