Page 83 - Effable Encounters

The Formic Solution

indigent women. You have the attendance rosters? Government
probably requires a headcount, but they didn’t have to let you see it:
you must have really turned on the old charm down there, eh? And
here is the staff, too. Fair amount of turnover in both groups, I see.
Well, this will bear further study.”
He closed the notebook and returned to study his ant farm. Ann
could see a distinct decline in population within. Too bad, she
thought; but if he won’t call the exterminator, at least I know what to
leave out in the kitchen to kill those little bastards: cherry cola. The
old slob won’t even notice anything out of the ordinary. What a
stroke of genius!
“So, ah, is there anything else you want me to research today, O
master sleuth?”
“No, no, this will do. Just leave the kitchen shipshape and try not
to break the door when you leave.”
“Gladly. See you Monday.”

* * * * *

Alternate Mondays were marzipan day. At least it’s not ice-cold,
fragile, or bulky, reflected Ann, as she waited a bit longer than usual
in the dimly-lit, musty hallway for Phibian to let her in.
He had a mad gleam in his eye. He thinks he’s solved it, she
thought. Impossible. Not enough to go on. All those empty calories
have burned his brains out, all the way to the inside of his skull. The
man’s body is animated solely by the vestiges of adrenaline
manufactured by moribund glands.
Gill sniffed at the plastic sack from Zoroastreone’s.
“Good. Put that away and we’ll wrap up this case. The client will
be here any minute.”
Ann went into the kitchen. The glass of cherry cola she had
somehow allowed to get behind the dish rack was gone. The counter
and sink were spotless and not a dirty dish was in sight. Now she
knew she was in for it. She walked slowly into the living room,
careful not to make any sudden gestures: crazy people were totally
unpredictable.
“All right, Phibian Gill: what is this all about?”

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