Claire McNab - Kookaburra Gambit

Maybe there was a connection between the Opalarium heist and the opals being smuggled into Los Angeles in the Kelvin Kookaburras. I wanted to sound Bluey out first, rather than his brother, because there'd been a pretty strong rumor that Ralphie had staged the whole thing to collect the insurance money.

I filled in the time before I could decently disturb Bluey Bates with Internet searches to turn up what I could on Brother Owen, the Church of Possibilities, and Lamb White. Google threw up countless responses on each one.

Naturally, the Church of Possibilities had its own Web page. And what a Web page it was! As soon as I clicked on, a notice appeared saying that any necessary software to view the COP Web site would be automatically loaded, if necessary. I already had video capability, so after a short pause, a chorus of cherubim and seraphim, wings wildly flapping, burst into song, while below them Brother Owen, one hand raised in blessing, stood smiling beneficently. He wore flowing white robes with a bright blue sash.

I knew it was Brother Owen because the cherubim and seraphim were chanting "Bro-ther O-wen" rather like a crowd might at a football match.

Another click brought me a close-up of Brother Owen's welcoming face. He seemed in his forties and was handsome in a well-fed, self-satisfied way. "Has anyone, ever, really understood you? The real vibrant you?" he inquired in a deep, warm voice.

After a pause for his audience to consider the question, he went on, "Have you been allowed to express fully the breathtaking talents that lie within you?"

Another pause. "Ask yourself, deep in your heart, are you really appreciated by those around you? Appreciated as your unique, astonishing self should be appreciated?"

Brother Owen allowed himself a small, sympathetic smile. "Do you wonder, in the dark hours before dawn, I s this all there is? "

Really long pause, then, "I am here to tell you there is more! More!"

The screen changed to a longer shot. Brother Owen's arms were extended as if he were about to step forward and embrace the viewer. "I am a harbinger of glory! I have been sent with wonderful tidings of great joy to all who will listen. Come to the Church of Possibilities! Discover the brilliant future that is your birthright! Cast off the shackles that have held you back, and rise to the heights you truly deserve!"

After this overload of Brother Owen, it was a relief to go to my e-mail. I deleted spam, answered messages from my friends back in Oz, and read the PI newsletter to which I'd recently subscribed, which had a fascinating but rather yucky article on bodily fluids. By then it was time to ring Bluey Bates.

"Kylie, mate! How the bloody hell are you?"

I could picture Bluey's freckled face and ginger hair. In the perverse Aussie way, redheads were often called Blue or Bluey. "Not bad, not bad at all," I said.

"Keeping the Yanks on their toes, are you?"

"More like they're keeping me on mine."

"So what can I do you for, mate?"

"This is confidential, Bluey."

"Lips sealed, Kylie, old love. Lips sealed."

"Has anything come of the investigation into the robbery at Ralphie's Opalarium?"

"Not a thing." Bluey's voice had hardened. He and Ralphie didn't see eye-to-eye over most subjects. "My brother's a lucky bastard, Kylie. The insurance company's going to pay up."

"You don't think they should?"

Bluey's snort came clearly over the line. "Let's put it this way, I reckon Ralphie's fairy godmother had to bust a gut to keep him out of the hands of the boys in blue."

"You believe Ralphie had something to do with the burglary?"

"Too right, I do, but I haven't said a word about it to Mucka. I'm not about to dob in my own brother." He snorted again. "Pity I've got gold-plated scruples, eh, Kylie?"

We discussed the burglary for a bit, then I asked Bluey if he knew the Hartnidge brothers. "Top blokes, both of 'em," he declared. "Done a bit of legal work for their Oz Mob company. Alf and Chicka pay on time and in full. You can't ask for much more than that."

"You certainly can't." I knew Bluey was struggling to carve out a decent living in Wollegudgerie, which had to make him even madder about his brother's possible insurance rip-off.

Bluey paused, then said, "I'm getting the strong feeling you're seeing some sort of connection between Ralphie's missing opals and the Hartnidge twins. Would I be right?"

I trusted Bluey implicitly. He'd handled legal work for Mum's pub, and he'd looked after me and my inheritance. He had a rep for being as honest as the day is long. I told him everything I knew.

Bluey whistled. "So that's the explanation for the city bloke who's been sniffing around. He's a private investigator. You can tell the Hartnidges he's not much chop. He won't get much out of anyone here in the 'Gudge. No one likes a nosy parker."

Bluey went on to give me the latest gossip, including my cousin Brucie's claim that I was begging him to join Kendall & Creeling. I set Bluey straight on that. We said goodbye, with Bluey promising to call me if he heard anything interesting to do with the stolen opals.

I'd scribbled notes as we'd talked, so I typed them up and put them in the new folder I'd started, tided hartnidge, alf & chicka.

I grinned to myself as I put the folder in my near-empty filing cabinet. Crikey, for a moment there I'd felt like a real PI!

It had become very clear to me that I had to prepare everyone at Kendall & Creeling for Aunt Millie's arrival. It just wouldn't be fair to have them caught unawares. First, my partner in the business had to be advised that someone was coming to town who'd give Fran a run for her money, and then some. Hell, she'd do Fran like a dinner.

Ariana was putting papers in her briefcase, ready to leave for the weekend. I knew she lived alone, apart from her gorgeous German shepherd, Gussie. I'd visited her house in the Hollywood Hills once, accompanied by Bob Verritt. It had been strictly business, worse luck.

The house was like her-elegant and self-contained. It had a fabulous view over Los Angeles. Maybe she often sat there with someone, admiring the city lights. Did she ever have dinner parties, like Harriet and Beth? Could Ariana even cook? There were so many things I didn't know about her-for example, the significance of the heavy gold signet ring she always wore.

"Got a mo?" I said. "My Aunt Millie from Wollegudgerie is lobbing in on Wednesday."

Ariana raised an eyebrow. It was a talent I didn't have but envied madly. "Have you always been able to raise one eyebrow, or did you have to practice?" I asked.

That got Ariana's other eyebrow into play. Then she laughed and shook her head.

"What?" I said.

"I dimly remember practicing as a kid," she answered, still smiling. "I thought it was an incredibly sophisticated thing to do."

That gave me a little thrill. Ariana was sharing something about her life with me. But I couldn't dwell on that; I had to give her an Aunt Millie alert.

"My aunt's flying in on Qantas."

"You've already said she's coming to town."

I knew I was stalling, so I made myself take the plunge. "Fact is, Ariana, she's what you'd call a bit of a character."

"Seems to run in the family," Ariana remarked.

"I didn't mean a good character."

"Your aunt's a criminal?" Ariana was grinning.

"No, but she has a very direct manner."

"An excellent quality."

"Don't laugh at me. This is serious."

Ariana's smile disappeared. "What's worrying you about your aunt's visit?"

"Aunt Millie prides herself on speaking her mind, and since she's dead-set down on most things, that means she's usually upsetting someone."

"You means she's a pessimist?"

"I mean nothing ever seems to please her."