Wombat Strategy by Claire McNab

Author:Claire McNab
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Women Private Investigators
Published: 2011-01-06T19:12:34+00:00

I rolled my eyes at his sarcasm, then whipped the wheel around when he screamed, "Turn right! Now left! Take the driveway on your right."

The gates were open. Apparently Sven, whoever he was, had come through. The drive wound its way ever upward, until we crested the rise and came to a flat parking area. The house perched on the brink of the cliff, hanging on for dear life so it wouldn't slide over. It was an ungainly building, with a roof that looked like a big flat cap pulled down to shade its glass walls.

The view, however, was a bit of all right. My mum would have said it was more a vista, or maybe a panorama. Even with smog blurring the outlines of the tall buildings, I could see a spectacular view of downtown Los Angeles. At night the lights of the city spread out like a blanket would be worth a second look.

A bulky, crew-cut, blond bloke, with thigh muscles so over-developed he was forced to waddle, came out of the house and opened the

passenger door. Jarrod Perkins got out. "Did you contact my attorney? Someone's responsible. I'll sue the pants off them, the bastards."

If I'd been holding out for thanks, or even an acknowledgment I'd gone out of my way to chauffeur him here, I would have been one disappointed dame. But I wasn't, and he didn't. Without one word to me, he left Sven holding the door, turned his back on us both, and stalked into the house.

Sven closed the door. I waited until he was my side of the car. Giving him a little farewell wave, I said, "And the pity of it is, I didn't even get an autograph."

He smirked. I drove off.

A few wrong turns later, I was on Hollywood Boulevard. I'd been studying the Thomas Guide, and thought I knew exactly where I was. My confidence was misplaced. Shortly I found myself heading in quite the wrong direction on a street I didn't recognize—which didn't mean much, since I didn't recognize most of them.

Being lost turned out to be a good thing, though, because I noticed a huge bookstore and turned into its parking lot with only a couple of near-collisions on the way. Inside I found the information desk, manned by a pimply boy with the first bad teeth I'd noticed since I hit LA. "Help you?" he asked without much interest. He brightened up at my reply.

"I'm thinking of becoming a private eye," I said. "Is there a book you'd recommend?"

"A private eye?" he sounded almost enthusiastic. "Come right this way."

As soon as I entered the reception area, Melodie latched onto me. "You've got to tell me every detail! Was Jarrod Perkins real upset? Did you see inside his house?"

"Crikey," I said. "How do you know I drove him home? Receptionist hotline?"

"Chantelle called and clued me in. And she said you were real nice to her."

An incoming call interrupted. "Hold, please. I'll see if she's available." Melodie made a face at me.

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