Early next morning I was explaining to Julia Roberts how she'd have to keep a stiff upper lip because I'd be gone again today, when Ariana knocked on my door. Fortunately I'd made the bed and everything was tidy.
Ariana stood in the doorway, wearing her signature black. Her pale hair was as smooth as her expressionless face. It mystified me how she projected that aura of cool, contained authority without appearing to do anything at all. My imagination skittered around, trying to visualize her in the depths of passion. Before I got to the point of short-circuiting, Ariana said, "I tried to get you on your cell phone, but no luck."
"Sorry, I didn't think anyone knew the number to ring me, so I didn't turn it on." I went over to my bag, retrieved the phone, and activated it. "Hey, now that I know you have the number, it'll be on twenty-four-seven, no worries."
"Tell me about yesterday."
I gave her a complete rundown, including my assessment of how crook the security at Deerdoc was.
She listened without comment, then said, "Dave Deer called last night. He wants to know when you're moving in."
"I'm not."
"Why? Is it leaving Julia Roberts that's holding you back?"
"It's that Dave Deer's a lech. If I move in there, sooner or later Elise is going to catch him putting the hard word on me. It'd be a nasty sitch."
"What makes you think you won't face the same situation in the office?"
"Look, Ariana, I know he's our client, and he's an important one. I'll do my best to make sure it doesn't happen, but he can't cop a free feel and not have me get snarky about it."
"Just so long as you don't throw him over your shoulder, as I recall you did the captain of the football team."
I blushed a bit, remembering how I'd boasted about that the first day we'd met. "Hell's bells," I said. "Do you remember everything?"
"Everything."
"I'd better be careful what I say."
When a ringing sound started, I looked around, puzzled. "Your cell phone," said Ariana.
It was Chantelle. "Have you decided about Friday?"
I didn't ask how she'd got my number. I knew. "You could have asked me at work," I said, aware Ariana, who'd moved to stroke Jules, couldn't help overhearing my end of the conversation.
Chantelle's chuckle was warm and promising. "I couldn't wait."
"Okay, I accept."
"Terrific. See you soon."
The mobile gave a discreet burp when I ended the call. "Someone from work has tickets for a play," I said, feeling the need to explain.
"I hope not on Saturday night."
"No, Friday. Why?"
"You mentioned you'd like to see my sister's work. The gallery has a private showing of Janette's new exhibition this Saturday night."
Now, this wasn't a date, not really, but I still felt a tingle of excitement. "That'd be great, Ariana."
Crikey, I was even getting a charge out of saying Ariana's name. I mentally tried Chantelle. Bit of a jolt, but not as much. I frowned to myself. This was rebound stuff. I couldn't say, or even think, Raylene's name without a pang. Overcompensating, that's what it was. I was trying to fill the void she'd left with other women. Maybe I needed some Slap! Slap! Get On With It therapy. Or maybe I just needed some good, healthy, uncomplicated sex.
"What in the world are you thinking about?" Ariana asked.
"Nothing in particular. Why?"
She shook her head, smiled at me, said, "Again, Kylie, you find me lost for words."
She went off, still shaking her head, bemused. I consoled myself with the thought that I had some effect on Ariana, even if it wasn't quite the one I would have hoped.
My mobile rang again. This time it was Melodic "Kylie, I've got a favor to ask, and you'll probably be gone before I get to work."
"I can't look after the phone."
"It's not the phone. It's something else…a big favor, actually. I'll understand if you say no."
She wouldn't, of course. "What is it?"
"In the top drawer of my desk there's an envelope with head and shoulders."
"Yes?" I said doubtfully.
"You know what I mean. My publicity shots. I want you to take one to Deerdoc with you."
"Why?"
"Chantelle called and said Lorelei Stevens has an appointment with Dr. Deer this morning. I'm sure you'll be seeing her. I'm only asking a little thing. All I want you to do is ask her to autograph my photo."
I didn't bother inquiring how she knew about the appointment. The world of spies could learn a lot from receptionists. "Let me get this straight. You want me to ask Lorelei Stevens to put her autograph on your photo?"
"If it isn't too much trouble. It's the recognition factor, you see. When Lorelei and I meet in the future, my face will be familiar to her."
