Charlotte and the Starlet 3

by Dave Warner

  'Could you ask some of your feathered pals if they saw anything?'

  Feathers scratched his chin with his wing.

  'I guess I could try but if this Oscar was a bird-killer don't expect any help.'

  Charlotte opened the landing window and told Feathers to ask around.

  'I'll meet you back here in an hour.'

  'An hour? In case you haven't noticed it's kind of hard to get a watch onto my wing.'

  Charlotte apologised for overlooking that. 'So how do you tell the time normally? Angle of the sun? Smells? Sounds?'

  'Mostly sounds. Mr Gold leaves the radio on and the DJ gives the time.'

  Serves me right, mused Charlotte. 'Okay, how about I come back here and call out to you?'

  'Works for me.'

  Feathers flew out the window and Charlotte began canvassing the apartments. Poor Honey Grace had been in such a state that she had not organised herself very well. She thought she had spoken to all the neighbours and asked them each to pass on to the others if they had seen anything but she couldn't be certain who she had seen and who she had not. Charlotte decided to begin at the next floor up with apartment 12 and to work her way down to the ground floor.

  'I tell you, whatever Leila has been doing, I should do. Look at her hind quarters – rock solid.'

  Leila stood in the sun, soaking up the attention of the wardrobe and make-up girls.

  Cassandra, the make-up girl, was the one enviously running her hand along Leila's flank. Cassandra had a liking for danish pastries, which always kept her a couple of sizes above where she wanted to be, but Leila loved her. She was forever offering Leila some of her danish, and occasionally even the odd sweet bagel.

  Henrietta, the wardrobe girl, was wild with a capital Z! Leila didn't go for the jet-black hair with bright red highlights but the girl could party, and several times in the old days she'd taken Leila down to Venice Beach at sunset where they'd hung out with some really cool musician pals of hers, just strumming guitars and dancing in the sand. Leila had got right into it, dancing and swimming while Henrietta did fire-eating. Henrietta snapped a tape measure across Leila's shoulders.

  'You've been working out, girl,' she said with admiration. 'Don't suppose you've read the script . . .'

  If only she knew –

  '. . . or what there is of it so far, but you and Sarah-Jane are going undercover to smash a wildlife-smuggling operation. The wardrobe I have in mind is going to be a fantastic colour palette. You'll be going to Mexico . . .'

  Really? Leila could taste the tamales already.

  '. . . I'm going to put you in this!' With a flourish, Henrietta produced a sombrero studded with . . . Were they diamonds?

  'Of course these aren't real diamonds, they're zircon.'

  Leila's face fell. She was a star, she deserved diamonds.

  Henrietta continued, 'But it's still real pretty, no, amigo?'

  Leila conceded it did have a certain something. Henrietta produced a sketchpad.

  'I'll also be putting you in this poncho. Now, I know what you're thinking, Leila . . .'

  Poncho! PONCHO!!! For a glamour girl like me?

  '. . . you're thinking a poncho is downbeat.'

  Darn right she was thinking that. That horrible coarse wool itched like . . . well, horse blankets.

  '. . . but you only wear the poncho while undercover. Later, when you are on the ranch of the kingpin wildlife-smuggler as Sarah-Jane gets information, you'll be in this – a pure silk poncho.'

  Henrietta produced another sketch and some fabric that she rubbed against Leila's flank. It was divine.

  'When you go to Tokyo on the trail, it will be a kimono . . .'

  Wait a minute, did she say Tokyo? Like all stars Leila only ever read the script pages where her dialogue was mentioned. Tokyo, wow! Leila had always wanted to ride the bullet train.

  'Of course you won't actually be going to Mexico or San Diego, that will all be shot in the hills. And Tokyo will be downtown L.A.'

  Leila's excitement sank. She had forgotten for a moment that the movie industry was all about fooling people into thinking something was real. It was the first time she'd thought of Charlotte and Feathers since they'd gone this morning. Now those guys were real. She wished she was with them instead of this, fake, false . . . Oh-oh, what was that Cassandra had just produced from her bag?

  'Here, Leila, like a little danish?'

  On second thoughts, she'd be catching up with them later. Right now, Leila was needed here with the danish.

