Lockwood's POV
"Lockwood, get the bloody door!" Comes a very frustrated voice from the living room. I sigh, why can't Lucy get it herself for once?
"And don't you dare complain that I never do it! Whenever I open the door, there's always some creep standing there!" Well that was certainly true. Just last week Kipps came to the door and annoyed the hell out of Lucy. She wouldn't tell me what he wanted, but he has been pestering her a lot recently, ever since the Bickerstaff case.
The previous knocking becomes more insistent, banging more forcefully. I stand up with a huff and stride to the door, stopping for a moment to arrange my face into its usual calm, composed façade. I then unlock the door smiling, prepared to greet the new client… Only to be greeted with a fist in my face.
"Oh my god, I am so sorry! Mum was just knocking, and then you suddenly opened the door and-"
"Don't worry about it, it's not so bad," I say looking up curiously at the newcomers. The speaker was a girl of about 16 or 17 years of age, with dark brown eyes an hair. I frown a little, something about her features are strangely familiar. Her companion, whom I am assuming is her mother, is a completely different story. She is a large, beefy middle-aged woman with pink cheeks and arms as vast as pig thighs. It's easy to say that I can't really see the family resemblance.
"May I inquire about the nature of your visit miss-?"
"Oh please sir, just call me Mary," the girl insists, blushing faintly. "May we speak to the owner of this establishment? There's some personal business we need to discuss, concerning one of the Agents working here."
"Actually, the owner would be me. Anthony Lockwood at your service," I say, beaming at them. "What matters did you need to discuss?"
"We need to know the whereabouts of one of your operatives, Lucy Carlyle. You see-"
"Lucy? She lives here. In fact, she's in the living room right now. Allow me to show you inside."
As I lead them down the hallway into the living room, I notice the older lady examining the relics sprawled around the house.
"That's a Polynesian Ghost Chaser. Ms. Carlyle was fascinated with that when she first came as well." I say, walking up behind her. She abruptly turns and marches down the hallway.
"I guess she's not one for pleasantries, then."
