The Oz Mob office was in a smallish, dun-colored building just off Burbank Boulevard. Alf plummeted down the driveway into underground parking and screeched to a halt in a spot too small to contain the whole length of the Cadillac. Getting out, I inspected the considerable overhang at the back, caused by a boot clearly large enough to transport several bodies without crowding.
"It's sticking out quite a way," I observed.
"No worries," said Alf. He gestured at the other parked cars. "No one here wants to get pink paint on their transport."
I could see what he meant. Most of the cars seemed very new and very pricy. "All leased," said Alf, leading the way to dusty concrete stairs. I wobbled along behind on my extremely high heels. "Part of the package to get good staff."
"You're paying all these leases? Isn't that expensive?"
"Technically, our Oz Mob company's picking them up. It was on Tami's advice."
"Tami of Lamb White?"
"That Tami. She personally recommended this crash-hot accountant, Ira Jacobs, and we snapped him up, quick smart. Ira's a wonder. Showed us how leasing was by far the best way to go. In fact, he's got everything financial humming along, both here and in Australia. Don't know how Chicka and I did without him."
"So he has considerable control over the company's money?"
Alf glanced over at me rather defiantly. "I know what you're going to say. You've warned us some of our staff might not be true blue, but I'm sure Ira's the genuine article. I'd know if he wasn't."
Ariana, Bob, and I had talked it over and decided to give the Hartnidges a general warning that we'd found indications that some of their staff could be plants. We weren't going to specifically name anyone until Lonnie came up with concrete evidence.
"Who did Ira work for previously?" I knew from Lonnie it was the Church of Possibilities, but Alf would be in the dark about that.
"Some film company in New York," said Alf vaguely.
"You don't know the details and still you hired him?"
Alf frowned at my critical tone. "Tami had her Lamb White people run a background check. Told me Ira was dinky-di." Reaching the top of the stairs, he put his hand on the latch of the heavy metal door bearing the sign first floor and looked at me searchingly. "Do you know any different?"
Alf didn't strike me as good at hiding his feelings. If I revealed Jacobs had lied about his past employment, I was pretty sure Alf would start glaring at the accountant suspiciously. It wouldn't help our investigation if the bloke got wind of the fact that Alf was on to him, so I said, "We're still digging. I'll get back to you when we've got something specific."
"Because," said Alf, pushing open the heavy door, "I wouldn't want to let Ira go. Top bloke in every way. You'll see what I mean when you meet him."
I followed him into a thickly carpeted area, partitioned off into many largish cubicles. The Oz Mob setup was too small to employ a receptionist, so I had no need to worry about the RN- as I now mentally referred to the receptionist network.
I readied myself to twitter, as I imagined a rather dim girlfriend would. Tugging at my too short skirt, I contemplated my legs. They did look good in heels, but the blasted things were just as challenging to walk in as I'd feared. I thanked the genetic gods for my strong ankles.
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."
"Bloody hell," said Alf, accelerating to beat a red light, "that whole area's double Dutch to me. Lucky Chicka handles that side."
"Chicka?" I said. "Chicka handles the financial side of your business?"
Stone the crows. The situation was worse than I'd thought.
Alf dropped me back at Kendall & Creeling and zoomed into Sunset Boulevard to a chorus of outraged horn-blowing. My feet were killing me. I limped to the front door with a feeling of anticipation. I'd get my suffering feet out of these shoes, wash off my garish makeup, get changed into something comfortable, and relax with Julia Roberts for a few minutes before I reported to Bob on my visit to Burbank.
My anticipatory smile was wiped off my face by Melodie's first words. "Your Aunt Millie's here."
"What! I left her at the hotel."
"She caught a cab."
My stomach sank. "Where is she?"
"In the kitchen with Fran and Lonnie and Harriet." Melodie's bottom lip shot out in a pout. "I'd be in the kitchen with them, but Ariana's still here, so I'm stuck in reception."
"That's why you're called a receptionist," I said coolly. "You recept."
Melodie wasn't listening. "Lonnie says he'll time it properly, but I don't trust him. I should be there too."
"This is the bet you've got with Fran?"
"Fifty dollars." Melodie checked her watch. "It's been more than twenty minutes." She frowned. "I don't understand. Fran can't be pleasant that long to anybody. What's gone wrong?"
"Hold the fort," I said. "I'll find out."
Leaving Melodie gazing dejectedly after me, I made for the kitchen. There I found Fran leaning with her back against the counter, her attention on my aunt, who was perched on a tall stool. They were in animated conversation, ignoring the silent spectators-Harriet, Julia Roberts, and Lonnie, who kept referring furtively to his watch.
"Shhh!" hissed Lonnie when I came through the door. He beckoned to me urgently. "Don't interrupt. Three minutes, thirty seconds left."
"You're not sneezing," I whispered.
"What?"
I pointed to Julia Roberts, who was sitting nearby, apparently paying close attention to the dialogue between Fran and my aunt. "You're allergic, remember?"
Lonnie scowled at Jules. "Thanks to that damn cat, I've got antihistamine coming out my ears."
Harriet shushed us.
"Harriet's got a piece of the action," Lonnie murmured.
