Claire McNab - Quokka Question

The other scientific item in the envelope had been an extract of research by Diana Niptucker, Ph.D. The language had been so full of scientific jargon I'd given up it. Now, since I was awake anyway, I decided to use my time profitably and Google "Dr. Diana Niptucker." I reckoned she had an unusual name, so I wouldn't have to wade through a zillion possibilities to find out who she was.

Diana Niptucker turned out to be an expert on the fossils of the megafauna period. I got the impression she was regarded by the scientific community with some reserve, as she espoused rather radical theories about the extinction of Australia's huge marsupials. I was pleased to find she had a Web site, and that on that site she provided an e-mail address.

I whipped off an e-mail to her explaining that Dr. Oscar Braithwaite had hired Kendall & Creeling to investigate a contentious matter between himself and Professor Jack Yarrow. Dr. Braithwaite had referred to the quokka question but had not explained exactly what this was. As Dr. Braithwaite had recently met with an unfortunate accident-I thought it was wiser not to mention murder as a possibility- I wondered whether she, Dr. Niptucker, could throw any light on the matter of the quokka question.

Feeling I'd accomplished something, I sat back to consider whether it was worthwhile going back to bed. Probably not, as I still didn't feel sleepy. I looked at the Google logo on the screen. I could type in Natalie Ives's name and see what came up. I'd told Ariana I wouldn't play detective, but what would be the harm?

It took me ten seconds to decide I couldn't do it. Ariana would tell me in her own time. But what would she tell me? That she was committed to someone else? My mind skittered around the possibilities I'd considered a thousand times: Ariana was in love with a married woman who wouldn't leave her husband and kids; Ariana was totally devoted to the memory of someone who had died; Ariana pined for someone unattainable, who was in jail, or in the witness protection scheme, or on some covert mission overseas.

This was getting me nowhere. My glance fell on the undisturbed pile of garden shed brochures. Might as well look at them now. I spent the next few minutes reading through optimistic words about the wisdom of purchasing each particular brand of shed. I yawned. Maybe the warm milk was working after all.

I slept but not well. About dawn, when I was thinking I might as well get up, I fell into an exhausted slumber so heavy I didn't wake until I opened bleary eyes, hearing the unmistakable sounds of activity in the nearby kitchen, followed by an angry exchange. I couldn't make out the words, but the voices were those of Fran and Melodie.

I showered in haste, flung on casual student clothes-jeans, sneakers, and a T-shirt-and set off to get a fast bowl of porridge before I left for UCLA and another day of hard work preparing for the Global Marsupial Symposium.

I entered the kitchen to find Melodie and Lonnie but no Fran. Her expression thunderous, Melodie was toying with a bagel and cream cheese. Lonnie was chomping his way through a McDonald's pancake breakfast.

"Health food again?" I remarked to him.

"Our Melodie's upset," said Lonnie in a stage whisper. "Speak kindly to her."

"What's the matter?"

"Treachery," said Melodie, with a brisk hair toss. "That's what's the matter. I've been stabbed in the back."

Lonnie grinned at me. "Things didn't go terribly well at the auditions for Quip's play."

"Ashlee?" I said to Melodie. "She's been cast as Lucy/Lucas?"

"Not Ashlee," said Melodie with icy disdain. "Fran."

I was gobsmacked. "Fran's been cast as Lucy/Lucas?"

"How do you spell preferential treatment?" Melodie demanded.

I rightly assumed this was a rhetorical question, but Lonnie, grinning, obediently began to spell the words, and only stopped when Melodie slapped the side of his head.

"Ow! That hurt."

"Good," she snapped.

"I never realized Fran had ambitions to be an actor," I remarked.

Lonnie, nursing his ear, hooted. "Sweetheart, half of L.A. is writing a screenplay. The other half has ambitions to be an actor. It's that kind of town."

"The betrayal," announced Melodie, "is what hurts. Larry-my-agent says I have to roll with the punches, but as I said to Larry, it pierces your heart when a friend is disloyal."

"Disloyal?" Fran said from the doorway. "Oh, please! All I did was audition for a part."

"All you did," said Melodie in a cutting tone, "was to totally ruin the chances of someone with real acting ability to play a part she was born to play."

"Real acting ability?" said Fran with an acid smile on her china-doll face. "And who would that be?"

"Whoops," said Lonnie, "I'm outta here." He winked at me. "Battle of the Titans. And you've got a front-row seat."

"If Quip wasn't your husband, no way would you have a chance of getting that part." Melodie was all icy scorn. "Like, you've never even taken an acting class."

"You leave Quip out of this!"

"Besides," said Melodie with a sneer. "You're so short. No stage presence at all."

Crikey, Fran in full rage mode was a disturbing sight. "Short, am I?" she snarled, bouncing on her toes.

"Tiny, insignificant," snapped Melodie back at her.

"That's enough," I said. They both looked at me. I went on, as cool as Ariana, "Argue in your own time, not Kendall & Creeling's."

I held my breath. Calling their bluff was a dangerous strategy. If it didn't work, it would leave me looking weak.

Melodie was the first to speak. "This is all your fault, Fran," she said with dignity, before sweeping out of the room, her chin in the air.

Not letting my relief show, I said to Fran, "I've looked at the stuff you gave me on garden sheds. I can't see any are really suitable. We need something better, more substantial. There must be companies who'll supply and erect prefabricated structures that will better meet our needs."

"It'll cost more," said Fran.

"That's OK as long as we end up with something we can use."

We spent the next few minutes discussing the specifications, then Fran went off looking pleased, having been given the go-ahead to negotiate a deal on behalf of our company.

Ariana's coffee mug was missing, so I used my detecting skills to deduce she was probably in her office. She was, looking svelte in black. I described how I'd found Diana Niptucker's Web site last night, and sent her an e-mail requesting any information she had. Then I told Ariana I'd given Fran authority to purchase a storage structure, pending our final approval.

Ariana raised an eyebrow. "Tell me again why we need this extra space. Is it just because of Fran's disaster supplies?"

"Well, that's part of it, of course, but I did have an idea for some minor alterations."

"Why am I not surprised?"

I grinned at her sardonic tone, then told her my plan for taking over the present storage area for my sitting room, getting a bit carried away and waving my hands around. I finished with, "It'll be terrif to have more space."

"So you're here for the long haul?"

I frowned. "You mean am I staying? You know I'm not going home to Oz."

"You haven't thought of moving into something larger?"

"This suits me and Jules."

"Well," said Ariana, "we'd better work on finding somewhere to store the disaster supplies."

"I'm on it full bore," I said. "To the max."

Ariana cast a proprietary look around her black-and-white office. "But my room is off-limits, OK?"

" 'Strewth," I said, "that's put a spoke in my wheel. I was planning to knock down a wall or two here."

Ariana laughed, then sobered. "You are joking, right?"

"I may be," I said over my shoulder as I skipped out the door.

Driving along Sunset Boulevard to the campus, I had a sudden, jolting thought. I shook my head to unscramble my brains. When Ariana had mentioned me moving to something larger, she couldn't have met moving in with her, could she?