The Wombat Strategy: A Kylie Kendall Mystery by Claire McNab

Author:Claire McNab [McNab, Claire]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Gay & Lesbian, Mystery & Detective, General, Women Sleuths, Fiction, Lesbian
ISBN: 9781555838362
Google: a6S9Ofo8UzQC
Publisher: Alyson Books
Published: 2004-03-31T22:00:00+00:00

***

Armed with driving instructions, I made it to Beverly Hills in good time, and on the correct side of the road the whole way. The Deerdoc building was on Roxbury Drive, and by good luck I found a parking meter nearby, fed it with coins, and bought myself a couple of hours before I’d score the attentions of the parking authorities.

I’d been sternly warned by, of all people, Fran, who gave me the good oil about Beverly Hills. Apparently it wasn’t like other places in Los Angeles. For one thing, it had its own Beverly Hills cops, and they were fierce. “Don’t talk back to them,” Fran had said. “Pretend you’re a tourist and you haven’t got a clue.” She laughed unkindly at that point. “Which would be true, because you haven’t.”

She’d advised me the parking officers were even more vicious than the cops, but had reserved her harshest comments for the matrons of Beverly Hills. “Run you down as soon as look at you,” she declared. “Dressed to the nines and totally ruthless.”

So far unscathed, I approached the Deerdoc Enterprises building, stopping on the way to give the once-over to a huge, lumbering vehicle I’d seen advertised a zillion times on teev last night. It beat me how anyone could park one of these Hummers, let alone drive it without sideswiping cars in the adjacent lane.

The Deerdoc building had three stories and a graceful facade. A doorman in a dark-blue uniform allowed me to enter the mirrored lobby, which was dominated by a huge display of flowers in an alabaster vase. A second man in a similar well-tailored uniform stepped forward to check my credentials, murmured into a phone, then directed me to a thickly carpeted lift.

The doors shut with a well-mannered sigh. The walls here were mirrored too. I imagined many of Dave Deer’s patients spent a good part of their lives fighting time’s consequences with exercise, diets, and plastic surgery, so constant inspections in mirrors would be automatic. Not to be left out, I checked myself over. Dark hair: short, shiny. Face: the minimum makeup of powder and lipstick. Clothes: a plain, tailored blue dress. Jewelry: a watch and stud opal earrings.

The lift hissed open. david deeer read the black lettering on the highly polished blue door facing me. Inside, someone had gone overboard with an Australian theme. The plush carpeting was the color of red earth; distinctive Aboriginal dot paintings were displayed on ocher walls; a didgeridoo at least two meters long was mounted on a stand; boomerangs somersaulted across a partition separating an alcove from the rest of the room.

There were two fish tanks, each dominating an entire wall. One was full of brightly colored fish. Tiny iridescent ones darted in little packs as larger, garish specimens swam lazily through columns of bubbles. A sign indicated these tropical fish were all natives of the Great Barrier Reef.

The second tank featured sharks, each small but deadly looking. They cruised with graceful menace.

“How may I help you?”

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