Bob Verritt and I were sitting in Ariana's office. The room was like her: cool and contained, with a predilection for black, at least in the furniture-black desk, black filing cabinets, black lounge chairs for clients. The walls were flat white. The only break from this stark decor was found in the muted earth colors of a couple of rugs on the polished, dark floor.
"Alf and Chicka are coming back tomorrow," I said. "I told them by then we'd know if we'd be taking the case…or not."
I was dead keen that Kendall & Creeling did take on the Hartnidges as clients, and even keener to be directly involved myself. Not only would the case bump up my total hours, it involved something in which I had expertise. I might know next to nothing about being a private investigator, but I knew just about everything to do with opals. This wasn't surprising, since Mum's pub, The Wombat's Retreat, was smack bang in the middle of Wollegudgerie, premier opal-mining town in outback Australia.
On the other side of the desk, Ariana leaned forward in her chair to examine the three soft toys lying in a neat line in front of her, each with its little belly split open. She picked one up but nearly dropped it when the movement activated its voice.
"I'm Kelvin Kookaburra," the toy bird shrieked. Then it went into peal after peal of maniacal laughter, only stopping when Ariana hastily put it down.
"That's why a kookaburra's also called a laughing jackass," I said helpfully. "They're a type of kingfisher. My aunt lost a lot of goldfish that way, until she put netting over her goldfish pond."
Realizing I was yakking on, I made a mental note to shut up. When I was stressed I tended to talk too much, and Ariana had a talent for making me feel tense. Sure, I'd inherited from my American father a controlling interest in Kendall & Creeling Investigative Services, but for all intents and purposes it was Ariana's company. I was just an Aussie who'd inconveniently turned up and thrown a spanner in the works.
After the first frosty reception, when she'd been gobsmacked to learn I was planning to help run the place, Ariana had warmed to me to some degree-a certain kiss was still burning in my memory-but the uneasy feeling remained that if I said to her I was willing to sell my share, she'd take it like a shot.
I wrenched my attention back to hear Bob saying, "Alf and Chicka Hartnidge have quite a story to tell."
Ariana smiled. "Clearly. Let's have it."
I always melted a bit when she smiled, though I fought to make sure she never knew it. Putting on an alert expression, I gazed at Bob, waiting for him to sum up the Hartnidge brothers' dilemma.
"It's really Kylie's case," he said, "so she should tell you."
Ariana and Bob both looked at me. I cleared my throat. I'd be succinct, to the point, short and snappy, like Ariana would be if she were explaining the situation.
I marshaled my thoughts and began. "Alf and Chicka Hartnidge started off producing a kids' series for Aussie television called The Oz Mob, using puppets a bit like the Muppets but based on native animals, such as echidnas, wallabies, and koalas."
"What's an echidna?" said Bob, throwing me off my stride completely.
I glared at him. "Eats insects, gots lots of spines, rolls up in a ball when scared."
"Like a hedgehog?"
"Most likely. Anyway, where was I? Yes, this kids' series turned out to be a mega hit, and Alf and Chicka got the bright idea of licensing someone to make soft toys and hand puppets based on the Oz Mob characters. Soon they were selling like hotcakes- Penny Platypus, Ferdie Frilled Lizard, Korinne Koala, and so on." I indicated the toys on the desk. "But the most popular character of all was that one, Kelvin Kookaburra, probably because he and his mad laugh started and ended the TV show."
Back home, I'd always liked hearing kookaburras laughing. They were impressive birds, with large beaks, square heads, pale downy breasts, and lovely mottled brown-and-blue markings on their backs and wings.
When I was a little kid, I remember being disappointed to learn from my mum that kookas weren't laughing because they had a good sense of humor. It was really: "Get out! This is my area!" Still, they were so handsome I found it easy to forgive them.
"After The Oz Mob was a hit," I continued, "it was picked up by a cable channel here in the States, and now it looks like it's going to be a success all over again. There were no flies on the Hartnidge brothers, as far as bargaining was concerned. They licensed the program to television but kept the rights to the soft toys and puppets themselves. Their plan is to import them for sale once the series takes off."
Bob pointed to the three little Kelvin Kookaburra bodies. "Those were in the first shipment." Like a magician, he whipped a velvet bag out of his pocket. "And concealed in them were"- dramatic pause, while he opened the bag and gently spilled the contents onto the desk in front of Ariana-"these!"
These were twenty-eight high-grade opals. Beautiful gems. Each stone was cut and polished, ready to be made into jewelry. Between us, Bob and I had used the best part of a box of tissues to clean them. They'd been coated in some sort of grease-probably Vaseline-before being hidden inside the Kelvin Kookaburras.
Ariana picked up one of the stones and examined it closely. "Kylie, you must know something about opals."
"Just everything," I said immodestly. "You don't grow up in the 'Gudge without learning every last thing about them."
Bob picked a stone too, holding it to the light pouring in through the skylight. "These are so much more impressive than the opals I've seen here in the States."
"They're certainly not the pale, wishy-washy ones you're used to," I said. "This sort are pretty well only found in Australia. Back home, when people say black opal, they think Lightning Ridge, but I happen to believe Wollegudgerie's stuff is equal, if not better."
Ariana turned the stone in her fingers, and the colors flashed brilliantly. "Why are they called black opals?" she asked. "This one's green and blue."
After weeks of being a novice PI, and not sure what in the hell I was doing most of the time, I was pleased to have a chance to show off my knowledge.
"The name black opal comes from the black potch-the dark layers that provide a terrific contrasting background for the bars of color. That's what makes black opals worth so much more than the milky ones that have white or gray potch." I had to smile, hearing myself. "I'm a regular little mine of information, aren't I?"
"And the value of this little collection?" Ariana asked.
"Worth a motza, because they're solid stones, not doublets or triplets." I picked up another opal, a gorgeous thing shot with fire. "If you look at this from the side, you'll see it's solid stone, not a doublet or triplet."
"Which are?"
"Sometimes very thin opals are attached to a layer of dark opal potch or dark plastic. That makes a doublet. If a clear capping of crystal quartz is put on top as well, it's a triplet. Of course, laminated opals like that aren't as valuable."
Ariana looked thoughtful. "I take it these are all solid stones?"
"They're fair dinkum."
"Could you put a value on them?"
A sharp knock at the door was followed by Fran's entry with Ariana's mail. Fran was Ariana's niece, a fact she took to mean she could show her true personality without worrying about repercussions. This meant she was, as usual, scowling. It was Fran's nature, I'd discovered, to be caustic. She met life with a heavy frown, daring it to confirm her worst suspicions.
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."