The Element of Surprise
"I hate surprises," Blanc mumbled around his cigar, puffing the smoke above his head where it dissipated in the gray-bleached sunlight. This new case had him in a sullen state. He glanced side-long at Marta who sat pretty as a picture across from him at the patio table, fully absorbed in a folder of paperwork. "Don't you?"
"Yes," she replied readily, not bothering to glance up.
He always could count on her full undivided attention, no matter what.
He looked back up at the sky above Two Deerborn Drive and tried to smile - he was finding it difficult to avoid the place these days. "I find surprises … infuriating. And I certainly don't like to be lied to. Especially by a 'reliable' witness."
Marta hummed. "Ugly business," she agreed.
He cleared his throat. "Forgive me. Present company, not withstanding."
This garnered him the hint of a smile, her black pen continuing its lovely dance across a yellow legal pad. He tasted the end of his cigar again and found the need to turn his hard and careful scrutiny upon her.
He meant every word of what he said on the subject of lying, yet given their prior relationship of detective and suspect, she was the stellar exception to the rule. It had only been Harlan Thrombey's coaching on mis-truthing that had gotten the innocent nurse as far as her lies could take her. But then, of course, her verity and kindness had prevailed. Without the need for head or heart the truth of her, had indeed, fallen at his feet.
Just as he knew it would.
That was one thing he found he adored about her in the relatively short span of their acquaintance: she was unfailingly dependable. No. It was more than that. While he was away from home and stuck here in Boston again, she had been a constant light in the bleakness of this case. A case she had offered up her help on, before he even thought to ask.
She said it would take her mind off of Ransom's trail and her continuing affairs with Thrombey's estate. Maybe the request had been out of loneliness rather than interest, but he had been more than happy to oblige her. Have his Watson back? Why hadn't he thought of it?
He trusted her at his side; her honesty and optimism, traits that never wavered despite all she had endured this past year. It was damn commendable.
Perhaps she was rubbing off on him. Or maybe …
He scratched the back of his head in thought. "Huh."
She glanced up at him. "What?"
He turned in his chair so that he could better face her, flourishing the cigar in dismissal. "Oh, nothin'." And then, "Hey there, hold up a minute." Had he possibly spoken too soon? He pointed at her legal pad in accusation.
Marta brought her note taking to a halt, and raised her hands in confusion. "What's the matter?"
"That's my pen!"
She slowly held up the object in question. "This one?" It was said with complete innocence, but there was a sly arch to her brow that spoke volumes. She twirled it in her fingers, putting on a teasing display.
"Yes! That's my favorite one!" he exclaimed patting down his suit pockets and, indeed, found it missing. A black and gold Meinsterstuck Le Grand ballpoint pen to be exact, a rare luxury.
Her hazel eyes examined it thoroughly, drawing out her response for as long as possible. "Hmm. So it is."
Blanc snatched it from her fingertips, caressing it with both hands. "Thief!" he muttered, ignoring her chuckle. As she pulled out one of her own gel pens from her messenger bag he marveled at her ability, once again, to draw him out of his brooding mood. He shook his head. "I dare say. We'll make a criminal out of you yet."
She sat back and laughed wholeheartedly at this, a wondrous and far-too-rare of a sound. "Oh, Benoit." When she finally leaned toward him he caught that tell-tale blush across her cheeks, a blush that liked to make an appearance whenever she called him by his first name. And damned if he didn't like it just a little too much.
"I apologize," she continued, "from the bottom of my heart … for stealing your pen."
He gazed back at her warm expression, readying a sharp retort in the spirit of banter. Then he faltered.
Her grin widened at his hesitation. She raised a shapely brow at his hesitation. "Come on, Detective. You really going to call in the calvary. Turn me in?"
The gravity of it hit him like the sun falling from the sky. He liked her just a little too much.
This was a surprise of a whole different nature. Oh, he had genuine affection for her to be sure. But possibly… just maybe… it was not at all as innocent as he first surmised.
Thief indeed: first his pen, and now this utter astonishment.
He eased back in his seat and chewed on his cigar, digesting this new revelation. She was waiting for his reply, her large eyes full upon him. A part of him relished drawing out his response, making her wait. It was a true crime that he was unable to see any of this until now, and he wanted her to pay for it. Just a little.
"Well?" she asked, uncapping her pen. "No final verdict?"
"My dear Marta," he said finally, slipping his own pen back into his pocket with a chastising smirk. "Fear not. No one will be locking you away and throwing away the key just yet."
She smiled at him, enjoying his candor, the blush still lingering as if she could guess his thoughts. "Is that so?"
"Of course. If I did that, how would I ever ask you out to dinner?"
fin