This is my entry for the 2024 Pandemonium event.
Please enjoy.
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The scene might have been taken from any one of dozens, hundreds of detective vids.
Dust motes gleamed in the few thin beams of stale sunlight squeezing their way between almost-real Venetian blinds. The presence of a closed Murphy bed behind faux book shelves was disclosed only by a corner of a wrinkled sheet leaking between 'Bonfire of the Vanities' and Marcus Aurelius' 'Meditations'.
Filing cabinets full of ancient case histories, childhood memories and problematic laundry lined one wall. A lethargic coffee maker coughed sporadically in one corner next to a bottled water dispenser. A computer monitor slept peacefully, undisturbed by messages or files. A smudged tumbler sat on a convenient side table, next to the obligatory half-bottle of bourbon. Beside the table cowered a trash basket overwhelmed by a small massif of cans, empty bottles and take-out wrappings.
A lean figure could be seen slouched back in a chair in the middle of the room, booted feet crossed atop a heavy wooden desk. The posture of the figure suggested that it had been a long time since the last call to arms.
Sometimes that's a good thing, but the bills never stop. Fill in the blanks...
The telephone rang. Almost sighing to itself at the affrontery of someone daring to interrupt a mid-morning nap, a hand – yes, mine – reached out, acknowledged the call.
"Acme Pest Control. To whom may I direct your call?"
That latter was pure show, for A.P.C. consisted in its entirely of one individual – me – plus one office, one telephone and the contents of one rather battered valise normally stored in a bottom filing drawer.
"Um, I don't know," said the caller. "You
do
handle... arcane pests, yes?" The word 'arcane' was stressed, as if it was distasteful even to say; the woman's voice on the other end was concerned, uncertain.
"Our specialty, ma'am. Perhaps I can help you. What sort of pest are we talking about?
"It's... it's complicated."
"They often are. Arcane pests, that is."
"This is awkward. Should I be talking with...?" She paused.
"Somebody with a collar, you mean?" I prompted.
"Yes, I suppose."
"Ma'am, as I suspect you already know, ever since the
Saluti Omnium
bull issued by Pope Anne 37 years ago, it doesn't require an ordained priest or priestess to conduct an exorcism."
"Yes, but..." There was hesitation, embarrassment almost to the point of anxiety in her voice now.
"I can assure you that we are both board- and curia-certified to deal with all manner of arcane infestations."
"I see."
I could feel her slipping away. Time to step up the game.
"It's often best to discuss these things face to face," I said.
There was a significant pause, then, "I suppose."
From experience, I knew it would be better for me to go there. Too many potential clients changed their minds
en route.
"Where can we meet?"
She was silent for a moment, then gave me an address in an infamously upscale small town on the city's outskirts.
"Is this a house or an apartment?"
I could tell she was almost offended by the question.
"It's my house."
"I can be there... let me see," I said. Too soon would make it seem as if I had nothing better to do. "Yes, I am free after lunch. Would it be convenient for me to call at two this afternoon or is this an emergency?"
I smiled as I said that. Emergency calls could be higher-billed.
Sometimes they were even interesting.
There was a pause at the other end. "Yes, that would work. I can be here at two."
"I'll be there," I said. "May I ask your name, ma'am?"
"Nora. Nora Frost," she said.
"Until two, then, Ms. Frost."
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The neighbourhood was impressive, stately houses set well back from the road and separated by large patches of trees for privacy. The house in question was old enough to have accumulated a fair bit of ivy on its walls, giving it an almost regal grandeur.
A uniformed maid answered the door and led me down a long hall lined with Ancestral Portraits. One painting was particularly striking -- a most handsome couple, a man with dark, dangerous eyes and a roguish smile standing behind a strikingly pretty seated woman, her soft hair in a long-passé style and her hand over his on her shoulder.
"That's Mr. and Mrs. Frost," the maid said. "Not recent, of course. Soon after they were married, I think."
She knocked on a heavy door, waited a moment, then opened it and gestured me in.
A white-haired, bird-like woman in an overstuffed chair smiled in greeting.
"Ms. Frost? I'm Joel Hadding, from Acme Pest Control."
"Please sit down, Mr. Hadding," she said. She seemed about to dismiss the maid, but paused.
"Would you care for tea, Mr. Hadding?"
"Um, yes, please, Ms. Frost. You are most kind."
"Well, I think I will, too. Suzanne, tea for two."
The maid, a very pretty, dark-haired young woman, bobbed a much-outdated curtsey and left. The older woman smiled at me.
"I think I'm very lucky to have Suzanne, you know. It's so hard to find good help these days, Mr. Hadding. Properly-trained ones, ones who know..."
"Their place?" I said tentatively, appalled at the words even as I spoke them.
A half-smile from the old woman told me my phrasing hadn't been entirely inappropriate for her.
"I would prefer, Mr. Hadding, to think of it as 'knowing the finer aspects of manners'."
The half-smile broadened and I realized that Nora Frost had in her youth been a remarkably attractive woman. Thinking of the painting in the hall, I saw it had taken a very gifted artist to capture such timeless beauty so well.
"Almost serendipitous when found," I said, then tried to bring the conversation back on track. "You said you had a problem, Ms. Frost?"
"
Mrs
. Frost, please. My dear Arthur may have been gone these 17 years, but I see no reason for me to be embarrassed by having been married."
"Of course."
"As to the problem, well..."
She paused, a bit confused perhaps, needing to talk but a bit embarrassed, like an adolescent trying to discuss a menstrual irregularity with a new male doctor.
She started to speak, but stopped as Suzanne re-entered bearing a tray with a small teapot, two cups and an array of sugar cubes, spoons, cream, biscuits and such.
"Shall I pour, ma'am?" she enquired.
"Please." The older woman's voice was dry.