I tuned in to the conversation. Fran was saying, "You can't trust the assholes to get anything right."
Aunt Millie nodded vigorously. "Too true, too bloody true. Crooked as a dog's hind leg, the lot of them."
"Politicians," Lonnie whispered to me. "They've found a hatred in common."
"Corrupt SOBs," said Fran. "Despicable, contemptible media whores."
"Hypocritical buggers, boofheads, and dags."
I murmured to Lonnie, "They seem to be getting on rather well."
"Yeah, damn it."
"What are you two talking about?" said Fran turning around to glare at us.
"It's private," Lonnie declared.
Fran sniffed and turned back to my aunt. "Where were we?"
"Oh, shit!" said Lonnie. "The time's up!"
Fran smiled triumphantly at Harriet and Lonnie. "I'll expect payment in cash by tomorrow morning," she said in a voice too soft for my aunt to hear. "No excuses." They departed, grumbling. Julia Roberts stalked off too.
Fran said to my aunt, "Great meeting you, Millie. We must do this again some time."
"For an American, she's not too bad," said Aunt Millie after Fran had left, no doubt to give Melodie the unpleasant news about the bet. "Got her head screwed on the right way. None of this pie-in-the-sky stuff."
"You don't think Fran has a rather dark view of life?"
"Not at all. I'd call it realistic. Like me, she tells it like it is, and-" She broke off to peer at my face. "What are you playing at, my girl? You're painted like a prostitute."
"It's makeup."
By now Aunt Millie had homed in on my short skirt and high heels. "Disgusting. Your mother would be shocked."
It was no use trying to explain. "I'll go and change."
"While you make yourself decent, I'll have a word with your business partner, the Creeling woman."
I went quite cold. "Aunt Millie, please-"
"I can't rely on you to tell me the truth, Kylie. This Creeling woman may be more forthcoming."
"Her name is Ariana," I said. "Not the Creeling woman. If you wait until I change-"
"I'd prefer to see her alone."
I looked at her, a feeling of impotence flooding me. When her mind was made up, my aunt was implacable. Nothing I did or said would make any difference.
Bob Verritt chose this moment to come into the kitchen. Aunt Millie smiled up at him. "This nice young man can show me to your partner's office."
"Would you mind, Bob?" I said.
I had to get out of there before Aunt Millie saw the tears welling in my eyes. I slipped off my shoes, and carrying them in one hand, hurried to my room, fortunately meeting no one on the way.
I never cried. I wasn't going to now.
The best thing was to keep busy. I cleaned my teeth, washed my face, and changed into jeans and a plain blue shirt.
In all my life, I'd never hated Aunt Millie, not even when she was at her most unkind, but I was close to hating her now. What was she saying to Ariana? My mind skittered around all the possibilities, none of them good.
I wasn't going to skulk around my room. I'd go and see what was happening. I checked my face in the bathroom mirror and tried a smile. It didn't work. Better to try for serious, low-key.
As I reached Ariana's office, Aunt Millie and Ariana came out through the door. "There you are," said Millie. "I'm ready for you to drive me back to the hotel."
"OK," was all I could manage, without revealing how upset I was.
I glanced at Ariana. I couldn't read her expression. What in the hell had Aunt Millie told her?
The trip back to the hotel was silent. Jet lag had obviously caught up with my aunt, as she was having trouble keeping her eyes open. I saw her to her room, found the room-service menu for her, told her I'd call her in the morning, and went back to my car.
I didn't want to return to Kendall & Creeling. Everyone would have left by now, and the rooms would be empty and sad. But Jules would be expecting her dinner, so I had to go back.
Ariana's dark blue BMW was the only car left in the parking area. I sat and stared at it for a few moments, debating whether to go in or leave. I didn't want to face her tonight.
It was an effort to get out of my car and walk to the front door. I took a deep breath and opened it. Perhaps I could dodge Ariana and go to my room without running into her.
"Kylie?"
So much for that hope. "Yes, it's me." I locked the door behind me. It was getting dark, and I was always aware that danger could lurk in the shadows.
Ariana came toward me with her lovely loose-limbed stride. "Would you like tea? Or maybe a stiff drink?"
"Tea would be good."
Predictably, Julia Roberts was waiting in the kitchen. Ariana switched on the electric kettle while I fed Jules. "You lucky cat," I said. "It's turkey tonight."
Jules attacked the turkey with her usual enthusiasm. "It's her favorite," I said to Ariana, just to fill the silence between us.
Going through the ritual of making tea soothed me. Ariana surprised me by saying she'd have some too. "Don't you prefer coffee?"
"I'll keep you company."
Ridiculously, her just saying that upset me. I blinked hard and fiddled around with the teapot and finally poured the tea. We sat side by side on tall stools, our mugs sitting on the counter in front of us.
"That's quite an aunt you have there," she said at last.
"You could say that." I swiveled around on my seat to face her. "Ariana, I'm so sorry. I don't know what Aunt Millie said to you, but…"
Hell, I was going to cry.
Ariana put an arm around my shoulders. "It's all right."
I fished around in my pocket for a handkerchief. "I'm sorry to be such a sook."
She smiled. Her eyes were so blue. I couldn't help it. I leaned forward and kissed her.