The Case of the Haunted Cot

Chapter Three

Chapter Three

Price charged down the hallway, the skinny, short, flustered secretary chasing after him.

‘I’m not afraid to call security,’ she called, putting on her best stern voice.

‘Good … I’d be worried about your job if you were afraid to make a phone call.’

Price wasn’t sure what the theory here was. She’d already told him every excuse possible, and he’d ignored them. Did she really think some weak threat was going to make a difference?

Bursting into the office like a whale coming up for air, Price was a little disappointed to see Diane not look in the least bit surprised.

‘I’m in the middle of a meeting.’

Looking down at the diminutive man sitting in the chair opposite Diane, Price immediately started to list in his mind the best ways to get him out. He was overweight, sweaty, with thick glasses, and wouldn’t meet Price’s eyes. Did he write fantasy? Oh please let him write fantasy. Nothing amused Price quite as much as a ridiculous stereotype.

‘I’m sorry, Diane,’ said the secretary, almost stumbling into the back of Price as she threw herself into the room. ‘I told him he couldn’t see you. I’ll call security now.’

‘You still haven’t? How long ago did you threaten that?’

The secretary refused to acknowledge Price at this point. If Price didn’t have more pressing matters to attend to, he might have had a great deal of fun winding this woman up.

‘It’s fine,’ said Diane, ‘I was expecting him.’

‘But …’ the secretary was utterly confused, staring between the three other people in the room, although her gaze didn’t remain on Price long. ‘He wasn’t booked in.’

‘You ever heard the expression “hope for peace, prepare for war”?’

The secretary nodded slowly. Price assumed that meant she hadn’t understood the relevance, but she still left.

‘So, a voice-mail?’ Price asked. ‘Seriously?’

‘You didn’t answer your phone. If you had, it would have been a phone call.’

‘And now you’re seeing other people already,’ Price said, vaguely moving his hands in the direction of the stereotype.

‘Well I wouldn’t make much money with just you as a client, would I?’

Price put a hand to his heart in an over-the-top hurt gesture.

‘Please tell me he at least doesn’t write about elves and dwarfs,’ Price said.

‘Actually,’ said the stereotype, his voice even more nasal than Price expected, ‘I’ve given my work a fresh –’

‘Yes yes, I’m sure your Tolkien rip-off is very original,’ said Price, not looking at the man.

‘Would you please excuse us?’ Diane asked him.

Sheepishly, the stereotype stood up and shuffled out of the room, closing the door after him.

‘He seems nice and … virginal,’ Price said.

‘He is nice. And married, actually.’

Diane glared at him.

‘To an electrical appliance? Seriously, though, you’re dropping me because of one TV show?’

‘It’s not just the TV show, Trent. That was just the last straw. It’s your entire attitude. In this day and age, people aren’t just buying books, they’re buying people, they’re buying into personalities.’