It was a hot and stormy afternoon, as stifling as a French oven that had seen too many loaves of bread and had never been turned off.
For a man who preferred people at arm's length on the best of days, being a private investigator was an odd choice of profession. Avon had been many things in his life, but at least his current line of work afforded one of the requirements for his restless mind, the solving of mysteries.
His rates tended to be as variable as rain falling on the back end of a cat lying sideways on the pavement. But the solving of mysteries was more important to him than a load of credits on a prison transport going nowhere. Of course, he never told anyone that.
His last client had been an interesting one. The man had been so ugly, he'd have to sneak up on a glass of water to get a drink but he had brought in a knotty problem. Avon liked the bad ones.
His next client was something special. She came through his door like a breath of air passed through several filtration systems.
He stood up to greet her and after a brief confusing moment where he seemed lost in her eyes, he offered her a chair that had seen fewer behinds than the average seat in a stadium full of troopers engaged in a forced game of musical chairs. "The name is Avon. Kerr Avon."
"Yes, I noticed the name on the door. Mine's Cally." If a voice could melt the ice in his heart, then hers was it. Avon couldn't tell if it had suddenly gotten hotter or if the environment controls were acting up like a group of fading thespians in a revival of "Hello, Dolly."
"Is that a first name or a last name?" Avon always liked accuracy in identification. It made it easier with creditors later if a client's credit payment bounced like a ball on two pieces of titanium plating, dipped in red paint.
"Both." Cally's answer was as monosyllabic as a mute clown with a malfunctioning voice synthesizer, but for some reason, to Avon it sounded like music. He rubbed his hands nervously together with the speed of a slow turtle running a fast race.
He remarked with as dry a voice as was possible and still not be wet. "You don't want to tell me."
"Not on a first date."
Avon's eyebrows raised in suspicion. "This is hardly a date. Why are you here?"
"I could ask you the same thing." She was being as coy as a fox on stilts.
"You sought me out. This is my office."
"It's a very nice one." Cally's eyes were as wide as a man-made lake stretching between two uneven mountain ranges. Avon found that he kept falling into it and having to remind himself that he wasn't here for a holiday.
It was time to find out why she had come to him. "If you are here to sell something, then you can save your breath."
"I'm not here to sell anything. I need your help."
"My rates are..."
"I don't have any money."
"Then the door is in the same place it was before. I trust you can find it again."
"I know you're the best, that's why I came. I need the best."
"You were hoping to appeal to my better nature?"
"I was hoping to appeal to your sense of mystery."
"Now that's different. Tell me what the problem is."
As she told him her predicament, Avon studied her out of the corner of his eyes. This woman was as much of a mystery as any problem that required two dispensers of coffee and a snack. The solving of mysteries had been the balm to Avon's restless soul, now there was a living one.