HHISPS headquarters were in an industrial building, dating back to an era when people were still into manufacturing instead of providing services. The lobby with its brown, well-worn wall-to-wall carpet and black plastic furniture matched the receptionist's morose mood.

"Our agent's ready to see you right now." She ushered us towards a frosted-glass door adorned with the letters HH.

As we entered, a short, thickset man got up from a desk cluttered with stacks of books, journals, and three computer screens. His gray jacket had black patches at the elbows.

"Good morning, my name's Holmes, but you can call me Homer." His broad smile matched his stature. He grabbed Theresa's hand, pumping it.

"Theresa Thorne," she said.

The pumping of Theresa's hand slowed. When he didn't release her, she used her chin to gesture towards me. "And that's Anne Anderson."

He let go of her and glanced at me. "Pleased to meet you." Then he immediately looked back at Theresa. "Thorne? As in Thomas Thorne?"

She nodded.

I felt left out, ignored, and completely unamused. "Holmes?" I mimicked his tone. "As in Sherlock Holmes?"

He turned back towards me, mouth half open. Then he laughed and held up his hands. "Sorry, Anne. Where are my manners? Please accept my apologies... I don't get celebrities here that often. Can you forgive me?"

I wasn't sure about that, but the puppy stare he gave me earned him another chance. "Maybe..."

"Fair enough... Please, take a seat." Chuckling, he waved a hand at a blue sofa standing against a wall behind a low, polished-wood table. "Can I get you some coffee, tea, or anything else?"

We declined and sat. He took a chair opposite.

His gaze was on me. "Holmes, as in Sherlock Holmes, you're right, Anne. And, as you seem to suspect, that's not my real name. In reality, it's Histermeyer, Homer Histermeyer. But that doesn't sound cool, does it? So I opted for Holmes, Homer Holmes... That's my stage name. It has a more professional ring to it, no?"

I wasn't convinced, but at least it was funny.

He sat back, hands on his knees. "So, how can I help you, good ladies?"

There was one thing I wanted to settle first. "How much do you cost?"

"Yeah, let's settle the fee, right." He glanced at Theresa.

"Wait," I said. "I'm working as a sandwich cutter at the beach."

If he thought that Theresa settled his bills, he would be too expensive.

"Hm... I see. My hourly fees are... $120."

"A sandwich cutter working for the legal minimum wage..."

He took a long breath and rubbed his face. "Okay... Let's make it $90."

Better, but we weren't there yet.

"Hm... And this first meeting is free, right?"

"Er... yes, of course."

"Good." I nodded.

Theresa had asked me to do the talking, so I began. I told him how I had worked at TCorp and found out about the expenses. That I had reported the issues to my boss, and that, later, Thierry caught me on the Top Floor and had taken me to his office. And about the flowers he had sent me.

"Flowers?" Theresa interrupted, surprise in her voice. "That's not his style. He's not the type to woo a woman, he usually just takes them."

I shrugged and continued my tale. Then she added her parts.

"...and that's why we need the services of HHISPS," I said to end our narrative, making the last word sound like a snake's hiss.

Homer, who had been quiet and attentive during our reports, taking occasional notes, looked at me, then at Theresa. "What a story, ladies... But don't worry, you've found your man." He moved his fingers through the remnants of the dark, short hair framing the bald dome of his head. "You don't trust the city's police, and you're right, I don't trust them either... even though for other reasons." He smiled, briefly, and I wasn't sure I wanted to know why.

He continued. "I also know Detective Shortbitten you've mentioned, the one running the case... be careful with him. He's more focused on pleasing his superiors and on working on his career than on police work. But TCorp is listed on the national stock exchange. So, if we can find proof of Thierry draining money from the firm in big style, we should be able to get the state police to take an interest, the department of commerce." He raised his eyebrows at us. "They are more trustworthy than the local authorities." He grinned.

"And once we can show that Thierry has been stealing from TCorp..." he added. "That, and both of your testimonials, should be enough to at least get the investigation into the murder rolling again. Even the local authorities can't bury a case when it's based on strong facts and has a high profile like this one."

The serene, optimistic smile he gave us, and the way he sat on his chair with one hand on his leg and the other one raised, reminded me of the little Buddha in the city's Chinese gardens.

A happy Buddha—serene and optimistic.

I hoped he wasn't just telling stories. And, anyway, words didn't move the matter forward. "So, what should we do now?"

"We'll have to find that proof, the one showing that Thierry made TCorp's money run into his own pockets." He looked me in the eye. "And, Anne, I'm afraid, that will be your job, mostly. You've got the knowledge. You have to get the documents. Use your connections, your former colleagues, whatever..."

I didn't like that idea one bit. "I won't drag my colleagues into this mess." No way. I did want to bring Thierry to justice, but not at the cost of my colleagues. Ex-colleagues.

And anyway, shouldn't he be the one to get documents, to sneak into office buildings at night?

"Give it some thought," he said. "In the meantime, I'll try to find out more about Thierry and that yacht of his, and I'll consult some sources of mine."

I shook my head. "I don't think that'll work, I'm not working at TCorp anymore, and—"

Theresa laid a warm hand on my arm and squeezed me. "Let's think about this. There must be some way."

The skin of her slender fingers was much darker than mine.

"Okay."

Homer rose. "Fine. Let's get to work." He glanced at his watch. "But now I have another appointment, sorry. Let's call each other when we have first results."

~~~

"What was this stunt about his fees?" Theresa asked as we left HHISPS premises. "You know that I pay his bills."

"Sure, but if he had known that, he'd have asked for twice as much. And I never told him that I'm the one who's paying. I just told him where I work."

Theresa laughed. "You're a devious woman."

On the bus trip back to my apartment, we discussed plans how to get the proof Homer had talked about, but no good idea sprung up. I was grateful that Theresa didn't push to involve Sandra or Camille when she met my resistance.

As we entered the alley where I lived, I was relieved to see Theresa's dwarf-car still standing there, un-vandalized.

"We have to move your car," I said. It was about time to get that green road sign away from my apartment.

"Yeah, I'll do that."

"Okay, but first let's have something to eat and review our options." It was well into the afternoon, and we hadn't had a proper lunch. I was ravenous.

"You think we have options?" She raised an eyebrow at me.

"There are always options." We'd just have to find them.

I smiled at her, not paying attention to where I was going. This was a mistake—I bumped into a man standing next to the Chinese takeout's counter and staring at his phone.

"Oops. Sorry," I said.

He turned to face me. Bullet-head, bald, bearded. I knew the man—Thierry's driver.