Claire McNab - Kookaburra Gambit

Apart from Ira Jacobs, there were two others I was interested in meeting. One was Patsy Eckholdt, Tami's sister, who was calling herself Paula Slade. The other was Ron Udell, who had done public relations for COP, but, like Ira Jacobs, had concealed this when joining the Hartnidges' company.

Alf was looking around, seemingly expecting something to happen. Apparently the something was Chicka. He suddenly popped out of one of the cubicles. "G'day," he said, then swallowed nervously. Beads of sweat trickled down his face.

Alf had confided to me earlier that Chicka suffered from stage fright. "But it's me playing the role," I'd said, "not Chicka."

"He feels he has an important supporting part. He's taking it very seriously. Even skipped breakfast this morning to practice."

Clearly, practice hadn't made perfect. As an audience arrived, namely a woman with a bunch of folders in her hand, Chicka fixed her with a desperate stare and blurted, "Look who's here. What a surprise. It's Alf with his girlfriend, Kylie."

The woman halted and glanced sourly from me, to Alf, to Chicka.

Chicka cleared his throat. "Alf, have you brought Kylie here to impress her with the office?" He paused to give me a lips-drawn-back grin, so obviously false I had to change my involuntary giggle into a cough.

"Yes, Chicka," said Alf, apparently suddenly infected with the same bad-acting virus. "I have brought Kylie here to see the Oz Mob office, where we work."

Yerks! I had to put a stop to this fast. "I'm Kylie," I said to the woman, putting out my hand.

"Paula."

Ah! So this was Tami Eckholdt's sister, Patsy, acting a role, just like me. She didn't resemble Tami, except maybe around the mouth. She was taller and somewhat overweight, and wearing an unflattering beige pantsuit and scuffed flat shoes. Her lank, brown hair fell listlessly to her shoulders. She had heavy black-framed glasses with those thick lenses that oddly magnify the eyes.

"Could you tell me where the restroom is?" I didn't need a loo, but I wanted to get away to give Alf and Chicka time to get their act together-if, indeed, they could.

"Sure. Follow me."

Paula put the folders on a table and set off down a short hallway, me teetering behind her. With every step my admiration grew for all those women I saw every day wearing such extreme footwear. I visualized them striding along with such apparent ease, their high heels tap-tapping, expertly disguising the complex physical adjustments constantly necessary to prevent pitching forward on their noses.

"In here." Paula indicated a blue door distinguished by a small black silhouette of a figure wearing a bouffant dress.

"With women wearing pants so much these days, it isn't really relevant, is it?" I said, indicating the silhouette.

Paula gave me a funny look. "I wouldn't know. Can you find your own way back?"

As we'd taken scarcely six paces down the hall, I told her I thought I could. Paula clumped off. She was graceless, I decided…or a wonderful actor. That reminded me I was supposed to be acting the part of Alf's girlfriend.

I pushed open the door and entered a white-tiled room. A faint chemical flower scent permeated the air. The mirror above the wash basins was unforgiving. I gazed at myself with horror. Melodie had declared she'd make me up perfectly for the part I had to play, and like a fool I'd left it all to her. Alf arriving early had meant I didn't have time to check a mirror. Would that I had!

It was clear to me Melodie had envisaged Alf's girlfriend as a rough sheila, fast-living, and with a bad rep. Someone my Aunt Millie would call a painted woman. I sighed to myself. It was too late to do anything about it, especially as Paula Slade has already seen me.

When I got back to where I'd left Alf and Chicka, I was relieved to find Chicka had disappeared. I put my arm through Alf's. "Darl, show me around," I said, trying for a brightly eager tone. It came out nauseatingly chirpy. This acting stuff was harder than it looked.

Alf swept me around the office, introducing me as we went. I fluttered my eyelashes madly, telling Jerry, Jean, Leroy, and Caleb how mega great it was to meet them. I'd given up on brightly eager and was trying simpering. It seemed easier.

"And this is Ira Jacobs," said Alf. "Ira's doing a bonzer job, getting rid of all that red ink and putting us well in the black."

Ira Jacobs didn't look like an accountant. He reminded me of a particularly smooth, upmarket salesman. He was of medium height, with a good head of dark hair, a nice body, and a firm handshake. "Kylie, what a pleasure to meet you!" He spoke so warmly and flashed his teeth so winningly, I could almost believe his delight was genuine.

My Complete Handbook had warned me about successful salespeople. The very job they did made them efficient liars. I looked at his feet. To catch Ira Jacobs out I'd need to watch for subtle movements in the lower half of his body.

I became aware that both he and Alf were looking in the direction of his feet too. "Is something wrong?" Ira asked, frowning.

"Your shoes," I said. "Italian, aren't they? I just love Italian shoes!"

"As a matter of fact they are." He was pleased with the compliment. I was pleased I'd got away with it.

We ran across Paula in one of the cubicles. She was poring over a computer screen, mouse in one hand. "Paula's taking care of all our shipments of stuffed toys and hand puppets," said Alf, clapping Paula's shoulder. I noticed she winced. Alf didn't mean to be rough, but he was.

"How totally fascinating, Alf," I burbled, peering at the screen, "but what are you going to do with all these toys?"

"They're going to Lamb White's marketing division," said Alf. "Tami called me this morning and asked me to airfreight several extra crates to L.A. as soon as poss. Paula's handling it all. Doing a wonderful job, aren't you, Paula?"

"I try," she said tonelessly.

The last person I was introduced to was Ron Udell. I'd assumed anyone who'd made a career in public relations, as he had, would be polished and well-dressed. I was wrong. Ron Udell seemed comfortable in his blimp body and baggy clothes. He needed a haircut and his nails weren't clean.

"Ron's our liaison with the various companies and their PR departments," said Alf. "I don't even pretend to understand what Ron does, but I believe he does it well."

Ron came across to shake my hand. He moved like someone thinner and leered at me like someone more attractive. "Alf's a lucky SOB," he said.

I removed my fingers from his damp, warm clasp. "Thanks. It's nice of you to say so."

Now that everyone had met me, and it had been clearly established I was Alf's girlfriend, I wanted out of there. Aunt Millie was weighing on my mind. I should call her at her hotel but decided to put off that dire moment until I got back to Kendall & Creeling.

"What do you think?" asked Alf, once we'd roared up the ramp out of the underground parking and butted into the stream of traffic.

"I think you need an outside audit of the Oz Mob books." I mentally checked through the chapter on financial crimes in my Complete Handbook. "In fact, what you need is a forensic accountant."

"And that'd be?"

"An expert who's trained to detect criminal activity, cooked books, fraud. Someone who'll go through the Oz Mob finances looking for anything out of place. I could take a look myself and give you some idea if things aren't quite right, but you'd be better off with a real professional to tell you exactly what's going on."

I'd expected Alf to be at the least dismayed that a forensic accountant might be necessary, but instead I found him gazing at me with admiration. "You understand balance sheets and all that stuff?"

"Straight forward financial statements I understand-balance sheets, profit and loss. I did that side of Mum's business for years."