Claire McNab: Kookaburra Gambit

Fran's gloomy moodiness didn't go with her looks. She wasn't tall, had red hair, blue eyes-not a patch on Ariana's-and pale skin, plus a truly spectacular bust. To my mind, someone brimming with angst like Fran should be tall and emaciated, with masses of black hair falling over tortured dark eyes.

"Mail," growled Fran. She slapped the envelopes down in the in-box. Then the pile of opals got her fascinated attention. "Wow! Going into the jewelry business, are we?"

"Not likely," I said. "These are shonky goods."

"Contraband," said Bob. "Smuggled into the country."

Fran picked up a stone and examined it. "Lovely." Her scowl had entirely disappeared. Opals clearly had more power than I'd imagined. She looked at me quite civilly. "Your hometown is famous for these, isn't it?"

"Wollegudgerie flame opals, they call them."

Ariana sat back in her chair. "Kylie was about to tell us what these are worth."

"I wouldn't call myself an expert at valuations," I demurred.

"Just go for it," Bob said.

"Opals are valued on depth of color, number of colors, the perfection of the stone, and unique patterns or features," I said. "Just a quick look at this lot shows me these are bonzer-some of the best I've seen. I'd guess they'd be worth at least fifty, sixty thousand. And that's in Australia. Black opals are so rare in the States, they'd fetch quite a lot more. Maybe double."

Bob Verritt looked at the pile of stones with more respect. "The duty on these would be quite a sum. Any way to tell where they were mined?"

"Almost certainly somewhere in Australia-probably Lightning Ridge or Wollegudgerie. We Aussies pretty well have the black opal market tied up and control how much gets exported. That's why this type is so valuable."

I considered mentioning the robbery of Ralphie Bates's Opalarium back in Wollegudgerie, but somehow that wouldn't be fair-not until I'd got the full story out of Alf and Chicka.

"I guess this has something to do with the twin brothers I overheard Melodie babbling on about," said Fran. "She was telling someone on the phone they were so alike it was creepy."

Obviously the receptionist network had been activated. "The Hartnidge brothers," I said. "Alf and Chicka."

"If they've got nothing to do with the smuggling, why don't they go to the authorities and say, 'Gee, fellas, look what we found' and be done with it?"

"Lamb White," said Bob.

Fran frowned, then comprehension dawned. "Lamb White, the Christian movie company? These guys have a deal with them?"

"Pending," said Bob. "And if a breath of anything illegal gets out, the deal's canned."

"Best not to mention a movie company to Melodie," said Ariana.

Fran actually laughed-cynically, of course. "Fat chance you'll keep that little item from her. I'll guarantee she'll sniff it out."

After Fran left, Ariana, Bob, and I discussed the matter further, and to my delight it was decided we'd go ahead with the case. "From the Hartnidges' point of view, we'll call it your case, Kylie," said Ariana, "but don't forget you're under Bob's strict supervision."

Her subtle emphasis on "strict" deeply irritated me. "Fair go," I said. "You know I won't make a single move without checking first."

Bob grinned. "Like last time?"

He had me there. I'd got myself into a real pickle with an earlier investigation right after I'd arrived in L.A. "I've learnt my lesson," I said.

Ariana's mouth quirked, but she didn't say anything. Bob chuckled.

"I have," I said firmly. "True."

While Ariana put the opals in the safe and Bob went off to ring Alf and Chicka to tell them Kendall & Creeling would take the case, I hoofed it to the reception area to ask Melodie for her advice.

Thing was, I needed a haircut. Last time I'd had one was back at Wollegudgerie's only beauty salon, run by Maria, who'd taken up with my girlfriend, Raylene, and broken my heart in the process. This alone had turned me off hairdressers in general.

This morning, however, when I was cleaning my teeth, I noticed how my head looked like it had exploded. I've always had strong hair-as my mum says, it has body to burn-but there's a point where I start to look like one of those supershaggy dogs who spends life peering through a screen of hair.

When I got to reception, Melodie was on the phone. "And even if he is Australian, he's real nice. And Tiffany-get this! He's swinging a deal with Lamb White… Yeah, the goody-two-shoes movie company. And if I play my cards right-" She broke off as she saw me. "Tiff? Call you back, OK?"

"How did you hear about Lamb White?" I asked.

Melodie gave an airy wave with one hand. "Oh, around…"

"You've been listening in."

Melodie's perfectly arched eyebrows drew themselves into an aggrieved frown. "I never listen in. I may catch a word now and then." Her expression lightened. "Anyhow, Chicka Hartnidge told me himself. He called to ask me on a date."

"Blimey, he's a fast mover," I observed. Chicka Hartnidge and Melodie Schultz-stage name, Davenport-was a combination to boggle at.

"Chicka said I was a bonzer sheila." Melodie looked at me intently. "That's good, isn't it?"

"Bonzer means excellent, and a sheila's a woman, so I reckon you could say that was pretty good."

She nodded complacently. "I thought so."

"Melodie," I said, "I need some help."

"With what?" She was suspicious. Like, maybe I was going to ask her to do some work.

"It's about my hair."

Melodie leaned back to take me in from head to toe. "That's the least of it," she said. "Frankly, Kylie, you need Extreme Makeover'.'

Fran came tootling along in time to hear this last observation. She looked me up and down too. "I hardly ever agree with Melodie on anything," she said, "but this time she's right."

"Are you fair dinkum? I'm not that far gone, am I?"

Melodie and Fran looked at each other, then at me. "How can we count the ways?" Fran asked.

"OK, I admit I haven't got anorexia, and I do need a haircut pretty desperately, but otherwise I don't look too bad, do I?"

"Hmmm," said Fran, folding her arms. "What do you think, Melodie?"

"Hard to know where to begin."

While they had a little giggle about that, I tried to be absolutely objective about myself. Mum, being part Aborigine, had given me her dark hair, deep brown eyes, and olive skin. My dad's genes had passed on my height, my hands, and my quite elegant nose and squarish chin.

I thought of Ariana, what she must see when she looked at me. An outback sheila, rough 'round the edges, who'd made foot-in-mouth her second name. It wasn't that I hadn't had a good education-I'd aced it at Wollegudgerie High-but no one would call me sophisticated, especially not by L.A. standards.

"OK," I said to Melodie and Fran. "I'm yours."

Two hours later, there I was in the professional clutches of Luigi of Beverly Hills, or would be any minute. We'd hardly met before his cell phone went off, playing the first few bars of the overture to The Barber of Seville. Now Luigi was deep in a conversation that required him to march up and down, making many sweeping hand gestures.

I looked around. The beauty salon was long and narrow, with mirrors down both walls. Facing the mirrors were a multitude of hairdressing chairs. I'd never seen so many in one place. Crikey, Wollegudgerie's Snip & Slather beauty salon looked like a broom cupboard next to this one. The place was filled with loud techno music, almost drowning out the constant noise of people coming and going, screaming "Dahling!" and air-kissing, or, as I soon discovered, recounting in astonishing detail very private crises in their lives.

I became entranced by the blond woman sitting in the chair next to me. Her hairdresser, a large bloke with very tight curly black hair, who answered to the name Albert, was hard at work eliminating her dark roots. While he slapped stuff on her scalp, she gave him the gruesome details about the bizarre sexual favors her life coach had demanded.