She heard movement and then footsteps approaching the door. She counted the steps and quickly surmised the distance from the back office to the door. She pictured the inside and a desk, which would be hers.
“Hello, come right in. How may I help you?”
Though she didn’t show it, she was a little startled by the question. The professor had told her to show up at 9:00 and to give the man the piece of paper, which she had in her coat pocket. Celine had expected to be expected.
The smile and enthusiasm made an impression immediately, though she hadn’t said a word yet. Henry took the piece of paper which had just been thrust at his chest with the speed and accuracy of an Olympic fencer. He opened it.
“I am here about the job!”
Henry held the door for her and offered to take her coat. He hung up next to his, and motioned for her to follow him into his office. They both took their seats. Henry grabbed a yellow legal pad and pencil.
“I’m Henry Wood, as you might have read on the door. What is your name, Miss?”
“Celine Spinoza.”
Henry wrote her name at the top of the page. “Have you done secretarial work before?”
She spoke clearly and at a blindingly fast pace. “Yes sir. I can type 100 words per minute, take dictation, short hand, pick up dry cleaning, fix coffee, and on occasion bring in a plate of brownies which will change your perception of ‘yummy.’”
Henry had delusions of note-taking, but knew that he wouldn’t be able to keep up with her, so he tried to fake it.
“The brownies sound delicious.”
Celine cocked her head to one side. She looked intently at Henry, and there was a long, strangely comfortable silence. “Did you really write all of that down?”
Henry looked at her, his eyes narrowed, and then he held up the yellow pad, turning it around so she could see that he had been bluffing.
“I knew it!” she said while pointing a finger. Henry thought it would have been more dramatic if she had said it in French, “J’accuse!” Still, her delivery was excellent.
“You need someone who is able to write fast enough to keep up with the speedy talkers.”
Henry couldn’t argue that point. He suspected that anyone trying to argue with this woman was getting in for more than they bargained for. “Tell me about yourself.”
“I’m friendly, but I don’t like fresh. I love baseball, but not the Yankees. I don’t like cats…because of who they are. If you ask me a question, I will answer truthfully, even if I suspect you might want something else.”
Having given up the pretense of note-taking, he continued, “Tell me about your parents.”
“My mother is Italian, by birth and in attitude. She might be crazy. I can’t imagine her having children. My father, a businessman, also loves baseball. We try to go to games often – he always buys the peanuts. I love him for that. He likes foreign women and loves Mother deeply. She loves him too, but would never admit it.” Celine took a breath.
She was fearless and interesting. Henry was about to ask another question when she started up again.
“Oh, and I have a cat named Buttons.”
“I thought you said you don’t like cats.”
“Yes. I did.”
Henry expected her to elaborate, but she sat in heroic silence.
“You’ve got the job.”
A broad smile crawled across her face. Henry began the salary negotiations phase, which frightened him a bit. She was surprisingly reasonable in her demands, and an agreement was reached. Before Henry could ask her when she would be able to start, she had popped up from her chair, gone into the outer office, and grabbed a yellow legal pad of her own. She returned to stand at the side of his desk.
“Would you like to write a letter, or have me type up the notes from our meeting? I could make coffee.”
Henry’s eyes darted towards the coffee maker, and she was off.
Henry brought her up to speed on the current case, explained how he had lost his mentor, and told her about the meeting with the man in the brown suit. She returned to her desk and began to furiously type notes about the case. She looked up the addresses for “Big” Mike and Professor Brookert and created files for them. There were several filing cabinets, which were mostly empty, as everything before the Tommy “The Knife” case had been destroyed in the fire. Celine asked about the lack of files, and he told her about that case. Then she typed up notes on it, too.
She is a whirling dervish, Henry thought, and then asked her to make a call to Marian at the public library, explain who she was, and ask if Marian had found out anything.