  It took Charlotte almost the whole hour to cover the other eleven apartments, even though nobody was home in four of them. There was a wide variety of tenants, that was for sure, and not one of them was anything like her dad and the people of Snake Hills. Honey's friend Monica, though, did bear a physical resemblance to Mrs Cuthbert, who worked in the pie shop. That was about the extent of their similarity. Monica informed Charlotte she was a vegetarian, which, of course, would be the last person you'd find working in a pie shop. When she learned Charlotte's father was a stockman she looked very grave. Stockmen rounded up cattle who wound up being slaughtered and served on dinner plates and between sandwich buns, she said. She told Charlotte he should look for some other occupation. Charlotte had explained that in Snake Hills there was no other occupation. Apart from that hiccup Monica was friendly. She gave Charlotte some real lemonade and happily answered all the questions about the day Oscar disappeared. She did not remember him coming down with Honey, nor had she seen him on the stairs. She had never known him to stray, though he occasionally sunned himself in the garden. Monica suspected that apartment 4 might be the culprit.

  'She's an idiot. The noise! And I've caught her peeing in the hallway.'

  Charlotte was not looking forward to meeting this woman.

  'What's her name?'

  'Buffy. That shocking flat face with no nose. I hate Pekinese.'

  'Buffy's a dog?'

  'Yes. Although personally I think Pekinese should be classified differently.'

  Buffy's owner was a man named Nigel. Tall and slim with a moustache. He was actually very friendly although he kept darting in and out to check on some ceramic vase he was selling on eBay. Nigel had not seen Oscar at all that day. He stroked Buffy, who looked accusingly at Charlotte when she asked if Buffy might have chased Oscar.

  'Buffy likes Oscar. Besides, she was at the vet that day having a procedure.'

  None of the other tenants were much use. They were all actors or actresses who had evening jobs. Some of them didn't even know Oscar. All of them were either in bed or watching TV at the time Oscar disappeared. One of them, a skinny girl with a stud in her nose, recalled a window cleaner that day.

  'He might have seen something.'

  'Do you know where to find him?'

  She thought about it.

  'His van was parked out there when I went to get a slurpy but I don't remember if there was a name on the side of it.'

  Charlotte re-canvassed all the apartments. One of the men on the top floor, who continued to work on his rowing machine as Charlotte questioned him, now recalled seeing the window cleaner doing first-floor windows but didn't know who he'd been working for. Monica suspected he was probably working for the Grants.

  'Who are they?'

  'They are in the apartment next to Honey but they're on vacation at the moment in Canada. They're always having people in doing cable TV or air-conditioning or something.'

  'How long have they been away?'

  Monica wasn't sure but thought it was a day or two before Oscar had gone missing.

  'I don't have their phone number but Honey probably will.'

  Feeling that she'd at least achieved something, Charlotte went down into the laundry on the basement level and checked around in case Oscar had gone investigating down there. She looked behind all the machines but found nothing. The hour was almost up. She went outside and checked the garden. No sign of Oscar but she did find some indentations that probably came
from the legs of a ladder. The window cleaner, no doubt.

  'Any luck?'

  The deep voice scared her until she realised it was Feathers.

  'I was up on the satellite dish catching some rays,' he explained.

  Charlotte gave a run-down of what she had learned.

  'How about you?'

  'I learned quite a lot. Like a whole heap of people leave out seed for the cousins to feed. Totally free. And you know the parks people actually try to poison those poor pigeons? Granted, pigeons leave a little to be desired hygiene-wise . . .'

  Charlotte was forced to cut in.

  'I meant about Oscar.'

  'Oh, the tabby! Yeah. Let me think.'

  Feathers angled his head as he searched through his brain. 'You know, Charlie, next time we should do it in fifteen-minute lots. I got nothing to write with and it's hard to remember everything.'

  Charlotte tried to be patient.

  'Sorry, Feathers, I'll keep that in mind. Did any of the birds see Oscar that day?'

  'Firstly, they said Oscar is a sweetheart. Never chases them. But there is a wild cat around who is like carnage on four paws. Apparently he and Oscar got into a scrap once in the flowerbed.'

