Emma Philbrook: Student Life

I got a bit of a bonus on my last case. For a minute, I fantasized about relocating to a part of town where one didn’t have to look both ways before stepping onto the sidewalk, then about hiring an assistant to help out with my workload. Then I realized that what I’d thought were two zeroes was actually the sorriest excuse for an eight I’ve ever laid eyes on. From now on, I’m not accepting doctors as new clients.

Perhaps I should’ve hired an archaeologist to figure out whether there’s actually still a desk underneath the pile of paper in front of my chair. I try to keep the place professional-looking, but lately “professional-looking” has meant making sure my name placard balances levelly on top of Mount Casefile. Of course, given that said placard cost $1.99 at a Staples clearance sale, was hand-engraved by yours truly using a nail file and an oyster fork, and bears perhaps the tackiest business name in the history of private investigation, it’s possible that it never quite looked professional in the first place.

I don’t suppose you remember Alberta the Brain, do you? “No” is a fine answer. Sometimes even I have trouble remembering.

But there’s a certain friend of mine who somehow managed.

He wore the same camel-haired coat he did the first time we met. In fact, I’m not even sure he’d washed it since then. He hung up his fedora (ninety-four percent of all my clients wear fedoras) and took a seat.

“What’s that?” he muttered, pointing at an open folder.

“Nothing,” I said, slamming it closed and shoving it off the table. It landed smack on its spine and opened right up to a stack of college brochures, which I really hadn’t wanted any potential clients to see. He regarded them curiously.

“Mulligan!” I yelled, diving out of my seat and picking it up. I swiped it off again. This time it landed open-end down in a puddle of coffee I’d been meaning to wipe up for a few days running.

“College?” He raised an eyebrow. “You’re leaving?”

“Figured it’s about time I go legit,” I said. “Make the investigative thing more of a hobby. But I’m taking cases all the way up through August.”

“In that case,” he said, “I have two more.”

“Go ahead,” I said.

“Second one’s State. We’ve been over State before.”

“Yes. And for the record, that double tiebreaker wasn’t in my contract. You still owe me that check for emotional damages.”

“In time. But we have another assignment for you of a more local nature. Next week’s KB meet in the Tri-Cities – against the big schools. You’ve managed to hold your own with them in the past, and as this is the last time you’ll be up against them…”

“You want me to remind them that the 2B league is not to be trifled with.”

“Exactly. And as this will be your last meet of this nature, you understand the importance of making something of an impact.”

I pulled my little pearl-handled pistol out of a drawer, blew imaginary smoke from the top, and smiled.

Going legit could wait until the fall term.