He looked down at the floor. “I’m sorry, Victor.” He sighed. “No, she’s not a paying customer, but at least we’ll get some free publicity out of this. Her name is Nancy Gillis and she’s interviewing for a magazine called Curious Casebook. We’re going to be featured in the next issue. It seems that our partnership is quite unusual—”
“So you’ve finally decided to admit that I’m a full partner instead of a short, leathery, monocular secretary?”
“—And she’s going to give full coverage to your contributions. After all, alien detectives aren’t found on every street corner.”
“So how long will this interview process take? Grombaugh needs answers posthaste.”
He shrugged. “It shouldn’t be too much longer, Victor. We’re going to talk some more over dinner. That should get us somewhere.”
“Hunh! Somehow, I have a feeling that where it will get you has more to do with sheets than table cloths.”
Martin looked shocked. “Victor!”
“At the rate things are going, I’m going to end up running this case by myself.” I was hitting below the belt, I confess, but since that seemed to be where the majority of his thinking was taking place, it seemed the best way to get his attention.
His face took on a grim expression. “All right. I promise you that I’ll be back on top of things tomorrow.”
“At the rate you’re going, you’ll be on top tonight,” I retorted sharply.
Actually, I wasn’t as angry as I sounded. Once Martin decides that something is a matter of honor, then the deed is as good as done. It was simply a matter of keeping him from getting into a habit of ignoring things.
Martin acted properly chastened on the way home that afternoon, so I let him off the hook, even going so far as to tell him a ribald joke I had chanced to overhear. It was in my, and Grombaugh’s, best interest that Martin get his wild oats sown as quickly as possible so he could then turn his undivided attention back to the case at hand.
When we got to the apartment, I immediately made myself as inconspicuous as possible by picking up a book I had been reading. Martin went about the arcane rituals that men practice when they are trying to make themselves attractive to the opposite sex. I could have told him that it was unnecessary effort—that the situation was analogous to shooting fish in a barrel—but why spoil the fun? If Nancy Gillis wanted to be chased, then, by all means, chase away.
I had read three chapters by the time the doorbell rang. I didn’t bother answering it, which was wise as Martin pelted towards the door at a dead run. Had I been in his way, I would have been trampled.
He pulled himself up short, composed his face, and opened the door calmly, just as though beautiful redheads were on the other side every time he opened it.
“Hi, Nancy,” he said, ever the master of witty opening lines.
“Ready to go?” she asked.
He nodded and they were off without even a backwards glance. I went back to my book, settling in for a quiet evening.
Shortly after twelve-thirty, they returned. Clearly the fish had been shot, as they stopped in the doorway for a long, lingering kiss, complete with roaming hands and sound effects. Just as I began to fear anoxia, they came up for air, smiled brightly at me, and disappeared into the bedroom, trailing an aura of pheromones.
In their haste, they had forgotten to close the front door. I padded over and pushed it closed, noting idly that the front bumper on Nancy’s car sported a sticker from a local rental agency.
By one o’clock, I had finished my book. That was when I discovered that I had carelessly allowed my reading pile to dwindle away to nothing. I now had nothing to help me while away the night hours.
Humans, for some reason, sleep. I have never understood this, as it seems to me to be a tragic waste of time. However, there is nothing to be done about it, so I spend the time while Martin is unconscious reading. It has tremendously increased my understanding of the human race, as well as teaching me a great deal about the physical sciences, something I had known little about before coming to Earth.
Over the years, I have covered many topics, going into some only lightly, others in depth. Oddly, I had never taken time to read up on the detective industry. A case of being too close to the trees to see the forest.
Considering the hour it was too late to go to the library, but I could at least consult the card catalog, as all the local libraries maintain that information on computers that are available via modem around the clock.
Martin’s computer, like his car, was a relic of better days. In fact, like me, it had belonged to his late uncle, so it was anything but a state of the art machine. However, it had a modem, and, for the moment, that was enough.
I began searching for books by topic, noting the ones that looked most interesting. I then let my curiosity travel where it would. I soon had more titles than I could read in a month, and was about to log off the system when it occurred to me to see if the library carried issues of Curious Casebook. They did not.
This didn’t surprise me, since the city library has always been comparatively weak on periodicals. Just for fun, I dialed into the county library, but with the same result. The state library, while less convenient to get to, could be counted upon to have most things, but, again, I drew a blank.
The usual way to access the card catalog of the state library yields only information on what they actually have, but it is possible to access the data in a different way, which lists the title of every item in print, whether the library has it or not. This is done so that interlibrary loans may be arranged. When this avenue produced no results, I began to get very curious, indeed. Time to think things through.
It did not take long.
I made a fast phone call, then, as quietly as I could, I slipped back into the living room and stood near the front door. Concentrating deeply, I recreated the sound of fast footsteps approaching.
Loudly, I simulated a fist pounding on the door. I even threw in the sound of the loose security chain rattling against the door panels as it vibrated.
“Open up, Martin! Let me in!” I bellowed, taking pains to produce a precise imitation of an angry human male voice.
Imitating the sound of someone kicking the door hurt my tympanum, but it was in character and would help create the atmosphere I wanted.
“I know she’s in there!” I shouted at the top of my lung, not neglecting to add the muffling tonal distortions of someone speaking through an inch and a half of wood.
Then an amazing thing happened. The door to Martin’s bedroom was flung open, and Nancy bounded out, stark naked. She glanced frantically around the room, her expression like that of a cornered animal. She froze when she saw me.
“There she is!” I shouted, still as though through the door.
The frozen glare of hatred she gave me was sufficient to make me fear for my life. Fortunately, at that moment, Martin came up behind her.
“Victor?” Martin demanded in confusion. “I thought I heard Grombaugh at the door. Was that you?”
“Yes, me! I was imitating Grombaugh’s voice!” I shouted, adding imitation pounding on the door for emphasis.
He stared at me as though I had lost my mind. “What the hell has gotten into you?”
I reverted to my normal voice and bowed as best as I was able, given the limitations of my body. “Martin, please allow me to introduce you to Elaine Hinds, also known as Nancy Gillis, and who knows how many other names.” To her, I added, “Say hello, Elaine.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said frostily.