Henry was quite sure that he had just hired the hardest working secretary in the five boroughs. Soon Mike and the professor would be arriving. He stood at the window and watched the buzz of the city below. Things were starting to speed up. He just knew it.
Chapter Twenty-Six
The morning went by in a flash. Henry liked having Celine around. It allowed him to sit and think, something which he sorely needed to do. His unexpected dinner with Dr. Schaeffer was still weighing on his mind. Though, to be completely honest, it was Hans who made Henry uneasy. For an hour Henry jotted down notes about the high points he remembered from the night before. It was too bad he hadn’t been able to learn more about the anti ky-thingy, or at the very least, learn how it was spelled. It would have been rude to ask, he thought to himself. No matter, soon Professor Brookert would be here, and Henry was sure that researching whatever it was would be right up his alley.
The phone rang. Henry reached for it, but Celine was quicker. She had just set a cup of coffee on his desk, and with the speed of an ancient ninja warrior, snatched the receiver from the cradle.
“Henry Wood Detective Agency: we solve your mysteries.”
Henry gave her a look, and she smiled back. Celine had been there less than two hours and already she had created a tag line. Henry was getting a bargain with this one.
“May I tell Mr. Wood who is calling?” She looked at Henry, with her hand over the receiver. “It’s a woman named Katarina. Would you like to speak to her?”
Henry took the phone, shaking his head a little. Celine bounded back to her desk. She seemed quite pleased with her spur of the moment, and catchy, phone-answering line.
“Hey Kat, how you doin?”
“Henry, who was that woman on the phone? She sounds young.”
“She’s my new secretary. I didn’t ask her age.”
“Is she pretty?”
Henry thought the hint of jealousy in Katarina’s voice sounded strange, but it was also flattering. He knew better than to answer. Normally, he might have considered this a great moment, a sign that she felt the same way about him that he did about her, but not today. Today, there was too much going on to mess around with romance. He wasn’t in the mood, and it came through in his voice. “What can I do for you Kat? It's pretty busy around here.”
“What’s wrong, Henry, aren’t you happy I called?” she said, feigning hurt.
“Always. I just have a lot going on. There are people arriving shortly for a meeting. I am working on…well…finding Mickey’s killer.”
Katarina's attempt at cute was off key, so she wished him luck on the case and hung up.
Maybe he was just getting too old for romance. Maybe the spell she had on him was weakening. Or maybe he really was just too busy. He wasn’t sure and didn’t care to dwell on it.
Mike arrived first and was introduced to Celine. She hung his coat up, noticed the hall tree was getting full, and said, "I'm adding 'get some additional hooks or another coat rack' to my list."
Mike and Henry were talking when Celine popped in and offered to get Mike a cup of coffee; she had just brewed a new pot. Mike accepted politely, though he was actually afraid to tell her "no". She had that effect on people. Celine said, "We need to get more coffee cups," and started writing on her pad again.
A squeal and an audible hug were heard from the outer office. “That must
be Professor Brookert. Have you met him before?” Henry said to Mike.
“Nah, we've never met."
Celine opened the door and showed Professor Brookert in. She introduced him to Mike and explained how the professor had made her new job possible. They shook hands. She got the professor a cup of coffee too, without asking. Then she left, quiet as a mouse, and closed the door behind her.
“She is something,” Professor Brookert said, nodding towards the outer office. “I knew you would like her.”
“Yes she is. You have a good eye. After two hours, I feel I have completely lost control of my life, and my days of sneaking in naps at the office, I fear, are gone for good.”
The professor smiled, guessing Henry was right.
“I appreciate you both helping me out. The client, a Dr. Schaeffer, wants to hire me for something important. His man Hans was here two days ago, laid out some vague terms, heavy on money, light on details, and I agreed to see him today at noon.”
The professor and Mike nodded, listening intently.