  Charlotte noted that. Maybe the stray cat had chased Oscar?

  'Then there's some ugly dog lives in there.'

  'Buffy.'

  'Whatever. It chases Oscar but Oscar isn't scared of it and has clawed it back. That was about all I got of any use. Except there is a wonderful birdbath two blocks over – marble, with a little waterfall.'

  Charlotte listened to Feathers rave about the birdbath and then came back to the main question.

  'But none of them have seen Oscar out in the streets?'

  'No sir.'

  Charlotte wasn't sure if that was a good or bad thing. They returned to Honey's place and Charlotte brought her up to speed. Honey was excited about the window cleaner and called the Grants' mobile phone to get the name. Unfortunately they didn't answer so she had to leave a message.

  'They may not have even taken their phone with them,' she said, her anxiety climbing again. As for the stray cat and Buffy, she had no idea.

  'Perhaps they chased Oscar?' she said, echoing Charlotte's thoughts.

  'He hasn't been seen in the streets,' said Charlotte.

  'You canvassed the streets as well?'

  Charlotte sidestepped. 'I asked some people with a bird's-eye view.'

  Honey Grace sighed. 'You've been really wonderful, Charlotte. Let me make you a hot chocolate before the car comes to get you.'

  Charlotte didn't need a hot chocolate. 'There's something else I should check out.'

  Honey was all ears.

  'The Grants' apartment. What if Oscar jumped over there and the window cleaner locked him in accidentally?'

  Honey's face registered the possibility. 'Oh my goodness.'

  Charlotte could see Honey's mounting anxiety.

  'But I don't have a key and they're away.'

  Charlotte said she was pretty sure she could at least get a good look through their balcony doors. Honey Grace was perplexed. 'But how would you get to their balcony?'

  'The usual way. Jump.'

  'No, it's too dangerous. I'll get a ladder.'

  'Do you have one?'

  She didn't. She would have to buy one and she wasn't sure if the local store would be open. But there was a Costco about thirty minutes away. Charlotte calculated that they would run out of time.

  'It's okay, I've done this before.'

  This was a slight exaggeration. She had once found herself clinging to the windowsill of Todd's room high above the grounds at Milthorp but hadn't actually had to jump, and she had once had to jump from her window at Thornton Downs to a tree branch, but never balcony to balcony.

  Feathers whispered, 'This is crazy, kid. Let me take a look.'

  Charlotte saw the sense in that.

  'I'm going to send Feathers over. If there's a cat inside he'll come rushing straight back. Actually, I'm very thirsty. Honey, could you get me another lemonade?'

  'Of course.'

  Honey took herself inside, allowing Charlotte time to brief Feathers.

  'Get a look through the verandah and then across to the bedroom window.'

  'Aye, aye, cap'n.' Feathers put on a pirate voice. Charlotte rolled her eyes. Feathers became defensive. 'Hey, it's Hollywood, everybody has a little schtick.'

  Just as Feathers was about to take off, a large black bird circled above.

  'Oh-oh, bandit at twelve o'clock,' said Feathers, and Charlotte noted his scaly legs shaking.

  'What's up?'

  'That's a raven. They don't like us parrots.'

  The bird continued to circle threateningly. Charlotte couldn't allow Feathers to be attacked.

  'You take yourself inside. I've got this.'

  Feathers didn't need any more encouragement. He was inside in a flash. Charlotte scaled the rail of the balcony. It wasn't that far, she told herself. Only a couple of metres across . . . and a very long way down.

  Chapter 5

  One of the great delights of doing a movie was the pedicure. Consuela was a marvel. Okay, Charlotte was no slouch with a hoof-pick but Consuela had magic hands. As she worked that magic, Leila closed her eyes and drifted. Tommy Tempest was droning on to Sarah-Jane about her character's motivation in wanting to bust the wildlife racket. The actor who played her mother was having her hands moisturised and somebody in the crew was snoring. It was the same every time, everything on hold for the brat. Poor Tommy, it wasn't his fault. Ah, Consuela, the way you file!

  '. . . see, you don't like animals being smuggled so you want to bust the racket.'

  'Hmm,' said Sarah-Jane doubtfully. 'Why don't I like animals being smuggled?'

