Claire McNab - Quokka Question

Rube swept in with three coffees on a cardboard tray. "Thought you'd be here," he said, handing me one of the thick paper cups, "but you should be making good use of your time chatting up Georgia Tapp."

I expected a flare-up from Pen at the mention of the Tapp woman's name, but she was smiling. "That was fun this morning," she said. "I love getting up Georgia's nose. She's so predictable."

"I think you should handle her with kid gloves," said Rube. "Georgia's the rigid type who'll snap one day, bring a gun to work and start blasting away." He added severely, "And you, Pen, will be her number one target."

Pen's grin widened. "Kylie, you should have been here the day I pointed out to Georgia the dangers of repressing her sexuality, and made some concrete suggestions about how she might loosen up. She damn near imploded!"

"I thought I'd start with Erin Fogarty," I said. "Oscar said he thought she'd passed on his quokka research to Jack Yarrow."

Pen's smile disappeared. "She's having an affair with Yarrow, the silly little fool. Working her butt off researching papers she fondly believes will be published with her name under his. That won't happen. Professor Jack Yarrow is the only author that will appear. There'll be no mention of her substantial contributions."

"What if she makes a fuss?" I asked.

Rube grunted. "Erin Fogarty's a student: Yarrow's a renowned professor. Say she goes public and accuses him of taking all the credit when she did most of the work. Who'd listen to her?" His mouth turned down. "Unfortunately, it's not all that rare in the academic world, but Yarrow's a particularly egregious offender."

"He's a bastard," said Pen. "You're right, Kylie. Concentrate on the Fogarty girl." She mused for a moment. "You could seduce her. Pillow talk's useful."

"Crikey, you're asking a lot!"

Pen raised her eyebrows. "You're not open to a little hanky-panky?"

"You've got that right."

"Tsk," said Pen. "Subjugating your natural, healthy sexual instincts is unwise."

"I'll risk it."

Pen gave me a slow smile. "A risk taker," she said. "I like that."

I ran my quarry to ground in a little office about the size of a broom cupboard. Her lanky body was perched on the edge of a chair as she gazed fixedly into the screen of a laptop. When she looked up, I said with a friendly smile, "G'day. I'm Kylie Kendall. We met earlier."

"Oh, hi."

"You're so lucky," I said, "to be working with Professor Yarrow." I pouted a bit. "I'm stuck with Dr. Wasinsky. I mean, don't get me wrong. He's nice enough, but he's not a world-famous authority like Professor Yarrow."

Erin Fogarty's cheeks flushed, apparently with pleasure at this praise of her idol. "Professor Yarrow is a wonderful man. My dreams came true when I got the opportunity to come to UCLA to be part of his groundbreaking research into Setonix brachyurus."

Personally, I'd have called a quokka a quokka, but if it made Erin happy to use Latin, it was all right by me. "There's got to be a meganumber of graduate students dying to work with someone as prestigious as the professor, but he chose you."

Her blush spread to include her weak chin and long neck. "In fact, you're right. He'd in such demand." She clasped her hands. "But I was the lucky one."

Uninvited, I plunked myself down in the only other chair in the cramped space. Aiming for a tone somewhere between admiration and envy, I leaned forward to say, "I'm guessing luck had nothing to do with it, Erin. I reckon you stood out from the pack, and that's why he picked you."

Her glossy chestnut curls seem to shimmer with added light. "It's nice of you to say so. Actually, Professor Yarrow-he's asked me to call him Jack in private-did say he especially valued the depth of my knowledge in the area."

Stone the crows! This poor sheila was head over heels, no worries. "So you studied quokkas in the wild?" I asked.

She bobbed her head. "Extensively. I spent months in Western Australia observing both the island and mainland colonies."

"You can't beat research in the field," I said. "Who were you working with?"

Her face clouded. "Dr. Oscar Braithwaite. Have you heard of him?"

"You mean the bloke who's going to speak next week at the symposium on the quokka question?"

"Yes." Her lips tightened. "He's already in L.A. In fact, he came to see me this morning. It was very embarrassing."

"Really?" I said in a neutral tone. "Why embarrassing?"

I made a mental note to find out why Oscar hadn't mentioned he intended to front up to Erin Fogarty. Maybe he'd decided to drop in on the spur of the moment. I recalled wondering, during my very first meeting with Oscar, if he'd had a personal interest in his graduate assistant.

Erin was hesitating, obviously torn between sharing the goss with me and keeping it to herself. Goss won. "Actually," she said, "when I was in Australia, Dr. Braithwaite paid me special attention…"

"He was keen on you?"

Her blush, which had faded, rushed back. Scarlet-faced, she said, "Nothing happened, of course, but I knew how he felt."

"You didn't return his affections?"

She drew back, affronted. "Oh! How could I?"

"Professional scruples held you back?" I ventured.

Erin shook her head. "You haven't seen him, have you? Oscar Braithwaite's hairy, very hairy. In fact, he's the hairiest man I've ever met."

"It'd be like dating a gorilla?"

This elicited a small smile. "Something like that."

"Bad sitch," I said. "What did you do?"

"Well, actually…" She paused, her lips compressed. Then, deciding to fill me in, she went on, "It was at this point Professor Yarrow contacted me."

"Crikey! He contacted you? You mean you didn't have to apply to come to UCLA?"

My admiring wonder had the desired effect. She turned a pleased pink. "Isn't it amazing? Professor Yarrow said he'd asked around in academic circles, and I'd been highly recommended to him."

"So you gave Dr. Braithwaite the heave-ho and came over here?"

Erin seemed a bit taken aback at this blunt assessment. "Actually," she said-she seemed to like that word-"there was another reason I couldn't work with Oscar any longer." She looked around as it were possible someone else could be lurking in the tiny room. "In point of fact," she said, dropping her voice, "Dr. Braithwaite had been stealing Professor Yarrow's work and passing it off as his own."

"No!" I gave her a wide-eyed look. "Professor Yarrow told you this?"

Erin suddenly looked uncomfortable, as though she'd belatedly realized she was confiding secrets to a perfect stranger. Indicating the laptop, she said, "Actually, I must finish this. It's urgent."

There was no point in pushing it and having her clam up completely. "See you later, then," I said. "I'd better get back to Dr. Wasinsky." I paused for a small, sad sigh. "I don't mind telling you, Erin, I'd love to be in your shoes, but it just didn't work out that way."

I left her with a slight, satisfied smile on her lips. She thought she was on a winner with Jack Yarrow, but I had a fair idea she was going to come an awful gutser in the near future.

This undercover stuff had turned out to be more of a strain than I'd expected. I was toey as a Roman sandal, expecting any minute I'd say something that would brand me as an imposter. It was a bonzer day, warm and sunny, so I decided to recharge my batteries by having a solitary lunch outside on the beautiful UCLA grounds.

My map indicated a North Campus Student Center. I found it without trouble and joined the students queuing for food. Eventually, I emerged into the sunlight clutching a salad in a clear plastic box, a plastic fork, several serviettes, and a carton of orange juice.

There was one dicey moment when I spied Clifford Van Horden III, strolling along while carrying on a loud cell phone conversation and checking out the female talent as he did so. Fortunately, I managed to duck behind a knot of students, and he passed by, never knowing I was there.