Claire McNab - Wombat Strategy

"Don't see how it's terrorism," I said, "unless Perkins is leading a double life as a spy."

"The attack's more likely to be tied to the theft of the therapy disks. If so, it's imperative you find who in the Deerdoc organization took them."

"Isn't 'imperative' a nice word?" I said. "Makes things sound important."

"It is important, Kylie."

Ariana hardly ever used my name, and I was caught unaware when I got a little thrill when she did.

"I've just found out Fran's married." A total change of subject would get my mind off the thrill before it developed into something more.

Ariana sat back in her chair and gave me her patented long, blue stare.

"You do a lot of that," I said.

"A lot of what?"

"Sitting back and giving me the hairy eyeball, like you really don't approve."

Ariana threw back her head and laughed, really laughed.

"What's funny?" I said, not joining in.

Still smiling, she shook her head. "I don't think I can put it into words."

"You could try."

Her face sobered, until she was her usual detached self. "We need to discuss your undercover role in detail. I'll bring Bob in on it too. He's an expert in this sort of thing. I'm booked for the rest of the day. Are you free for dinner?"

"Julia Roberts will be disappointed, but I think I can make it."

"Good. I'll speak to Bob and get back to you."

I beat a dignified retreat from her office. Okay, I'd managed to make her laugh at me. Laughing with me was next on the agenda.

When I went to the kitchen in search of a cuppa, I found Bob Verritt had been cornered by Melodie, who hovered at the door with one ear cocked to catch the phone in reception. Lonnie, grinning, provided an audience.

"Bob," she was saying, "this audition's super important for my career, or I wouldn't ask."

Bob, so much taller than all of us, had his narrow shoulders hunched and was sort of bent over, like a big question mark. "Look at it from my point of view, Melodie. I can't be in front and answer the phone. I've got too much work to do."

"I could switch it so every call rang through to your office…" She batted her eyelashes at him.

"I don't think so." He grinned at me. "Help me here, Kylie. This woman's implacable."

The implacable woman wasn't giving up. "I just can't miss this audition! Did you read The Hollywood Reporter this morning? It says the network's likely to pick up the show for an entire season. My agent says I've got a real good chance of getting the angel sidekick."

"Something like Charlie's Angels7." said Bob.

"No, the sort with feathers. The heavenly ones."

Lonnie said, "Angel shows are 50 yesterday."

"Not Angel Rejects. The concept's a winner," Melodie declared. "It's a blend of a talent quest, a reality show, and angels."

"I've heard enough," said Bob, winking at me.

He left, followed by Lonnie, who said to me on the way out, "She's all yours."

Melodie frowned at his retreating back. "I can't be too hard on Lonnie. I guess he always wanted to be a star himself." She spread her hands. "But he hasn't got it, know what I mean?"

"I'll look after the phone for you."

She wasn't listening. "If I don't get a call-back-though Larry says the part of Angelique is made for me-then I'll do the open call with the bees."

"Bees?"

"That's my name for them. The would-be if you could-be people. Like, everyone from Kansas who thinks they'll find fame and fortune in the big city. Open call means anyone can turn up to try out, but it's not for the main parts."

"Isn't that the phone?"

"Oh, rats!" Melodie sprinted down the corridor.

After making my tea, I collected my shoulder bag and, mug in hand, followed Melodie to the reception area. In my bag my bookstore purchase was safely concealed. I'd been planning to study it tonight, but if I was going to be discussing my undercover role over dinner, I needed a quick squiz at it now. It was important to be on top of things.

I found Melodie seated behind the desk, trying her persuasive techniques on the phone. "Oh, come on, Tiffany. You can take some time off. No one will know. I'm only asking for a couple of hours. This is my big chance!"

Clearly Tiffany was not cooperating, as after a few more entreaties Melodie sighed, said goodbye, and put down the phone.

"It's not as if she's got the kind of job that keeps her chained to a desk," she said to me.

"What's Tiffany do?" I asked.

Melodie pouted. "She's a professional gift buyer. Like, she could take time off easily"

"What's a professional gift buyer?"

"Tiffany works for Superior Gifts Plus. She shops for stars but never meets them. Like, the movie studios, the producers, and the talent agencies all give gifts to their actors on special occasions like the start of a new movie, or an Oscar nomination, or signing a big contract."

"She gets paid for buying presents for people?"

Melodie nodded. "The sky's the limit. Tiffany can spend what she likes. The studios spend millions of dollars on gifts for talent throughout the year. Someone's got to buy them. That's where Tiffany and Superior Gifts Plus comes in."

"I'd never do that job," I said. "I'm not all that keen on shopping."

Melodie's eyes widened. "You're not?" She considered my failure in this area for a moment, then, recalling her situation, said mournfully, "Tiffany was my last hope."

"I'll answer the phone for you this arvo." When she looked puzzled, I translated. "Afternoon. The phone. I'll answer it."

Transformed, she leapt to her feet. "You will! Oh, Kylie, I owe you one!" Apparently fearful I might change my mind, she grabbed her things and galloped for the front door.

"You're leaving already?" I called, but she was gone.

I settled down with my book, keeping a Hollywood Reporter handy to conceal it should anyone come along. I'd be red-faced if people-well, Ariana mainly-thought I needed extra help, but it couldn't hurt to do some studying on the side.

Several calls came through, but the phone set-up was chickenfeed compared to the pub, so I aced it without any prob. I put a call through to Bob, and he chuckled when he heard my voice. "Melodie won out, did she? Watch out, Kylie, this won't be the last time she asks you."

I was really into a chapter on industrial espionage when a voice said, "Whatcha reading?"

I closed my book and covered the title with my hand. "Nothing."

"Looks like something to me." It was a delivery bloke in a daggy outfit of brown shorts and shirt. He slapped the package he was carrying down on the desk and gave me an overly familiar smile. "Where's Melodie? Auditioning again?"

"That's right."

He was one of those mega-annoying friendly types who can't mind their own business. "Good book?" he asked. "I'm a reader myself. Spy stuff. Techno-thrillers. Tom Clancy. Read him?"

"Not lately."

"You should." Before I could react, the twerp had reached over and grabbed my book. "Well, well," he said, grinning. He read the title in a loud voice. "Private Investigation: The Complete Handbook."

"Give me that!" I snatched it back from him.

Too late. Fran was on the scene. And she was smiling.

"I'm throwing myself on your mercy," I said, shoving the book into my bag.

"Oh, yeah?" Fran was still smirking.

I looked around. The coast was clear. The delivery bloke had left, whistling cheerfully, not giving a thought to the fact he'd given Fran a weapon to king-hit me with.

"You know how you've aced this gofering thing…" I began.

Fran's smile vanished as though it had never existed. "What? What thing?"

"Ariana said you were a gofer, so I suppose when you're doing it, you're gofering."