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Ms. Found In A Quiet Chat Room

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Joined: 18 Jan 2005
Posts: 5197
Location: Michissippi
Ms. Found In A Quiet Chat Room  Reply with quote  

It hadn't started out as much of a day. The air conditioning was out, and my last leftover office fan was was developing an annoying squeak. Things kept on pretty much in that vein for most of the morning - no disasters, but a whole lot of little irritations that just kept on coming.

Aside from that it was dead quiet, and the temperature just kept going up. Lizards were starting to hide, and if there'd had some place to go, I'd have done the same. Unfortunately the house was even hotter than the office, and I'd read everything inside it.

I was too hot for coffee, too broke for coke. And the one irritation that didn't seem to keep coming was a client. Any client.

Around noon things began picking up. The postman showed up with Hap and Leonard, and my whole day began to turn around. A little WD-40 did wonders for the fan, and soon I was enjoying the spectacle of Hap getting rabies from a squirrel carrying an ancestral grudge.

There was a knock at the door, and a voice called out "Hello?"

A suspicious voice. "In here!" I yelled.

A man walked in. Nice suit, silk tie, not a lot of dust on his shoes yet. He was overdressed for the neighborhood, but would have looked right at home at a desk. Probably one in an air-conditioned room, damn him.

"Are you Dr. Henshaw?"

He called me doctor. That, combined with the clothes and the accent, pretty much confirmed my initial suspicions: a yankee. A yankee from out of town, probably the worst kind.

"I'm Bob Henshaw, yes. Pleased to meet you, Mr..."

He stuck his hand out to meet mine and said "Davisson. Larry Davisson." He had a good grip but didn't try to impress me with it. A good sign.

"Pleased to meet you, Mr. Davisson. Have a sit."

He took the only chair. I noticed he neither dusted it nor hitched up his pants as he sat. A good sign - he wasn't used to the suit.

"Now, what can I do for you Mr. Davisson?"

He looked me straight in the eye and said "I believe that my brother has been murdered."

I gave him a dramatic pause. "Do you have any evidence to support this?"

"Only the body."

"And what do the police say?"

"They haven't looked at it right."

"Tell me about your brother. Is he embalmed? Was there an autopsy?"

"No to the second, and I won't let them embalm him without one."

He might be a yankee, but I was developing a significant liking for his attitude. "What makes you think he was murdered?"

"Aren't I supposed to hire you before we go into that sort of thing?"

At that moment I knew it was going to be a very good day.

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