"G'day, Luis," I said, meeting him on my way to the kitchen. He was a little bloke, who seemed a rather down-in-the-mouth type. I'd never heard him whistle or sing as he worked, though that might be because of me. For all I knew, Luis sang like a canary on his other cleaning jobs.
Right now he was holding a wastepaper basket at chest height, like a shield. He nodded warily at my greeting but kept his lips tightly closed.
"I'm thinking of learning Spanish," I said with a big smile. "Maybe I can practice on you."
Luis took a step back.
Julia Roberts, irritated because I'd been out all night, joined me in the kitchen while I made myself a pot of tea-loose leaf Twinings Orange Pekoe-and a bowl of porridge.
"Sorry to have left you alone, Jules," I said, when even a food bribe failed to wipe the scowl from her furry face. It amazed me how she could achieve such an unmistakable expression with just a few subtle adjustments of ears and whiskers.
I headed for my office, leaving her glowering at the crab-and-shrimp-flavored treats I'd put in her dish. Maybe Jules was right. I didn't think I'd fancy that combination for breakfast.
Last night I'd got a fair amount of information out of Quip about Lamb White et cetera, and I wanted to jot it down before the details faded. I needed to be prepared for my next meeting with my clients-that word gave me a bit of a thrill-who were due in my office at eleven o'clock. I was hoping Melodie would be back from her audition for a tooth-whitening commercial well before then.
Lamb White Incorporated specialized in G-rated movies for family viewing. I knew the sort, syrupy goody-goody stories where people smile and cry a lot, but never, ever swear or have sex. The company was part of the business empire of Brother Owen, a wealthy televangelist, whose New Age Church of Possibilities had sucked lots of celebrities into its congregation. Quip described Brother Owen as an obscenely rich con artist who had ripped off millions from trusting individuals who freely gave money to support the bogus belief system he was peddling.
The movie company, Lamb White Incorporated, was run by a woman called Tami Eckholdt. Quip wasn't too keen on her either. He said she came over as warm and caring, but underneath she was a combination of Phyllis Schlafly and Anita Bryant, only worse. When he explained who these two were, I saw what he meant. "A poisonous sheila?" I'd said. He'd agreed that pretty well summed up Tami Eckholdt.
I took my Complete Handbook with me when I went to sit in for Melodie at the reception desk. I was well into the chapter "Liars and How to Spot Them" and wanted to get things straight in my head before Alf and Chicka turned up. If they were lying to me, I needed to know.
In fact, the more I thought about it, the more I realized reliable lie detection would be an asset for any private investigator. Achieving this, however, was harder than I'd imagined. My handbook confidently stated that lies were detected only slightly more than half the time, which wasn't much better than just guessing. And worse, the better you knew someone, the less likely you were to know they were lying to you, because your feelings got in the way, plus the person had learned how to fool you.
I stopped reading to ponder whether Ariana had ever lied to me.
"Good morning, Kylie." Harriet Porter's smile lit up her face. "You studying something?"
Harriet had a voice like smoky honey, thick chestnut hair, and a top personality. She juggled law classes with part-time work for Kendall & Creeling. Add to that the fact she was pregnant, though not showing much yet, and you had someone who had an awful lot going on in her life. Me, I'd have been flat out just keeping up, but Harriet seemed to sail on through, like nothing really got to her. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that she was in a great relationship with Beth, or maybe Harriet was just one of those fortunate people who can cope, no matter what.
"I'm reading up on lying," I said. "Did you know that a person's blink rate can be a dead giveaway?"
"I think I heard that somewhere."
"The normal rate of blinking is twenty times a minute," I informed her.
Harriet grinned. "That much? You'd think we'd all wear our eyelids out. Or they'd become muscle-bound."
I had to laugh at that. Harriet had a bonzer sense of humor. "And Harriet, if people blink much faster, like up to a hundred times a minute, they're under pressure and probably lying."
"Maybe the person has something in their eye," Harriet suggested. She wasn't taking this at all seriously.
The front door banged behind Fran. She gave us both a gimlet stare. "Morning," she snarled.
If Quip could manage to be cheerful while married to Fran, the least I could do was be positive. "Last night was super, wasn't it?" I said with a jolly smile.
"You had a girls' night out?" inquired Harriet.
"When hell freezes over," muttered Fran.
I reminded myself that both these people belonged to my staff. In the interests of a good office atmosphere, I decided a little social chitchat would be in order. "Chantelle tells me Quip used to be a life coach," I said to Fran.
"Quip used to be lots of things." Fran's tone didn't invite further conversation, but I soldiered on.
"Did Quip ever life-coach you?"
Harriet chuckled. Fran gave me a long look, then said, "What the hell do you mean?"
"I was wondering if Quip was your life coach somewhere along the line."
"Why would I need a life coach?"
"Well, it'd be free, for one thing. And Quip could help you identify and meet your goals."
Fran said to Harriet, "Is she for real?"
Harriet chuckled again. Fran swung her gaze back to me. "For your information, Kylie, if it's any of your business-which it isn't-Quip gave up his life-coaching career long before I met him. If he'd still been doing it, I would have demanded he stop, because-" She broke off to glare at me suspiciously. "What are you looking at?"
I didn't want to own up, but Fran, hands on hips, was waiting for an answer. "How often you blink. It's research."
Fran rolled her eyes. "How often I blink? Jesus!"
"The rate you blink can be a giveaway if you're lying."
Fran's eyes narrowed down to slits. "You're accusing me of lying?" she ground out.
"Crikey, not in a million years," I said. "I'm not that brave."
Melodie breezed in at about quarter past ten. "They loved my laugh," she said, dumping assorted bags on the reception desk.
Melodie had confided in me that she always traveled with masses of makeup and several outfits, just in case she needed to transform herself for a particular audition.
She gave a practiced toss of her long blond hair, then flashed her pearly whites at me. "Larry, my agent, thinks I'm a sure thing." Melodie looked at the ceiling, as if a choir of harmonizing angels might burst through, all singing "Sure thing! Sure thing!"
"You've got a callback already?" I was learning the lingo fast.
"Of course not. They've still got piles of bees to audition."
Bees was the term Melodie used for would-be actors. I reckoned it applied to Melodie, too, but thought it wiser not to say so.
"It's my big chance, Kylie. I just know it. You have to follow your dream."
"Your dream is to be in a tooth-whitening commercial?"
I must have sounded a touch sarcastic, because Melodie's expression changed from joyful to severe. "Refulgent is the nation's largest-selling dental enhancer."
"The largest? Blimey, that makes all the difference."
Melodie looked at me suspiciously-a lot of people had been doing that lately-but my innocent expression saved me. "Larry, my agent, says my laugh clinched it."
I put up a hand. "Don't demonstrate. I couldn't stand to hear it one more time." Curiosity made me add, "How does the laugh fit in with a tooth whitener anyway?"
"You must have heard the Refulgent jingle, 'Laugh Without Fear.'"