Claire McNab: Wombat Strategy

My pulse gave a little jump when I looked up to see Ariana approaching. Black jeans, black shirt, with a glint of gold at her throat. Wow.

"Happy birthday, Lonnie," she said, handing him an envelope. I'd learned it was office policy to have everyone put in for a present. Lonnie had wanted some obscure bit of electronic equipment and was getting a check so he could buy it himself.

Ariana slid into the booth, Dora materialized, and we all ordered. When our meals came I blinked at the size of my corned beef sandwich. Huge slices of bread, enough corned beef to choke a horse, salad, coleslaw, and pickles. I could stretch this serving to two meals-maybe three.

Joyce herself brought the birthday cake that had been specially ordered. We all sang "Happy Birthday," more or less in tune. Lonnie blushed with pleasure. "Oh, you guys!"

Dora appeared. "Cawfee?" she asked in her grating voice. She stood with one hand on her hip, daring anyone to order.

"Cappuccino, please," I said.

Dora looked at me as if I had crawled out from under a rock. Fran smirked.

Perhaps it was my Aussie accent. I tried again. "Cappuccino?"

"Cappuccino," said Dora with scorn. "Cappuccino? We serve cawfee here.

Cawfee?

"Oh," I said, "then in that case, I'll have coffee, please." Lonnie shook his head as Dora stomped off. "You've gotta love them," he said, "those New York waitresses."

On Sunday Raylene called. My stomach turned a somersault at the sound of her voice. "Kylie? Your mum gave me your number."

I couldn't think of anything to say.

"Kylie?"

"I didn't expect to hear from you."

"I'm so sorry I hurt you."

I was furious to feel tears sting my eyes. "It's a bit late for that, Raylene."

"I want you to know, I know I made a big mistake."

I shrugged, although of course she couldn't see me.

"Come on, sweetheart," said Raylene, her voice soft, "don't make me beg. I shouldn't have done what I did. I was wrong. I should never have thrown you over for Maria. Please forgive me." She waited for a moment, then said, "Kylie?"

I'd been longing to hear these words. I'd dreamed of her saying them. Now they seemed strangely flat. "It's too late," I said.

"What do you mean? Do you want me to crawl? I'll do it. I was stupid and thoughtless."

"What does Maria think of this turnabout?"

"Don't worry about Maria. She's okay."

"Mum told me you and Maria were planning to go to Bangkok."

"Is that what's upsetting you?" Raylene said. "We can plan a trip together after you get back."

Part of me still loved her, but I knew I'd never trust her again. "I'm not coming back."

"You don't mean that, Kylie. You're just angry with me, and so you should be. I've told you I'm sorry."

I'm sorry too," I said, "but it's over."

"I don't believe you."

I felt an awful sadness run through me. "Raylene, why did you do it?"

"I don't know." She sounded genuinely puzzled. She sighed. "I want it back like it used to be. You and me, together."

"It's gone," I said, and because I didn't want her to hear me crying, I hung up the phone.

Julia Roberts watched me sob, her ears angled in the equivalent of a feline frown. Then she came over and let me hug her, without protesting too much. "You're all I've got, Jules," I said.

She didn't look impressed.

I had a miserable Sunday night, reliving the conversation with Raylene and thinking of all we'd meant to each other. Scenes from our life together kept popping into my mind.

Twice I picked up the phone to call her back, but I didn't. It was over. Although I missed her so much, I knew we could never recapture the feelings we'd had for each other.

It was a relief to wake up on Monday morning and hear Luis vacuuming the hallway outside my door. I jumped out of bed full of resolution. It was time to take my Wombat Strategy seriously. I would set my goal and plow my way through any obstacle that got in the way. I'd throw myself wholeheartedly into the PI. business. Maybe solve Jarrod Perkins's murder. That would take my mind off my troubles.

When Bob Verritt came in I trotted after him into his office. "Bob, can I ask you a question?"

"That depends what it is."

"Lonnie said the police interviewed you about Jarrod Perkins and the Reece Quinn script."

Bob folded his length into his chair and leaned back to give me a thoughtful look. "You can't run before you can walk," he observed.

That sounded like something my mother would say. "I'm fine-tuning my questioning techniques," I said.

Bob grinned at me. "You've got a lot of work to do."

"About Jarrod Perkins…"

"Alibi," said Bob. "I've got an alibi. It checks out, so you can cross me off your list."

I left him chuckling to himself.

Outside, Fran was waiting for me. She took me into my office, closed the door, and said, "What do you know about Rich Westholme?"

"Nothing much. He's a director, or that's what he claims to be. Why?"

Her frown was even darker than usual. "He's been promising Quip too much, for no reason I can see. And I think it's to get to me."

I looked at her, astonished. "He's putting the hard word on you? Of all people, Fran, you should be able to deal with someone like Rich Westholme."

She shook her head impatiently. "No, it's not that. Of course I'd rip his balls off. What he's doing is sniffing around anything to do with Jarrod Perkins. I don't know what he's after, but I don't like it."

"Did you say anything to him?"

Fran rolled her eyes. "Quip doesn't want me to upset Westholme, because he thinks he's going to be his meal ticket to the big time."

She glared at me as though somehow all this was my fault. "Now you know."

"What do you want me to do about it?"

Her wicked smile flashed on for a moment. "You're the P.I. I'll leave it all to you."

I decided to front Melodie about Rich Westholme, but she brought up the subject herself. "Kylie, I'm not convinced Rich is really supportive of my career." She jutted her jaw resolutely.

"We're going out tonight, and I'm going to have it out with him."

I sat on the edge of the reception desk and put on a sympathetic, interested expression. "Why do you say he isn't supportive?"

"He told me that first weekend that I'd have a part in Primal Appetites"

"You're talking about a movie? Or was that the menu for the weekend?"

Melodie gave her tinkling laugh. "That's so funny." Then her face grew stern. "This is so tragic. My chance to be in a movie with Jarrod Perkins attached. Like, how often does that happen?"

I clicked my tongue in empathy. "That's awful for you. But how was Perkins involved, exactly?"

"Rich told me Jarrod Perkins just loved his Primal script. Said it needed some work but that he was willing to put his name behind it. To produce it while Rich directed!" She sighed dolefully. "Then something went wrong."

"What happened?"

"I'm not sure, but I know Rich is very, very angry. He said he hadn't trusted Perkins from the beginning. That he'd had insurance that Perkins couldn't back out of the deal."

"What did that mean?"

"I don't know. When I asked, he yelled at me."

"I'd dump him," I said.

Melodie was appalled. "Kylie! He's a director."

Thinking of my conversation with Fran, I said, "Has Rich been asking questions about anything in particular?"

A shadow of guilt crossed Melodie's face. "Maybe he has."

"About Jarrod Perkins?"

"I didn't see the harm in telling him we were keeping some stuff here."

"You mean the therapy sessions from Deerdoc."

She bit her lip and nodded. "Don't tell Ariana, will you? She's very strict about things like that." She wriggled her shoulders. "Anyway, what does it matter if Rich knows? He had a lot to do with Perkins. Why wouldn't he be interested?"