Gary, a limp strand of pale hair flopping over one eye, arrived. Once outside the front door, he gave me a conspiratorial look. ‘‘I don’t know if you’re the one I should go to, but lately Arnold’s been trying to tell me something. I swear he has.’’
‘‘What sort of something?’’
‘‘You know about Rhea-her dying like that? Well, of course it was a stupid accident, but it’s odd how Arnold’s changed. Like, he used to love Paul, but lately he just goes quiet when Paul comes in the room. Arnold watches him, weird-like, if you get what I mean. And then Arnold looks at me…’’
‘‘What do you think he’s trying to tell you?’’
‘‘I’m not sure.’’ He glanced around furtively. ‘‘Gotta go.’’
Gary went. I climbed into my car, feeling a bit weird-like myself. I couldn’t shake the idea that Arnold had tried to tell me something, too. Something bad.
Earlier I’d seen Dr. Stanley Evers, veterinary surgeon to the stars-Arnold was one of his most valuable celebrity clients-so I had everything I needed to write my report for Frogmartin, Frogmartin & Flye.
Turning off Sunset Boulevard I got my customary little thrill when I drove through the gates and past the sign reading KENDALL & CREELING INVESTIGATIVE SERVICES. I still had thousands of hours of supervision ahead of me, plus an exam, but one day I’d become a fully fledged PI, and be worthy of my dad’s company.
Our building was a pseudo-Spanish house converted into offices. I still wasn’t quite used to its pinkish ocher color, but I rather liked the black, brass-studded front door.
‘‘G’day, Melodie,’’ I said to our receptionist-at least until her acting career took off.
Green eyes wide, Melodie gave a practiced swirl of her long blond hair. ‘‘Kylie! It’s real urgent!’’
‘‘Not Mum again?’’ My mother was always trying to persuade me to return to the outback and help her run the pub.
‘‘No, not your mom. It’s Lonnie. Julia Roberts has been in his room for the fourth time this week. He says he’s desperate. This time he means it-he’s calling the authorities.’’
I was outraged. ‘‘What? And have her taken away, just because he sneezes?’’
‘‘Lonnie says it’s impacting his quality of life. He’s real serious, Kylie.’’ She clasped her hands and added soulfully, ‘‘He says it’s him or Julia Roberts.’’
As we were speaking, Julia Roberts herself sauntered into view, her tawny tail held high. She was followed by the plump, indignant form of Lonnie Moore, our technical wizard and sufferer of severe feline allergies.
‘‘Jules, have you been wicked again?’’ I asked her. ‘‘You know very well you’re not supposed to go into Lonnie’s office.’’ Julia Roberts gave a quick, contemptuous flick of her tail. She never took criticism well.
Lonnie sneezed, blew his nose on a tissue he snatched from Melodie’s desk, then declared, ‘‘Either that cat goes, or I do.’’ His soft face was grim. ‘‘I really mean it.’’
This was a true dilemma-I loved Jules dearly, but Lonnie was absolutely invaluable to Kendall & Creeling. I had talked Lonnie around before, but this time his militant expression showed I had my work cut out for me.
‘‘Injections,’’ I said.
Lonnie looked horrified. ‘‘I don’t want her killed- just out of my hair.’’
‘‘I’m talking about desensitization. For you. It’s a course of injections giving you a tiny bit of what you’re allergic to, and your body gets used to it so you don’t get a bad reaction anymore. I’ll spring for the cost, and any time off you need, if you give up the idea of getting rid of Jules.’’
‘‘Kylie, you know I don’t like anything medical. I can’t stand the sight of blood.’’
‘‘There won’t be any blood. You’ll hardly feel a thing.’’
‘‘Well…’’
Melodie said helpfully, ‘‘And Lonnie, you wouldn’t have to be looking out for Julia Roberts every moment of the day, and you wouldn’t be sneezing all the time and you wouldn’t-’’
‘‘All right! All right! I’ll do it.’’ He glanced at Julia Roberts, who had one foot up in the air as she washed her nethers. ‘‘It’s not that I hate her or anything. It’s her rotten personality. I swear it amuses her to torment me.’’
‘‘Speaking of personality,’’ I said, ‘‘I was at the Berkshire mansion this morning, checking on Arnold. He’s a bonzer little dog.’’
‘‘Love that show!’’ Melodie exclaimed. ‘‘Larry, my agent, says when auditions open for the new series of Professor Swann’s Spooks, he guarantees I’ll get a part. Like, with my psychic abilities, I’ll be in sync with Arnold.’’
‘‘Arnold is no more psychic than you are,’’ Lonnie snorted. ‘‘He’s just a dog doing whatever his trainer tells him to. Anyway, I hear he’s on the way out. Taking early retirement.’’
‘‘I am too psychic,’’ Melodie snapped. ‘‘And Arnold’s so cute, no one could replace him.’’
Lonnie was an authority on showbiz gossip, so he probably had the good oil. I had a sinking feeling that Arnold was in danger. ‘‘He’s got a stunt double called Dopp,’’ I said. ‘‘Paul Berkshire spoke very highly of him when I was there this morning.’’
Lonnie smiled cynically. ‘‘If that’s the case, I don’t need to be clairvoyant to predict that Arnold’s retirement will be a short one. And when he dies, the Beverly Hills estate and all the funds dedicated to Arnold’s welfare will go to Berkshire. The sooner the guy bumps the dog off, the sooner he gets his hands on it.’’
Melodie, scandalized, said, ‘‘Are you saying he’s going to murder Arnold?’’
‘‘As long as Arnold is unique, and working in the biz, he’s raking in the dollars big-time, so Berkshire can afford to wait. But if Arnold can be replaced- it’s good-bye doggie.’’
I told them about Arnold’s change of attitude towards Paul Berkshire.
‘‘Awesome,’’ said Melodie, impressed. ‘‘Like, it’s practically mystic.’’
‘‘So what about Rhea?’’ I asked Lonnie. ‘‘Is it definite her death was accidental?’’
He shrugged. ‘‘At the time there was lots of smoke but no fire. It could have been an accident-she was a heavy drinker and could have got confused about how many sleeping tablets she’d taken. Maybe the dog knows for sure, but he’s the only witness, and he can’t tell anyone.’’
‘‘I think he’s been trying to,’’ I said. ‘‘I’m going back there, right now.’’ They both stared at me. ‘‘Premonition,’’ I announced. ‘‘Psychic flash.’’
Melodie nodded wisely. ‘‘I have those all the time.’’
I left Lonnie chortling and marched back to my car. ‘‘I’m coming, Arnold,’’ I said.
When Berkshire opened the front door he was scowling. ‘‘Forget something?’’
‘‘ ’Fraid so. I missed filling out a whole page of my checklist. Can’t write my report until I’ve got all the info.’’
‘‘Jesus,’’ he said, ‘‘can’t anyone do anything right these days?’’
‘‘Sorry. I’ll only be a mo.’’
‘‘Lisette!’’ he yelled over his shoulder. ‘‘Get up here, fast.’’
He beckoned me in and closed the door. ‘‘I’ll be upstairs if you want me, but I’m not expecting you to.’’
I watched him mount the long curving stairway. It was like something out of Gone with the Wind, except, of course, Clark Gable had been even more good-looking.
‘‘Yes, dear?’’ said Lisette, hurrying up to me. ‘‘What’s wrong?’’
‘‘Do you get the feeling Arnold’s been trying to tell you something?’’
She seemed uncomfortable. ‘‘It’s just my fancy.’’
As she spoke, Arnold appeared, trotting down the hall towards us. He had a determined, focused manner, and when he reached us, he sat down and fixed us with an unblinking stare.