Claire McNab: Quokka Question

"Crikey, I couldn't cope with the guilt."

"So what's the plan?"

"You take Melodie aside and tell her you're speaking in the strictest confidence-and that Fran must never know what you are about to reveal."

"What am I about to reveal?" Quip asked.

"That you've never admitted it before, even to yourself, but there's a hidden, supernatural side to your creativity. When the inspiration of the play came to you, you had a dinkum psychic flash about the dynamics between the characters." I stopped to consider possibilities. "I reckon you could have been channeling the person who played Ethel in I Love Lucy."

"Vivian Vance. She's dead."

"So you had this psychic link with Vivian Vance in the afterlife, and she set you straight." I repressed a smile. There was nothing straight about Quip. "All the time Lucy/Lucas thinks she/he is the main character, it's really Ethel/Ethelbert who's totally pivotal to the deep underlying themes." I paused briefly to do a quick edit. "Deep universal themes would be better."

Quip gave me a half-hopeful, half-doubtful look. "Go on."

"You haven't wanted to admit your psychic side to anyone, knowing you'd be mocked, but secretly you've been hoping Melodie would be willing to play Ethel/Ethelbert. That's why you cast Fran as Lucy/Lucas. You wanted to save the truly important role for Melodie."

Skeptical, Quip said, "And you think Melodie will swallow this?"

"Bonzer chance she will, as long as you remember to mention how talented she is." I didn't feel like a hypocrite saying this, because I'd seen Melodie use her acting abilities on several occasions-none of them onstage or on-camera-and she was talented.

"I can do that," declared Quip, enthused. "I'll make Melodie believe me." He gave me a big smile, showing the thousands of dollars for his tooth veneers had been well spent. "Hitchcock was right, you know. Actors are like children."

"Who are like children?" It was Fran, glowering from the back door. She switched her glare to me. "What are you doing out here with Quip?"

"He'll explain," I said, squeezing past her. "I really must go."

I'd just parked my car at UCLA and was on my way to the biology department, when my cell phone rang. It was Melodie. "Ariana asked me to tell you Dr. Penny's coming into the office at five-thirty today for a progress report. Ariana says if you can make it too, it'd be good."

I thanked Melodie and clicked off, mega-mopey. Ariana could have called me herself, but she clearly didn't want to speak with me. How depressing was that?

I drooped along for a bit, then straightened my shoulders. Bloody hell! I was going to show Ariana how I could solve a case single-handedly.

I was striding along when I heard, "Judy!" It was Clifford Van Horden III heading in my direction. "I've been looking for you everywhere," he said, his smoothly handsome face creased with chagrin that I'd been able to evade him.

"Been hiding from you," I said, quite truthfully. Frankly, I couldn't see what there was about me that was attracting this bloke. I certainly hadn't encouraged him in any way-quite the contrary.

Maybe that was it: Rejection was a turn-on for Clifford Van Horden III.

"Why have you been looking for me?" I inquired.

He treated me to a charming, luminescent smile. "Why does a man go looking for that one particular woman?" he asked roguishly.

"High hopes of mind-blowing sex?"

He blinked, simultaneously turning off his smile. Then he fired it up again. "I love it! You Aussies are so direct. It's refreshing. Different."

He went to put his arm around my waist, but I stepped nimbly out of reach. "I have an appointment," I said. "Urgent, vital, pressing. Must run."

"I'll walk you there."

"No need," I said, breaking into a trot. Van Horden III kept up quite easily.

"When will I see you again, Judy?" he asked. "Are you free this evening?"

"Sorry, no. Packed social schedule."

Too late I realized this was probably the wrong thing to say. His sort would want me all the more if he thought I was in demand.

"I don't give up easily," he said.

"I can see that."

If I'd had the time, I would have headed to some decoy building just so he wouldn't know where I was located on campus, but if I did that, I'd be late.

I skidded to a stop outside my destination, put out my hand and shook his. "Bonzer to see you again, Clifford Van Horden III."

"But-"

"I'll keep an eye out for you." And I would so I could avoid him.

When I reached Georgia Tapp's office, there was a long line of people waiting for assignments, chatting cheerfully to each other. The exception was Zoran Pestle, who was pacing up and down, his face dark.

Spying me, he came over to snarl, "The Tapp woman's too busy to deal with the likes of us. Typical! She's in with Yarrow. 'Urgent matters,' she said. It doesn't seem to occur to her that our time's valuable." He cast a searing look at the other members of staff, who, oblivious of his disapproval, were trading indecent jokes. "At least my time is."

Georgia herself appeared at Yarrow's door, her plump hands fluttering in agitation. She looked the perfect lady in her floral dress, sensible heels, and discreet jewelry. "So sorry, so sorry," she cried. "A most urgent procedural matter, most urgent."

She hurried into her office, reemerging a moment later with a sheaf of papers in her hand. "Today's schedule," she announced, distributing pages with alacrity. People began to wander off. "Speed is of the essence," she called after them. "So much remains to be done."

When she came to me, Georgia paused. "Ah, Kylie. Professor Yarrow wants to see you immediately."

"Right-oh."

Yarrow was sitting bolt upright behind his desk, his thin lips set in a tight line. He was not alone. Winona Worsack, medievally garbed, sat primly in a chair; Wally Easton's considerable bulk lounged against the windowsill.

Yarrow managed an excuse of a smile. "Kylie, sit down."

I nodded to the other two-both ignored me-and plunked myself in the chair he indicated. "What can I do for you, Prof?" I asked with a sunny smile.

No one returned it. Easton swiveled his shaved head to look out the window. Winona stared at me as though I were an insect on a slide. I checked out her wheels and was quite disappointed to find she actually had long, slender feet. Maybe there were tiny wheels attached to the soles of her shoes.

Yarrow seemed pained at my contraction of his title, but deciding to ignore it, he said, "You're on friendly terms with Erin Fogarty, and that's what she desperately needs at the moment, a friend. I'm hoping you'll help us keep an eye on her."

"I'm not sure what you mean."

Yarrow sighed. "Frankly, I'm very concerned about Erin. She called me last night at home, quite hysterical, saying the police believe she was the one who pushed Dr. Braithwaite off the roof."

"Crikey," I said. "Do you think she did?"

Winona Worsack broke in with a terse "It was an accident."

"Yes," said Yarrow, "a dreadful accident. But contrary to what Erin says, I'm afraid that she may well have been there when it happened. Apparently, she sent a text message to Braithwaite's phone, setting up the time and place."

"Doesn't sound good for her," I said.

Yarrow did a rueful head shake. "I'm afraid it doesn't, and I'm worried she's so stressed by the situation that she might do something stupid."

"Like what?" I asked, wide-eyed.

Yarrow looked very grave. "Hurt herself in some way."

"Commit suicide?"

My blunt words elicited a grimace from Yarrow and a sharp look from Winona, who said, "The girl's clearly emotionally unbalanced, but hardly suicidal. If we believed she was at risk, steps would be taken to admit her immediately to a hospital."

A monstrous idea was forming in my mind. Could it be that Yarrow intended to plant the idea that Erin might be suicidal, so that later she could be killed? And if her body was found with a note accepting responsibility for Oscar's death, so much the better.