Claire McNab - Kookaburra Gambit

Ariana chuckled. "I can hardly wait to see Millie and Fran meet up."

"I'm hoping to keep them apart."

Ariana looked at me thoughtfully. "This is a vacation for your aunt, is it?"

I debated whether to tell her the real reason behind Aunt Millie's trip. Maybe secretly Ariana still wanted to get rid of me and would be delighted to learn a family member was on the way to persuade me to come home.

My mum always says honesty is the best policy-she's big on clichés-so I said, "Mum wants me back at the Wombat's Retreat. Says she needs me to help run the pub. She and Aunt Millie have been talking."

"You mean your aunt's visit is to convince you to return to Australia?"

"Something like that."

Ariana didn't appear to be chuffed with this news. Actually, she was frowning. "What are your thoughts on this, Kylie?"

"I'm thinking Aunt Millie's trip is going to be a failure. And she won't be pleased."

"Well, that's her problem, isn't it?" Ariana picked up her briefcase. "Enjoy your weekend, and try not to worry about pesky relatives."

"I'll try," I said, without much hope I'd succeed.

I found Fran, Harriet, and Melodie in the kitchen. As I entered, Melodie was saying, "Chicka's real nice, but he didn't even try to get to first base. He's shy, you know. So sweet!"

"I'd call it boring," said Fran.

"Sounds refreshing to me," said Harriet.

"Chicka's not boring," declared Melodie emphatically, tossing her hair around. I'd always admired how she could do that without getting a mouthful. "He's a producer."

Fran glowered. "Any fool can call themselves a producer. Quip meets with phonies calling themselves producers all the time."

Melodie put her hands on her hips and glowered right back at Fran. "Chicka Hartnidge is not a phony. He's practically guaranteed I can voice one of the puppets in his Oz Mob movie."

"Really?" said Harriet, who unaccountably had missed out on this momentous news. "Which one?"

"Chicka hasn't actually said yet."

"A puppet's voice?" said Fran, lifting one side of her rosebud mouth. Great sneerer, Fran. "Won't you be overextending your artistic range, Melodie?"

There could be violence any minute, so I stepped in. "News flash, everyone. My Aunt Millie's coming to town next Wednesday. She's inclined to be critical and have a dark view of life. I'm telling you this so you won't take offense if she says something derogatory."

"I for one," said Fran, "will take offense. I loathe negativity." I couldn't help a hoot of laughter. Knowing I'd regret it, I cheerfully gave into temptation. "Fran, old matey," I said, "you've single-handedly made negativity an art form." Glower meltdown!

On Saturday morning a phone call from Bob Verritt interrupted my reading of the L.A. Times. Ariana had just called him about my suggestion of going undercover into the Hartnidges' Oz Mob operation in Burbank.

"My view is, it could work out well," Bob said. "Having someone on the inside could be a real advantage, if Alf and Chicka agree."

"Ariana isn't too keen on the idea, is she?"

"I'm afraid not. She brought up the beating your face took last time you went undercover."

Really indignant that Ariana clearly didn't believe I was capable of learning from my mistakes, I said, "If she thinks I'm going to cower in the corner, she's got another thing coming."

Bob chortled. "She's convinced you'll do quite the opposite to cowering. That's the problem."

"But she's not going to try and stop me?"

This seemed to amuse Bob even more. "Ariana doesn't fight battles she knows she'll lose."

Well, blow me down! It gave me a tingle of pleasure to think that just for once I had one up on Ariana.

We discussed the ins and outs of the undercover role I might play, then Bob rang off, saying he'd try to get hold of Alf and Chicka to sound them out about the idea.

My Saturday routine was to do laundry before I went out to stock up on provisions. Usually I took a moment to admire the washer and dryer setup I'd had installed, but this morning there were other things on my mind. I threw clothes into the washer with unnecessary force. It really irked me that Ariana didn't trust me not to be reckless.

This case was so important to me. For one thing, it had opals involved. And Aussies. I felt a momentary sisterhood with Melodie and her One Big Chance. This was my OBC. I could prove I had the makings of a private investigator if I brought the Hartnidge case to a successful conclusion.

I said to Julia Roberts, who I'd found sleeping on the dryer, "I've a good mind to give Ariana an earful. What do you say, Jules? Should I?"

Julia Roberts uncurled herself, stretched, then sat down, looking thoughtful. She blinked at me, once. I took this to mean yes. Before I could change my mind, I went back to my room, picked up the phone, and punched in Ariana's number, which I knew by heart, not that I'd ever needed to use it much.

She answered on the second ring with a cool "Hello."

"It's Kylie."

"Is something wrong?"

"No. Well, yes."

There was a pause. I was cursing myself. I should have worked out exactly what to say, before going off half-cocked.

Ariana said, "Are you going to tell me what it is?"

"Bob's just rung. You think I'm reckless, don't you?"

"Impetuous, perhaps."

"I'd prefer spontaneous," I snapped.

"How about impulsive?" Ariana laughed. "Shall I fetch the thesaurus? We can have dueling words at ten paces."

I had to smile. "I'm being a galah, aren't I?"

"I'm not quite sure what that is."

"It's a pink and gray cockatoo. Not the brightest bird on the branch. Essentially, I'm saying I'm a dumb cluck."

"You're not dumb. And perhaps you should be annoyed. I'm not treating you like my business partner. We should discuss all these issues and come to joint decisions."

Stone the crows! Two concessions from Ariana in twenty-four hours?

"Maybe you're right," I said. "I have to admit all I know about being a private eye could be written on the head of a pin in large letters."

She didn't rush to contradict me.

"So," I went on, "I promise to run things past either you or Bob before I do anything rash, hasty, hotheaded, foolhardy, spur-of-the-moment, devil-may-care, or precipitous."

I was grinning to myself, thinking how being first in my English class at school was paying off years later, when Ariana said, "I concede. You win. Duel over."

My day was all mapped out. After the laundry was in the dryer, I sallied forth to the nearest big supermarket. It had taken me a while, but I was getting used to the different brand names and the way Americans referred to biscuits as cookies, soft drinks as sodas, and lollies as candy.

I'd got a bit carried away shopping, so, laden with many bags, I had to make several trips from my car across the courtyard and in the front door. I kept a wary eye out for intruders. It'd been drummed into me that L.A. could be a dangerous city and that at any given moment violent crime was happening all over the place.

Julia Roberts helped me unpack things. Like all cats, she quite lost her dignity over bags and boxes, and leapt in and out of them like a kitten.

I had a wholesome avocado salad for lunch-rather spoiling the health side with lashings of mayonnaise-then I gave Julia Roberts a good grooming. Since I'd adopted her, I'd made several trips to pet stores in search of suitably upmarket combs, brushes, and clippers. Only the best for Jules. She hated her feet being touched, so she objected strongly to the clippers, but that was too bad, as being mostly an inside cat she didn't wear her claws down.

Julia Roberts pretended she didn't like being fussed over, but it was a lie. She loved it. It probably helped that I assured her she was beautiful as I brushed her. On this point we were in complete agreement.