“Here are the highlights,” Henry said, looking at his notes. “I had some luck yesterday, running down names from Mickey’s notebook. I ended up at the house of Dr. Schaeffer. It was an accident, as Hans hadn't told me the name of his employer. You should have seen Hans’ face when I showed up on the doorstep. Needless to say, he is a bit suspicious now. Dr. Schaeffer invited me to dinner and then started to tell me a story, which confirms my suspicions. Mickey may not have known it, but he had gotten into something big.”
The professor, always one to enjoy a good tale, asked, “What was the story about?”
“He talked about something called the Anti-kythrine something or other. I still don’t know what it's called. Marian, from the public library, mentioned it too, when I showed her Mickey’s entry, ‘Anti Catherine. She said she would try to scrounge up some details about it.”
“Do you mean the Antikythera Mechanism?”
Henry raised an eyebrow. “Yes, Professor, that's it. You've heard of the thing?”
“I have, though I can't say I know much about it. I believe that it was discovered around the turn of the century. It's almost 2,000 years old.”
“Yes, well it seems that there were two of them, but I didn’t get far enough into the story at the doctor’s house to learn much more.”
“Two of them?” the professor asked suspiciously. “I'm not sure that's true. I would have read about a second discovery.”
“The doctor says the guy who found the first one found the second years later, in much better condition and didn’t tell anyone. Apparently, he was upset at not having been properly rewarded from his first find.”
“I suppose it is possible, but…”
“That's why I called you. I need you to find out everything you can on the first one, and any rumors you might be able to dig up about the second. And Mike, right now, I just want you to stand in the corner and look menacing. We can figure out our next move afterward.”
“Sounds good, Coach,” Mike said with a glint in his eye.
They heard the sounds of Celine welcoming Hans in the outer room. Lights, camera, action, Henry thought to himself.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
“Get my car!” he bellowed. Andre Garneau was in rare form and a fine Italian suit, which was wishing it was still hanging in the closet instead of being sweated through. The chauffeur bolted from the room, feeling thrilled to be out of the line of fire. He knew that once they were on the road, his dreadful boss would sit quietly, as he didn’t like to talk in moving vehicles. The others weren’t quite so lucky.
The verbal assault had been going on for forty-five minutes, and Garneau had worked up quite the lather. The upstairs maid, usually immune from his criticism because of the short skirt and stockings she wore, was crying. The cook’s pallid face hid a deep-seeded rage – Garneau had criticized his eggs Florentine and used the word “pedestrian” in the rebuke. The butler had been severely reprimanded as well, but couldn’t have cared less. The downstairs maid, well known for being weepy, was crying too, though Garneau hadn’t gotten to her yet.
He was hot and exhausted. Yelling like a madman is much harder than one might think. He threw a plate, for effect, and then stormed up the stairs and slammed the door to his bedroom. There was silence from the staff. After a minute or so, they each went off to do their jobs and lick their wounds. Eventually, the chauffeur came back inside, grabbed a cup of coffee, and read the newspaper.
The letter from Father Patrick unleashed Garneau’s feeling of helplessness. It was Garneau who told the priest about the rumor of someone looking into the names of the collectors, but when he read it and saw that the auction might be canceled, he was overwrought. Over the last three weeks, he had parted with three of his most prized treasures, at a minor loss. Andre had feared that the other bidders might be in a better financial position, and he didn’t want to take any chances. This would be the crowning glory of his collection, and he was prepared to do anything to win. Now, he was faced with the real possibility that the item might never go up for sale at all. This was not the worst part.
Yesterday morning, knowing it was against the rules, he sent the chauffeur to see Father Patrick. He included a note begging him to go forward with the sale and offering any assistance, monetary or otherwise, to help uncover the person responsible for the mess. The father wrote back that he did not appreciate the correspondence, that there were procedures, which did not include sending notes via one’s chauffeur, and if he proceeded to meddle in this matter, he would be banished from the group of collectors. Upon reading the father’s reply, Garneau was stricken with disbelief. He was not used to being addressed in such a manner. He was unable to get his way and couldn’t believe it. He remained in denial the rest of the day. After a bad night’s sleep, he had moved on to anger.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Hans hired the Henry Wood Detective Agency and handed Henry an envelope with the retainer. He then left without giving many details about the job. They waited until they heard the outside office door close.
