An Authorized Excerpt
The OWA building was a huge
disappointment. With over a millennium of architecture to
choose from, this was late nineteenth century brutalism. The
designer had fallen in love with concrete and no one had the
sense to give him a firm slap around the head to knock such
ridiculous notions into the trashcan of history. Squashed
between an insurance company and a local government
department, the offices were no more inviting inside.
A receptionist kept them waiting
five minutes while she sorted out her love life on the
phone. She gave the person on the other end of the line a
full anatomical account of her gymnastics with a man named
Jim in the back seat of his Ford Cortina the previous night.
Eventually, she condescended to making eye contact with Sean
and reluctantly brought the descriptions of her riveting
contributions to sexual dexterity to an end.
“Can I
help you?” She almost yawned.
Not with those morals, Sean
thought. “We’re here to see Mr.
Harry Siberton.
The receptionist showed complete
indifference to whether they had an appointment or the
nature of their business. She spoke into her headset,
informed the listener two people were here and immediately
looked down at a magazine on her desk. No doubt, it was this
month’s edition of Parking Lot
Playmate.
A man came down the open wooden
stairs into the reception area. “Harry
Siberton,” he announced himself.
”Please come through to the
meeting room.” He led the way
along a corridor and into a plain rectangular room with
slated blinds drawn and a center table surrounded by eight
chairs. They all sat down.
He kept on smiling, but didn’t
attempt to open the conversation. Sean took up the running
by introducing himself and Minnie before launching into the
essential details about working for Diane Lucianio-Calvert,
and how they’d been asked to find
her brother, Hector, and locate a silverware collection.
As Sean went through the tale, he
noticed that Siberton looked grim at the mention of Hector
Lucianio, but smirked when he broached the subject of the
silverware. From the few words Siberton had spoken, Sean
guessed he was from the mid-west. Why he thought so, he
didn’t know, but he reckoned Hector was of German attraction
and had been drummed out of the Lutheran church for trying,
and for all he knew, succeeding in seducing the minister’s
wife. Harry Siberton was, in life’s
competition, unfairly handsome and overlaid with conceit.
No, that was wrong. The conceited looked in shop windows to
see their own reflection. This man checked to see if other
people were admiring him. Unfortunately, under all that
gloss, the man was a chowder head.
When Sean finished, the only
response Siberton made was, “Interesting.”
“So does
that mean you can help?” he
retorted to the noncommittal reply.
“Sorry,
not really. Haven’t seen Hector
for…must be some months. And as
for the silverware, well, Diane is so loaded, how would she
miss anything?” Siberton sneered.
Sean detected an edge to the last
remark and didn’t understand why. He filed it in a
miscellaneous section of his brain called notes to the
enquiry. He was still more an accountant than a private
investigator.
“Diane
is a well-stacked dame in more ways than just money,”
Minnie pitched at the edge of Siberton‘s
calm exterior.
He stammered and became flustered,
as if trying to find a way out of the statement.
“Not my sort,”
he managed before quickly terminating the meeting with an
apology that he had another appointment.
Out in the street, Sean turned to
Minnie. “Why did you lob in that
remark about Diane?”
“A woman’s
instincts, mister. Diane was mighty fond of her boy-toy,
Mark, and I wouldn’t be surprised if she pointed her dollar
enhanced, uplifted breasts at Siberton and asked him to
enliven her long, lonely widow nights.“
“He
certainly got mighty shifty.”
Sean’s brows drew down.
“Something
was going on between him and Diane,”
she mulled “But was anything
coming off?”
Sean looked puzzled.
He then hugged Minnie for her sense of humor.
“Back to our hotel at Bury St.
Edmunds?”
“And if
you’re lucky, I’ll
let you take everything off from your Minnie. Slowly, with
feeling…but not too slowly.”
She giggled, and Sean’s
libido beat faster time all the way on their return journey.
He couldn’t wait for the elevator
and ran up the stairs to their room, towing the hysterically
laughing Minnie. If he’d not been
so sensually preoccupied, he would have observed some of the
hotel guests tut-tutting at his antics and uttering a few
“well, I never”
at Minnie’s sassy and bawdy
remarks. He unlocked the door, turned and carried a
squealing Minnie into the room with increasing anticipation.
As he shifted toward the bed, he
stopped.
He almost dropped her to the
floor. They both stared around, their mouths hanging open.
Someone had ransacked their room. They moved amongst the
scattered clothes and possessions as if in slow motion.
Neither spoke; there was nothing to say. He drifted into the
bathroom and muttered. Minnie joined him. Written on the
mirror was, Math, son of Mathonwy and his handmaiden
Goewin triumph over Pryderi son of Pwyll.
Minutes passed as they stood,
speechless. At last, Minnie looked at Sean and said,
“Well, what the heck does that
mean. Don’t look much like a note
about room service.”
“Haven’t
got a clue what it means. I think the names are Celtic.”
Sean heaved out a deep, perplexed sigh. He studied the words
as Minnie strolled out of the bathroom and started to tidy
up, putting the clothes back on the shelves. He eventually
appeared, shaking his head. “I get
the impression that this is not about a brother and missing
silverware. It all seems more complex than that. Trouble is
I haven’t an idea what.”
“Whatever
it’s about, these intruders were
kinky,” she retorted.
“Why?”
“A set
of my underwear has been stolen. That little blue lace
number you bought me in a shop by the John Hancock Center in
Chicago.”