"And are you likely to meet Lorelei Stevens in the future?"
"Oh, yes," said Melodic "I've got an audition. It's a movie where she's the lead, Heart of Pain. Larry says I'm just made for the role…"
Fair dinkum, I was astonished. My mum would say gobsmacked. Lorelei Stevens signed Melodie's photo! She didn't even blink or ask who the hell this dame was. She just scrawled her signature right across Melodie's face. And she smiled while she did it.
Of course, she'd been smiling since she came out of the therapy room, both cheeks a bit pink and eyes a bit watery.
A couple of minutes later Dave Deer appeared, his white medical coat so starched it practically crackled. He purred, "Lorelei, we've achieved so much today. You've been very brave. Very brave. But a wise soul like yours knows pleasure comes through pain."
This sounded like S/M to me, but I reckoned neither of them would thank me for sharing that thought, so I didn't. Instead I'd whipped out Melodie's photo and asked the film star to sign it.
This particular celebrity was the exception to the blond rule. She was a sultry brunet with aquamarine eyes-I suspected tinted contact lenses-and an astonishing cleavage.
"Alert Ms. Stevens's limo driver she's on the way down," commanded Dave. I called Jim, the doorman, who would signal the limousine driver. If all went according to plan, her luxury transport would draw up just as Dr. Deer and his famous patient exited the building through a special side entrance reserved for celebrities.
Another dazzling smile from Lorelei, and she was gone in a swirl of perfume and stardom. I'd been brushed by fame.
As soon as I'd arrived this morning I'd been taken through the session routine. Before each patient arrived, Oscar Sherwood double-checked the recording equipment. The moment the session ended, the therapist removed the disk and placed it in the patient's file. The normal procedure was to leave files in the therapist's office. At the end of the day there'd be a pile of them waiting for me to take to the walk-in safe, where I'd put each one in the appropriate drawer.
This wasn't really good enough, having files hanging around all day, where they'd be even less secure than in the open safe. It would be extra work, but I intended to put away each patient's folder as soon as the session ended. If Dave Deer wanted to review something, I'd go and retrieve the file.
Lorelei Stevens had been the first patient of the day, so I hopped up and went to get her file from Dave Deer's desk. It was gone!
I heard a faint click as the door to the therapy room closed. I flew over to open it, only to see the other door of therapy room swinging closed. I had to see who had the file. I bounded across to the second door and cracked it enough to look out.
Disappearing down the private corridor was Randy Romaine, anonymous accountant, a large manila folder casually tucked under one arm. In it, I had no doubt, was the missing file. He disappeared through another door leading to the main office.
Okay, I had to catch Randy red-handed. But if I nabbed him now, he was sure to come up with some convincing story about how he needed the file for accounting purposes. What I had to do was observe him and see what he did. If Randy hid the file, that might be enough. It would be better, though, if he tried to take it out of the building.
I meandered in the direction of Randy Romaine's cubicle. He was behind his desk, stuffing the manila folder into a battered brown briefcase. It looked like this time he was taking everything, not just therapy disks. I slipped into the cubicle next to his-fortunately empty at the moment-and waited for him to make a move.
"Chantelle?" He was on the phone. "Forward all my calls to Gloria. I'll be out for the rest of the day." He left his cubicle and headed ever so casually in the direction of the lift.
Holy cow! It was time for the little lady to holler. I tried Fred's extension. No answer. I dialed his mobile phone. Got voice-mail. As a last resort, I called the doorman. "Jim? This is Kylie Kendall. Is Fred Mills there?"
"Fred's just stepped outside for a smoke. Want me to get him for you?"
"I can't stay on the line. Promise me you'll give him a message. It's mega important."
"Sure. What is it?"
"Tell Fred it's vital he meets me right now in the parking structure, level three. It's really urgent, Jim. Really, really urgent."
"Will do. Parking, level three. You've got it."
Then I ran like a mad thing through the office, shot past Chantelle, who gave me a startled look, then dramatically slowed when I saw Randy getting into the lift.
He looked surprised, but not alarmed, when I joined him. He hadn't put the briefcase down but was clutching it so hard his knuckles showed white. He'd already pressed the button for the level three parking, and when I didn't punch a button for another floor, he said, "You're leaving early?"