  'Because it's wrong,' Tommy choked in frustration.

  'But if people are paying big money for these animals they are going to be well looked after,' countered Sarah-Jane.

  'Yes but a cheetah wants to run in the wild, not in a five-star hotel.'

  'Have you spoken to one?'

  Leila hated to admit it but the kid had a point. Life in a five-star hotel wasn't exactly ball-and-chain stuff. So far four hours and they were still on page one. Leila lifted her other hoof for Consuela.

  Tommy's grip on his crutches was growing weak.

  'Okay, Sarah-Jane, why do you think you might be motivated to smash the wildlife-smuggling ring?'

  Obviously Sarah-Jane had been waiting for the invitation for the last four hours and had her answer all planned out.

  'How about I will receive a gold medal from the World Wildlife people for risking my life for the animals?'

  Tommy nodded.

  'Terrific, we'll work that in. A gold medal is much better than you actually caring for the animals.'

  He infused it with as much sarcasm as he could but it sailed over Sarah-Jane's head and she simply smiled smugly that she had made her point. Tommy ran his fingers through his hair. 'We'll take a coffee break.'

  The actors and crew quickly got up and dispersed. Much to Leila's disappointment, even Consuela. One of the crew members held back. Leila knew this was Mac who operated the boom. He looked around as if to make sure nobody was watching, took out his mobile phone and dialled.

  'Freddy, it's Mac. Look, about the money I owe . . . I'll get it, okay? But I need you to stake me one more bet . . .'

  Oh dear, a gambler and obviously in hock to some bookmaker.

  'Come on, please, Freddy, just let me have fifty on the nose, number six, race three, Del Mar.'

  On the nose. Leila hated the way they used that expression about horses. She found it on the nose, in fact.

  Mac was feverish. 'Collateral? My van, okay? But look, I've got a payout coming in from something else. Thanks.'

  This idiot was thanking the bookmaker for allowing him to take his money? Go figure humans. They did the craziest things.

  Charlotte stood on the balcony rail feeling the breeze much stronge
r away from the protection of the walls. She took a deep breath, summoned her strength and jumped . . .

  Everything seemed to slow as she glided across towards the Grants' balcony. It seemed oh so easy . . . and then all of a sudden she began to plummet and time raced forward. One moment she was almost there, the next the balcony was rushing past. She threw out a hand, felt the iron railing and a jolt on her shoulder. For a horrible moment she was cycling in thin air and then she hauled herself up and onto the balcony.

  She let out a long sigh. Close call.

  She stepped across towards the wide glass door and tried to peer in. The sunlight reflecting off the dust made it a little hard to see in. Curtains restricted vision into the apartment but there was a five-centimetre gap between the two edges in the middle. Charlotte pressed her face right up against the glass and could see most of the lounge room.

  'Oscar?' she called but there was no sudden appearance of a tabby.

  Honey Grace came out onto her balcony holding the lemonade, and exclaimed in shock, 'Charlotte!'

  'It's okay. No sign of him in the lounge.'

  She looked over to where the bedroom window was another couple of metres beyond the balcony's edge. This would be easy for Feathers. She glanced skywards. The threatening raven hadn't left. Oh, well. She climbed up onto the rail. A drainpipe was about a metre away.

  'No, Charlotte . . .' cried Honey, from somewhere behind her. Charlotte put it out of her head and stretched over. She was able to grip the pipe. It seemed stable. She hooked her right leg around it and let go of the railing. Now she was gripping the pipe like a koala up a gum tree. She hauled herself up and peered in the bedroom. Her heat leapt, there on the chair . . . a ball of fur!

  But just as quickly her heart sank. It was only a fur hat. She was able to scan the whole bedroom though. No sign of Oscar. What a disappointment!

  What a disappointment! Consuela had packed up her kit for the day and, by the looks of it, everybody else was readying to leave as Tommy held forth.

  'We'll reconvene tomorrow and read the rest of the script. We start shooting Thursday.'

  'That's the day after tomorrow!' bellowed Sarah-Jane. 'Tommy, how can you expect me to be up to speed with one read through? We haven't even seen the full script.'