Claire McNab: Quokka Question

"Yeah, very interesting," interrupted Melodie, her wide green eyes glazing over fast. She rallied to ask, "Bob, did you see me in the Refulgent ad last night?"

"As a matter of fact, I did. You were great."

"Oh?" Melodie was exceedingly pleased. "How was I great, exactly?"

Bob seemed puzzled. "Well, every way, I suppose. Just great."

"But how great? I mean, was it my appearance, or my interpretation?"

Bob frowned. "Interpretation? You didn't say anything."

It was Melodie's turn to frown. It was a sore point with her that she'd auditioned for a speaking part in the tooth-whitening ad, but ended up with an inferior role with no dialogue.

Too late, Bob realized what he'd said. "Of course you didn't need to use words," he declared hastily. "Your smile said it all."

"Really?" said Melodie, mollified.

She'd opened her mouth to ask him how her smile said it all, but Bob made his escape, saying, "Sorry, gotta go. Have to get these up on the walls."

He passed Fran, who was striding down the hall toward us with purpose on her face. "Kylie, I've been looking for you."

"And here I am." I waited with apprehension. Fran rarely wanted to see me about anything good.

Fran put her hands on her hips-she did that a lot-and declared, "The storage room is totally inadequate. Simply not big enough. We need more space."

"Well, if you didn't have forty gallons of water…"

Fran made an impatient gesture. "Water is essential for our continuing survival. Besides, there are more crucial disaster supplies coming. I've ordered gas masks."

"Stone the crows!" I said with a laugh. "Next you'll be telling me we're getting isolation suits for everyone."

Fran jutted out her shapely jaw. "And you don't think that's a good idea?"

I looked at her, speechless. She was fair dinkum!

"Where are we going to put all this stuff?" asked Melodie.

Fran fixed me with a militant stare. "I'm thinking a dedicated disaster annex," she said.

"So Fran took it rather to heart when I said I couldn't agree to having an annex dedicated to disaster supplies constructed at the back of our building."

Ariana and I were sitting in Ariana's stark black-and-white office. She'd turned up just as everyone else was leaving, which was bonzer, because I was dying to tell her all about Oscar and his possible attempted murder.

Ariana's lips twitched. "I imagine Fran wasn't happy with your decision."

I visualized Fran's face when I'd put the kibosh on her plan. Her porcelain skin had turned tomato-red, and for a moment I'd had a real fear she'd blow a gasket and fall lifeless at my feet. "You could say that."

"So where's she going to put all these disaster supplies? Is there really no space in the storage room?"

"Not a sausage," I said. "Besides, I've got an idea for that room."

A wary expression crossed Ariana's face. She'd already seen me go to work, knocking down a wall and installing a laundry alcove off the kitchen. "What sort of idea?"

"Tell you later," I said, not wanting to bring up a topic that would mean finding somewhere else to put all those office supplies. "Fact is, Fran's going to come to you direct. She says even if I don't, you will see the value of a disaster annex."

"I'm on your side, Kylie, all the way."

That gave me a ridiculous thrill. If it was only true about everything…

Wrenching my attention back to the matter at hand, I said, "Fran is a bit of a sad sack, isn't she? A proper miseryguts."

Ariana shook her head. Her pale, sleek blond hair was pulled back tightly in a chignon, so there was none of Melodies shampoo-commercial activity. "I blame Homeland Security," she said. "Fran always tends toward pessimism, and the colored alert levels have just made her worse."

"It beats me where she gets it from," I said. "I mean, your sister Janette's got what I'd call a sunny personality."

Fran's mother and Ariana's sister was quite a famous artist and was known only by her first name. Janette had a cheerful nature, though as I thought about it, she did paint some rather disturbing things. That could point to something pretty dark in the deep recesses of her mind.

Ariana raised her shoulders in a minimal who-knows shrug. I wished I could manage to convey as much as that so gracefully. I wished-

"Kylie?"

Oh, stone the crows! I was staring again, and I'd spoken to myself severely about that before. I said hurriedly, "Did you hear what happened to Oscar Braithwaite this morning, after he'd left our offices?"

"I ran into Melodie as she was leaving."

Enough said. Melodie was part of the receptionist network, and prided herself, as they all did, on being the first source of sensational information whenever possible.

I gave Ariana a detailed rundown on what had happened, and how I'd driven Oscar home and met his sister. As she always did, Ariana listened with close attention, her eyes on me the whole time. 'Strewth, it was uncanny how intensely blue they were. I wondered if the color would fade when she got really old, so there’d eventually only be a faint suggestion of the jolt a look from her could give. I'd like to be with her long enough to find out-

"As soon as possible," said Ariana.

"Sorry?"

"I said it would seem there's a lot to discuss with the Braithwaites, so we need a meeting as soon as possible. I'm free tomorrow morning."

"I'm on it," I said. "Can I use your phone?"

"Of course."

I've always had a head for figures, and I'd memorized Penelope Braithwaite phone number without difficulty. She answered at the second ring: "Braithwaite."

"Dr. Braithwaite, it's Kylie Kendall."

"Pen. Call me 'Pen.'" Her voice came roaring down the line and bounced against my eardrum. I moved the receiver further away. "What can I do you for, Kylie?" Hoot of laughter. Ariana raised an eyebrow.

Pen Braithwaite certainly was cheerful, considering her brother had just had a brush with death. I said with a suitably serious tone, "My partner and I have been discussing a meeting with you both, maybe tomorrow morning."

"Done! Time?"

I offered to hold the meeting at her apartment, as by tomorrow Oscar would certainly be feeling even more bruised and stiff, but Pen brushed that aside with a brisk, "Nonsense. It'll do him good to get out and about." She added heartily, "And Oscar says your partner's a bit of all right. I've always had a weakness for blonds. I can't wait to see for myself."

"Right-oh," I said, conscious that Ariana could hear every word the woman was bellowing. "So that'll be nine o'clock, here at Kendall & Creeling."

"Can hardly wait!"

I had the uneasy feeling she really meant it.

It was such a beautiful early-summer morning that Julia Roberts and I had breakfast out in the backyard, which I'd furnished with a redwood table complete with big dark-green umbrella, matching chairs, and a reclining lounge with green all-weather cushions. I sat at the table with my porridge and a pot of tea. Jules reclined on the lounge, keeping a lazy eye on the bird life cavorting in the three trees.

The birds had the choice of citrus-lemon and lime-or an ancient jacaranda, and they were bouncing around making a hell of a racket. I thought this might be because of Julia Roberts, and that they were shrieking the equivalent of "Cat! Cat!" Then I noticed a gathering of crows on the roof, each an untidy bunch of glistening black feathers topped by a smooth head with bright, intelligent eyes and a murderous beak.

Crows in Australia were known to eat the babies of smaller birds, and I reckoned they would do the same here in the States. The nesting season was still underway, so the avian alarm in the trees was well-founded.

"Crows!" I said to Julia Roberts, pointing to the fat, curved red tiles of the roof. "Go get 'em."