"Dentist."
"A problem?"
"Wisdom tooth."
He nodded. "They can be nasty."
I looked at him sideways. Randy Romaine looked the same as yesterday. A mild, inoffensive accountant. I felt a shiver of alarm. He'd been an amateur stalker, and there were no reports of any harm coming to the objects of his obsession. But maybe he'd done more than stalk and not been caught. A physical confrontation with him would not be a good idea. Fortunately I could leave that to Fred.
With a pinging sound the door opened at level three parking. Randy got out briskly and set off at a good pace. I looked around for Fred, but he wasn't there.
Bloody hell! I had to stall Randy somehow. Once he was driving off, it'd be too late. He looked back at me, puzzled, when I called out, "Randy, wait," and took off after him.
"Look, Kylie, I'm in a hurry."
He'd reached his vehicle, a white Toyota sedan. Just the sort of car I'd expect Randy to drive. He unlocked it with his remote key, opened the door, and tossed his briefcase onto the passenger seat.
Still no Fred. Time to improvise. Randy was parked close to a concrete pillar, so he couldn't fully open the driver's door. Before he could get in, I inserted myself between Randy and the door. He looked at me with amazement. "What the hell are you doing?"
"I wanted to have a word with you, in private."
"I'm in a hurry right now. Some other time."
Where the hell was Fred? I looked over Randy's shoulder, ready to yell, "This way!" but no ungainly figure in a crumpled uniform appeared.
"Shit," said Randy, "just get out of the way."
He attempted to move me bodily by grasping my upper arms, but I resisted. "I'm thinking of buying a Toyota. Would you advise it?"
"Get the hell out of my way."
Someone slammed a car door and took off in a squeal of tires. This was desperation time. Randy was stronger than I was and was plainly about to shove me to one side and get the evidence safely out of the building.
He wasn't taking me seriously, so I found it easy to reach over and snatch the keys from his hand. He was astounded, more than angry. "Give them back to me!"
He tried to grab them, but I put my hand behind my back. "Randy, we have some things to discuss."
"Like what?"
"Like Lorelei Stevens."
Bad move. His face reddened. Squeezing my shoulder painfully hard, he snarled, "This is so fucking stupid. Stop playing games and give me the keys." When I didn't comply, he slammed me hard against the door. "The keys, you bitch!"
"Don't make me hurt you," I said.
This got an incredulous laugh. "You? Hurt me?”
A final, desperate look around convinced me Fred wasn't going to be my knight in shining armor. Everything depended on me.
Randy had really lost it now. My ears rang as he backhanded me. "Keys, or I'll break your arm."
Back in Wollegudgerie, when I was doing my self-defense class at the Police Club, the instructor had said, "If you're about to get creamed, there's no point in being squeamish. You do what you have to do."
Looking at Randy's contorted face, I agreed with the instructor wholeheartedly. I dropped the keys and did my best to kick them under the car. Randy punched me. My nose blossomed with blood.
It was clearly time for the Christmas hold. Back in the 'Gudge, we'd all laughed at the name-Christmas hold equals a handful of nuts-but I wasn't laughing now. Tears were running down my cheeks and my nose was spurting blood.
I squinted, trying to see him clearly, and said, "Randy, you're really asking for it." Helped by the fact he didn't consider me a worthy opponent, I took a deep breath, bent my knees, and grabbed at his crotch. Taking a firm grip, I followed the instructor's advice to pull and twist.
It was astonishing how well it worked. Randy bellowed and fell to his knees, then toppled over-helped, I confess, with a push from me.
The lift pinged. Fred came strolling out, thumbs hooked into his belt. His expression changed as he saw Randy groveling on the floor. He hurried over, saying accusingly, "What did you do to him?"
I indicated my nose. "What did he do to me, you mean."
Fred's closer inspection of the groaning Randy brought a glare of disapproval. "Could be permanent damage. That's assault, you know."
I fished around and found a tissue to hold against my bleeding nose. "Take a look at the front seat. Randy's got stuff taken from patient files."
Fred wasn't listening. He'd gotten Randy sitting up and had a solicitous arm around his shoulders.
"Jesus Christ," Fred muttered. "These bloody Aussies."