Bob wasn't in yet, so I went direct to Ariana with my news about Ron Udell being in Wollegudgerie the week before the opal heist. I sat in her office talking it over with her and trying not to look too pleased with myself, which was hard, because she told me I'd done well.
She sat across from me, so remote yet so desirable. I was careful not to act in any way other than a junior colleague would when speaking with a senior colleague. There was no way Ariana had any idea what I felt about her. And yet…
With a jolt it occurred to me that if a beginning private eye like me could learn how to detect lying, someone like Ariana should be able to do it without breaking a sweat. Not that we were talking about anything I'd lie about, such as whether I was in love with her. That wasn't a conversation we were likely to have.
But I was trying to hide something-the disturbing fact that, as far as she was concerned, I was besotted. Well, maybe not besotted. That was too close to infatuation. What I felt was more profound. I supposed it was love, though not like any love I'd felt before.
"Kylie?"
"Oh, sorry. I was thinking about-" I could hardly say what I was thinking about. "Thinking about things."
There went that elegant eyebrow again. "What things?"
My thoughts shot round in my head like startled chooks. I came up with, "How Alf and Chicka are going to be swindled out of their Oz Mob rights. I reckon that's what's going on with the smuggled opals."
"How do you see the scenario playing out?"
I looked at her mouth. We'd kissed, twice. Three times lucky? Jeez, I had to concentrate. "How do I see the scenario playing out?"
Whoops, I was repeating the question. I made a mental note not to do that again. I hurried to continue, before she noticed. "Harriet's going to have someone look at the fine print in the contract the Hartnidges have with Lamb White, but I'm sure it's the morals clause that's the key. I believe it will go like this: The opals will be discovered, Lamb White will be shocked, just shocked, that the Hartnidge twins are criminals. I'm guessing here, but I wonder if when the morals clause is activated, there isn't an option to take over the project completely. Something like that, to give Lamb White and the Church of Possibilities total control over the Oz Mob characters."
While I was talking, I ran a systems check. Points from the lying chapter scrolled in my head. Was I touching my mouth or nose? Smiling too much? Explaining too much? I'd only skimmed the last part of that particular chapter in my Complete Handbook. It covered how liars gave themselves away not so much by what they were saying but how they said it. I wished devoutly I could remember all of the details.
"I think you're right," said Ariana. "But proving it will be difficult."
Bob came in and I gave him a rundown of the situation so far, then I bolted back to my office to check my Handbook. It had proved itself a font of essential PI information. It was fate I'd found this particular volume in a bookshop. I grinned. Now I was sounding like Melodie.
Checking the last section of the lying chapter, I noted the characteristics a liar shows when speaking. They included long-winded explanations; using I, me, and mine much less frequently than truth tellers; a lack of contractions, so a liar says do not instead of don't; and last, because lying takes mental work, the interesting point that liars tend to speak more slowly while their brains race to get their stories straight.
I ran over my conversation with Ariana. I was pretty sure I hadn't fallen into any of these dead giveaways. A sudden thought occurred to me. What if it didn't matter? What if Ariana didn't care what I felt about her?
I told myself I'd just get on with my life and stop obsessing over someone I could never have anything but a business relationship with.
In the early evening I picked up Chantelle before collecting Aunt Millie at her hotel. As we drove through heavy-what else?-traffic, I said to her, "Do you think I have moxie? Be honest now."
Chantelle laughed. "Honey, you have so much moxie it's running out your ears."
I wasn't altogether sure this was quite what I wanted to hear, but that's what you get when you fish for compliments.
Aunt Millie, Chantelle, and I ended up at Heavenly Hamburger Steakhouse just off Sunset Boulevard. My aunt's choice-she said she wanted a genuine American hamburger, not any of that McDonald's rubbish. When Chantelle foolishly pointed out McDonald's was an American company, Aunt Millie said McDonald's was multinational, and everybody knew what that meant.
I kicked Chantelle under the table before she could ask what it was everybody knew. Years of conversations with Aunt Millie had taught me to be circumspect.
"How was Universal Studios?" I inquired, changing the subject. Another conversational skill Aunt Millie had taught me over the years.
"Interesting enough, although I can't see how anyone can be frightened by the rides. All that screaming and carrying on.
Quite uncalled for. And, of course, like Disneyland, the place is totally spoilt by kids running around everywhere, completely unsupervised. Pathetic how parents today refuse to discipline their offspring. A couple of times I was forced to show them how it's done."
"I bet that went down well," remarked Chantelle.
Aunt Millie fixed her with a gimlet look. "I don't do things to be popular, young woman. I do things to be right."
At that point our waiter came by to ask if everything was to our satisfaction. Poor choice of words. He was plainly unprepared for Aunt Millie's answer. The chef appeared, accompanied by the manager. Other patrons watched in fascination as my aunt pointed out shortcomings she'd detected in the service and the food. She was kind enough to add a remark or two about the restaurant's furnishings as well.
I glanced at Chantelle. She was past being astonished. Now she was trying vainly not to giggle.
When the restaurant staff had done their best to make amends, and we were left alone, Chantelle brought up the subject of Claudene's, the new lesbian bar that had just opened.
"You're suggesting I visit a lesbian bar?" asked Aunt Millie.
"It's just an idea," I said. "You'd probably hate it."
Aunt Millie beamed at Chantelle. "Excellent idea, young woman. You're a creative thinker."
"Aunt Millie," I said, "are you sure? You must be tired after your day at Universal Studios. And there's jet lag too."
"Rubbish. I've got more energy than the two of you put together."
So it was that we three came to Claudene's. It was still reasonably early in the evening, and I found a parking spot not too far away. As we walked toward the bar, I tossed up whether to warn my aunt she might see things not commonly in plain view in Wollegudgerie. But what the hell-if she was going to be shocked, so be it.
The bar wasn't yet as crowded as I was sure it would be later on, so, even though the lights were fairly dim, it was possible to see the decor. Claudene's was all black and chrome, with artful touches of dark red along the edge of the bar and on the barstool seats. The black and chrome was repeated in the tables and chairs that ringed the small dance floor, where a few couples were slowly rotating to soft, romantic music. I reckoned the hard beat would start later, when the place filled up, but for the moment you didn't have to shout to be heard.
"I thought you said it was a lesbian bar," said Aunt Millie accusingly. "I see several men over there."
"They're women," said Chantelle.
My aunt peered harder. "They look like men to me." Before I could stop her, she'd set off to investigate.
"I like your aunt," said Chantelle, watching her progress across the room. "She's feisty."
Feisty wasn't a word we use in Australia, but I'd got the meaning down, I thought. "You mean she's sort of pushy and high-spirited."