Claire McNab: Wombat Strategy

I went away and thought about it, then just as Melodie was collecting her things I came back to the reception desk. She gave me a sunny smile. "I'm leaving early tonight, okay?"

Slapping down a fat manila envelope I'd sealed with multiple strips of packing tape, I said with authority, "I think it's better if we send those records back to Deerdoc."

I hadn't checked with Ariana, but she giving a deposition in San Francisco and I'd rationalized it was better not to disturb her.

Melodie stared at the envelope, fascinated. "Is that what we were talking about before?"

"Jarrod's therapy sessions." We both looked at the envelope as though Perkins might materialize and hover over it. I thought it unlikely, though, since the envelope contained blank computer disks and sheets of paper. The real material was secure in Kendall & Creeling's safe.

"It's a bit late for a pickup," said Melodie, checking her watch. What she really meant was she was keen to get out of there.

"Tomorrow morning's fine. There's no real hurry."

I knew, as sure as my name was Kylie Kendall, that Melodie would not be able to resist telling Rich Westholme about the envelope. I was betting that tomorrow morning Rich would make some excuse to turn up here early. He would see it as his only chance to get those disks.

And why? Because according to my theory, the insurance Rich had said he had was blackmail. He'd paid Randy Romaine to get the material on Perkins from the Deerdoc files. And now he'd probably paid Randy to go into hiding.

Ariana was coming home tonight. I'd call her later and tell her what I'd done. Then she could be here when Rich Westholme incriminated himself.

But by the time everyone had gone and I'd checked that the building was secure, I'd had second thoughts about my plan, which had seemed so smart that afternoon. Imagining myself telling Ariana about it, I blushed. She'd say, "What does it prove if he does go for the envelope?" She'd be right. Rich could talk his way out of it easily.

I was out of my depth here. Training for a few days wasn't enough to make me a RI.'s bootlace. Disgusted with myself, I retrieved the envelope, emptied out the contents, tore it up, and put the pieces in the nearest wastepaper basket.

I'd have to come clean with Ariana. I'd tell her tomorrow, and she'd laugh at me.

"I'm a total fuckwit," I said to Julia Roberts. She just blinked.

Embarrassment made me thirsty, so I made a pot of tea. While waiting the four minutes it took to get strong enough, I selected Julia Roberts's dinner. Tonight I was serving chicken. I hoped she'd approve. The illustration on the can made it look quite delicious.

Suddenly I sensed someone was looking at me. Rich Westholme stood in the doorway to the kitchen.

I jumped. "Jeez! You gave me a fright." I looked past him without much hope and said, "Is Melodie with you?"

This couldn't be good. He must have let himself in with Melodie's keys. The way Rich stood, balanced on the balls of his feet, was menacing enough to set my heart racing.

"Would you like a cup of tea? I've just made it."

He didn't bother answering. "Melodie tells me you've been asking questions about my work." He narrowed his eyes. "A lot of pushy questions."

"Primal Appetites” I said.

He glared at me. "My script. What of it?"

"Melodie said you were developing it with Jarrod Perkins. That the agreement was he'd produce and you'd direct. She was thrilled because you told her she'd have a part. But it never happened."

"That stupid bitch." I thought how she'd hate to hear the scorn in his voice. "Christ, I'm so sick of hearing her chatter on about her fucking career."

"The latest project Perkins was developing is called Primitive Obsessions." I sounded quite calm, though inside I wasn't. "He mentioned it in every interview he gave after his Hummer exploded."

"So?"

"So Primal Appetites and Primitive Obsessions are awfully similar. I'm thinking maybe they're the same script with different names."

"You're a stupid bitch, like Melodic You can't keep your mouth shut."

Right now I was tending to agree. What did I think I was doing, needling him like this? I'd persuade him to leave, then call Ariana, the cops, pizza delivery, anyone who'd come.

"Look, Rich," I said reasonably, "it's been nice chatting with you, but I think you should go."

His smile wasn't reassuring. "Do you? You think I should go?"

"Well, yes. You obviously don't have a high opinion of me, so why spend more time in my company than necessary?"

"I'm here to collect something. An envelope."

"If you come back tomorrow, I'm sure someone can find it for you."

He shoved me hard against the counter. "Shut up."

The physical confrontation with Randy Romaine had taught me the disadvantages of being without a weapon. I scanned the counter but saw nothing promising. I'd keep him talking, maybe get him off guard so I could make a run for it. "I saw the Hummer after it was blown up. Perkins was totally spaz."

"Was what?"

"He lost it completely. He was raving mad." Rich's momentary look of satisfaction encouraged me to add, "You planted the bomb, didn't you? Pyrotechnics from a film set?"

"Smart little bitch, aren't you?"

Shaking my head with fake admiration, I said, "You were taking a hell of a chance."

He shrugged. "If you look like you know what you're doing, nobody pays any attention. Perkins never locked the Hummer. I just opened the door. I was fifty yards away before it blew."

"Why bother?"

Rich laughed. "To put the motherfucker on edge," he said, "so he'd roll over when I upped the ante."

Julia Roberts came into the kitchen; it was her dinner time. It was quite unfair. I knew Rich abhorred cats, but she was totally minding her own business when Rich saw her. An expression of deep loathing crossed his face. He aimed a kick that connected with her ribs. Jules did a sort of somersault and landed on her feet, hissing.

"Get outta here!"

Julia got.

That was the final straw. Julia Roberts did not deserve this treatment. I fair dinkum looked for a weapon this time. Something substantial enough to wipe the smirk off this bastard's face. The TV set? Too heavy. There were knives in the drawer, if I could get to them. And cans in the cupboard. Kitchen cleaners under the sink…

"Bitch! Answer me!"

"What?"

"I'm asking you once more, and that's it. The recordings of the sessions Perkins had with that quack, Deer-where are they? Melodie said they were in an envelope at the front desk, waiting to be picked up by UPS. There's nothing there."

I spread my hands. "Can't help you."

He reached into the pocket of his jeans. The flick knife made an obscene little click as it sprang open. "Wrong answer."

My gaze was drawn magnetically to the gleaming blade. Rich jabbed at my face. I recoiled. He laughed.

"Get the hell out of here!" I yelled, not having much hope that he would.

"The envelope."

I shrugged. He moved like a striking snake. Blood sprang from my left breast where he'd pricked me, spreading a bright red stain on my white T-shirt. It wasn't deep, but it stung like hell.

"Fair crack of the whip," I said. "It was only last week I got a black eye and a bloody nose. Now you're stabbing me?" I heard the tremor in my voice.

So did he. "Gee, Kylie," he said mockingly, "am I scaring you?"

I was backed up against the counter. Jammed against me was one of the kitchen stools. I slid my right hand behind me and tried to get a good grip on it. To distract him, I said, "During his therapy, Jarrod Perkins said something about stealing your movie concept, didn't he? Probably discussed how you'd threatened him."

"Smart little cunt, aren't you?" I shrank back as he took a step closer to me. "Last chance," he said. "Where's the envelope?"