Pen frowned. "So you think he's going to start pestering me on my home phone?"
"I'm surprised he hasn't already," Ariana remarked.
Curious, I asked, "How do you know it's a man? Could the calls to the radio station be made by a woman disguising her voice?"
Pen shifted her glance to me. "Do women stalk? I would have thought they'd have better things to do with their time."
"Women stalk," said Ariana. "And they can be just as dangerous. Is there anything to indicate this person could be someone with whom you had a prior relationship?"
Pen grinned. "No way. I leave my lovers of both sexes fully satisfied." Ariana's serious expression didn't change. "A large proportion of stalkers have had some sort of intimate relationship with their victims." Affronted, Pen declared, "I'm not a victim-and never will be!" "If you're being stalked, you're the victim of a crime," said Ariana. "Have you considered going to the police?"
"Bloody cops," said Oscar. "Steer clear of them, I say." Pen smiled warmly at Ariana. "First, let's see what you come up with, Ariana."
Ariana didn't smile back. "I'll give you a printed list of precautionary steps to take. As I'll be in Sacramento tomorrow and Friday, I suggest Bob Verritt takes over your case. He's a very experienced investigator and well-versed in problems like yours."
"Sacramento?" Pen seemed disappointed, but then her spirits visibly lightened. "But you're free this evening-"
"I'm afraid not. I have a flight first thing in the morning, so I intend to have an early night."
Pen beamed. "What a coincidence. I had in mind an early night too." Ariana's blue eyes narrowed. My cue to step in and change the subject. "Do either of you know a bloke called Wally Easton? There's a possibility he was the one who sent Oscar hurtling into the traffic." "You know who the bugger is?" said Oscar. "Show me." I displayed two photos of Wally Easton, which Lonnie had taken from the Web site for Wally's Strength & Health Club. One had him in a minuscule bathing costume, striking a bodybuilding pose. His bulging muscles glistened with oil, and his face wore an expression of arrogant superiority. The second photo, head and shoulders, showed the same egotistical conceit. He had an impressive physique, if you liked that sort of overdeveloped body, but he wasn't handsome. A small head perched on a thick neck. His mouth was too close to his nose, and his eyes were small and beady. He'd shaved his skull, and it too glistened with oil.
Pen shook her head. "Total stranger. Looks terminally stupid."
Oscar, who'd examined each photograph carefully, said, "I've seen him somewhere, and not long ago. Can't remember when or where. Who is he?"
"Professor Yarrow's brother-in-law. At least he was. He's Yarrow's second wife's brother." I went on to give the details Lonnie had found, including how Easton had escaped being charged with bashing his own sister.
"Hit a woman?" said Oscar. "The bastard should be given a taste of his own medicine."
"Not by you, Oscar," said Pen, looking grim. "If you see this Wally Easton again, keep away from him."
Oscar rumbled incoherently.
Apparently able to translate, Pen snapped, "Have you got a death wish? Look at those muscles. He'd tear you limb from limb."
Oscar moved his shoulders irritably, and mumbled something in a sulky tone.
Pen's reddening face indicated there was about to be a nasty scene, but fortunately Ariana smoothly interposed with, "To get back to the matter of your stalker, shall I call Bob Verritt in so you can brief him?"
"That won't be necessary," said Pen. "Kylie here and I are great mates already, aren't we? She can hold the fort until you get back."
"But I'm at UCLA all day," I pointed out.
"Not a problem. So far, my stalker's only writing notes and sending flowers and maybe calling me on my radio show…" She jabbed a finger in my direction. "That's it! I'm on air Saturday night. You can sit in, see the setup, and if he calls in, hear him in action."
I glanced at Ariana. "What do you think?"
"It could be useful, but it's up to you."
I had the weekend free, as Chantelle was going to be away on a company retreat. "Good-oh," I said to Pen. "You're on."
With a faintly lascivious smile, Pen offered me dinner before her show and seemed only marginally disappointed when I declined. We made arrangements to meet at the radio station, then Pen and the sullen Oscar departed.
I saw them out to the parking lot, and was amused to see I'd been right-Pen's clothes were the exact turquoise shade as her little Mazda. Oscar grunted when I said goodbye. Pen smiled cheerily. "Until Saturday!"
I went back to Ariana's stark office to find her putting papers into her briefcase. Usually, we had a staff meeting first thing on Monday morning to discuss our workloads for the week, but last Monday the initial interview with Oscar Braithwaite had intervened, so I hadn't known Ariana was going to be out of town.
"What are you doing in Sacramento?" I asked, already feeling the loss of her presence, which was ridiculous, because I'd be at UCLA most of Thursday and Friday anyway and I rarely saw her on Saturdays or Sundays.
"Deposition in a blackmail case, and while I'm there I'll follow up on a witness in a case of political corruption Bob's investigating."
Ariana's phone rang. It was Melodie to say Chantelle was calling me. "United Flair's taking everyone to Big Sur for the weekend," said Melodie, "that's a real nice place. Chantelle has all the luck."
I told Melodie I'd take the call in my office. Before I left Ariana, I said, "Where's Big Sur?"
"Big Sur? It's on the coastal highway about two hundred miles north of here. It has the most beautiful scenery."
There was something in her voice that made me ask, "Have you stayed there?"
Her face closed. Turning back to her briefcase she said, "Yes, many times."
Crikey, I'd touched a nerve. I trotted down to my office to pump Chantelle about Big Sur.
"Oh, it's gorgeous," she said. "A wild rocky coast and loads of great big trees. The lodge where we're having our company retreat is right next to a national park. We've got scuba diving and hikes and stuff like that lined up for when we're not getting in touch with our inner animals."
Chantelle had mentioned this before. Over the weekend everyone at United Flair, from the talent agents right through to people in the mail room, would join in mind games designed to help each person could get in touch with his or her inner animal. This was supposed to markedly improve relationships in the workplace, although I couldn't quite see how.
"What if you turn out to be a rattlesnake, and your boss a timid lit-de mouse?" I asked. "Or maybe you're a hummingbird, and your boss is a crocodile. One snap and you're gone."
"I've already decided what I'm going to be," Chantelle announced. "A big cat. A black panther, to be precise."
"You're choosing what you want to be beforehand? Aren't you supposed to go through all these tests and exercises to find out what you are?"
Chantelle gave one of her warm, dusky chuckles. "Honey," she said, "no way am I going to be some creepy, second-rate animal. I'll play along with everything and voila!-discover I'm a big cat at just the right moment."
"Black panther does suit you," I conceded, thinking of her sleek, dark skin.
"Keep that thought," she purred.
I hung up the phone, smiling. Then I thought about Big Sur and Ariana's reaction, and my smile went south. The place must mean something special to her. Perhaps it had to do with Natalie Ives.
To keep my mind on business, I took out my trusty copy of Private Investigation: The Complete Handbook and turned to the chapter tided "Stalking the Stalker." I discovered that stalkers could be divided into three types: former intimate partners, delusional individuals, and avengers.
I saw why Ariana had asked Pen if her stalker could be someone she'd had an intimate relationship with, as well over half of stalkers fell into this category. Intimate stalkers, I read, refuse to believe a relationship is over, no matter what the object of their obsession says or does. There is no reasoning with them. They hear what they want to hear, twisting outright rejection into a declaration of love.