Page 79 - Effable Encounters
P. 79

The Formic Solution

          “Ugh. If you want to sit there all day and stare at those insects,
        that’s your business. I found the gelato you wanted, but I had to go
        all the way down to Cornerkopia to get it. So, you’d better wait for it
        to harden up a bit in the freezer.”
          Gill scowled.
          “Damn it. You know that ruins the texture. Well, I guess it can’t be
        helped. Is there enough cherry cola in the fridge to last a couple of
        days?”
          Ann rolled her eyes heavenward.
          “You  could  take  a  look  yourself,  once  in  a  while.  Yes,  there’s
        plenty. Now, what are my marching orders? I assume you want to
        pad the billable hours in your usual highly ethical fashion.”
          “My  clients  expect  nothing  less  than  a  completely  thorough
        investigation. Here are the letters Miss van Ehrbagge extracted from
        her cousin’s mail; we must assume nothing of greater consequence
        can be gleaned from that source, as it is legally inaccessible to us—
        unless you feel like sweet-talking Ms. Pye’s landlord. No, that won’t
        be  necessary  if  these  other  leads  pan  out.  The  basic  idea  is  to
        determine  when  in  the  course  of  that  four-day  period  the  woman
        went  off  her  rocker.  That  will  probably  indicate  why  she  suddenly
        deviated  from  a  life  of  predictable  dullness.  This  bank  statement
        indicates she withdrew her life’s savings on Friday afternoon, the day
        before departure. Therefore, you will have to retrace her steps from
        Tuesday  until  then.  The  trail  may  be  warmer  in  Bermuda—”  he
        stopped to laugh at his little  joke— “but it will  not lead us to the
        missing person, nor will it solve the mystery of her disappearance.”
          “Nuts.    I  thought  I  might  get  a  week  in  the  tropics  out  of  this
        boondoggle.”
          “Dream on. Now, hit the sidewalk, my girl: we are on the clock. I
        want a preliminary report tomorrow morning.”
          “Verbal?” she asked, heading for the door.
          “Oh, all right. But you’ll have to type it up later. And don’t forget
        the  eclairs  at  Chateau  d’If:  tomorrow  is  Wednesday  and  they’ll  be
        fresh at eight o’clock.”
          His  attention  was  on  the  barely  three-dimensional  construction
        work now beginning on the ant farm as she slammed the door on the
        way out.


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