Mike spoke up first. "Rich people are nuts."
Henry and the professor laughed. "What do you think?" Henry asked.
Professor Brookert leaned back in his chair, still trying to take it all in. "I can't believe there is another Antikythera device, and intact, too. If it’s true, this may be the greatest discovery in the history of all mankind. I found it strange, however, that Hans seemed so reluctant to answer our questions."
Mike nodded. Henry stood up and walked over to get some more coffee. "It was odd. Mr. Schaeffer was very open last night.” Henry shrugged. “But this is their show. If our client wants me to only speak with him, that's okay. It's his dime. The most striking thing about the job is how similar it seems to Mickey's last case."
"You think they hired Mickey?" Mike asked.
"I don't know for sure, I still haven't decoded all of his notes. Hard to say if the client name is even in his notebook. Mickey was pretty crafty. He could remember every single person who ever hired him and often didn't bother with noting the client name, at least until he wrote up the final report."
"So, what's the plan, Boss?"
"Mike, I want you to dig around and find out what you can about Hans and Dr. Schaeffer. Also, don’t call me boss."
Mike winked.
The professor stood up and asked, "May I see Mickey's notes?"
Henry handed him his notebook. "I copied the three pages from his most recent case and put his notebook in a safe place."
"It looks like you decoded his list. I see that Dr. Schaeffer is on it. If he had hired Mickey, he wouldn't be on the list, would he?"
"Good observation, Professor. I still want to check out Dr. Schaeffer – Mickey may have added him to the list for the same reason."
Mike asked, "Did he check up on everyone who hired him?"
Henry laughed. "It depended. If the client was a dame, with long legs, trying to catch a cheating
husband, he was off to the races. Mickey didn’t care if she was on the up and up. A guy, no matter how clean-cut, was never above suspicion. He was pretty good about reading people, or at least…he used to be."
The professor got up and walked around. “It sounds like you think that whoever hired Mickey was somehow involved in his death?”
“I think that this whole thing stinks to high heaven. On one hand, it doesn’t make sense that someone would hire Mickey to look into the people on the list and then kill him before he could finish. On the other hand, Mickey always said that people willing to overpay were usually up to something. On the other hand…” Henry paused and thought for a moment, “…I liked Dr. Schaeffer. My gut tells me he is on the level. Also, I think I may have had one too many hands…but I digress.”
“I didn’t want to say anything, but I noticed your theorizing anatomy was slightly off,” the professor said with a wink.
“That’s why I called you two in; I may be losing my edge.”
Mike stood up. “You still have your edge, but this case strikes too close to home. We're glad to help.”
Professor Brookert smiled and nodded. “Let me see if I have it straight. Right now, all we know is that there is a second Antikythera mechanism, which may be up for sale, it would likely be worth a king’s ransom, and is in some sort of underground auction for the super rich. Dr. Schaeffer is one of the players, along with the other people on Mickey’s list.”
Henry leaned back in his chair. “Yes, but you have left out one important fact. This isn’t just an antique auction for some crazy collectors. It is prized enough that someone was willing to kill, to stop Mickey from completing his job, whatever that was.”
Celine stuck her head in. “I didn’t mean to interrupt your meeting or eavesdrop…okay, I did mean to eavesdrop. It sounds like insider trading.”
They all looked at her. She walked in and said, “The secretaries know what is going on at each brokerage firm. They always talk to one another. I see guys chatting up the girls, trying to get them to spill company beans. But we aren’t as dumb as we look…well some of us are. It sounds like whoever hired your friend wanted to know what the competition was up to, to get an edge. More coffee anyone?”
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