Sobriety, as promised, was not in his wheelhouse. Miss Hermia Williams frowned as she stood and watched the drunk man lying upon his own desk. Her face wore a distinct look of judgmental dismay at his messy brown hair, unkempt brows, and unshaven chin. He was snoring and drooling with his mouth open, looking as if he didn’t have a care in the world. Even his clothes were disheveled; his dark trenchcoat, a once magnificent Louis Vuitton, crumpled around him like an unwashed blanket. She wrinkled her brows and sniffed, partially from being unsatisfied and partially from her dust allergy.

Glancing around the cramped space, she couldn't help but think this was such a cliche detective's office. It was clean, relatively, if one were to squint. The sun shone into the office through quarter-drawn blinds, illuminating a fine layer of dust that settled on the windowsill and every surface aside from the man’s desk. Even the chair back that she currently rested her hands upon was not spared from the mistreatment of neglect. This is exactly the type of place she needed to find the one. 

Tucking a stray auburn curl behind one ear, she struck a match and lit up a cigarette before taking a long draw. Her preferences in men didn’t matter when it came to filling the position, but just once, she would have liked to have a handsome cohort. That wasn’t too much to ask, was it? A faint swirl of tobacco smoke rose into the air, painting the space with an atmospheric haze.

“...I thought the youth these days all vaped.” A muffled, gruff voice began. With his eyes still closed, Aiden Stone sat up from his stupor and stretched. He cracked his neck from side to side before opening his eyes a slit. A beat passed before he opened his eyes completely. Giant bulbous blue saucers all but stared at the woman leaning seductively against his client chair. “But...you’re more of a classic kind of gal, aren’t you?”

“You're a flatterer, Detective Aiden Stone.” Miss Williams smiled; her voice purred in a candy-sweet tone.

Detective Aiden Stone couldn’t believe what he was seeing. After all, she looked quite unbelievable. Striking she was, but not in a conventional sense. She was pale, her plum lipstick drawn smaller than her lips, giving the effect of a natural pout. Her auburn hair fixed into a posh finger-waved bob was backlit by the sunset through the blinds, giving her a natural halo. A shapely nose sat beneath arched brows that framed a pair of ivy green eyes. Her outfit—a well-preserved white beaded slip—reminded him inexplicably of gowns worn by the flappers of the roaring 1920s.

After another moment of wondering if perhaps he was still in a reverie, Aiden sat up straighter than before. “Hello, hi,” He folded his hands in front of him, “Welcome, Miss—uh, sorry, you can’t smoke in here.”

“Why ever not?” She knit her brows together; he wasn’t following the script she had meticulously crafted in her head. 

“Why not? I mean, you can’t smoke indoors.”

“...Since when?”

Aiden ran a hand through his messy hair, before resting it on his left temple, nursing the throbbing beginnings of a hangover. He wasn’t feeling like a history lesson, but what choice did he have? He had never been good at denying pretty women, and certainly not a pretty client. “Since the early 90s.”

“Really?” 

The surprise on her face was genuine. Aiden warily grabbed the trash bin beneath his desk and presented it to her. “Please, I must insist. My landlord has been looking for a reason to be rid of me. I trust you don’t want to be the reason why I no longer have an office.”

“Oh.” She looked incredulous but did not object. She ignored the bin presented; instead choosing to drop the match and half-smoked cigarette into an empty glass flagon. “I suppose I should kick the habit then.”

Aiden raised an eyebrow but said not a word. He grabbed the flagon and emptied it into his bin before setting it back into its proper place. “What kind of hypocrite am I to tell a lady to stop a vice?” He grinned wryly and gestured at his desk, covered in an array of empty alcohol containers. “By all means, we can reconvene outside if you need the smoke.”

“Not at all, although I appreciate your flexibility.” He was far more eloquent than she had predicted, but no matter. Miss Williams leaned forward, flashing the upper surfaces of her breasts. Aiden could hardly focus; he forcibly tore his eyes away from her bosom to meet her equally appealing gaze. “I’ve heard a great deal about you, Detective Stone.”

“...All good things, I trust?” 

“All,” she smiled again. “And I’ve come, with a generous job offer.”

He sat back in his chair. ‘All good things’, he knew that was a bold-faced lie. At worst this was a scam, and at best, based on the look of her, he was likely dealing with a heiress’s flighty attention. “My apologies, I didn’t ask your name, Miss…?”

“Williams. Hermia Williams.” She reached out a hand and grasped his. “A pleasure.”

“Miss Williams, the pleasure is mine.” Her hand was cool to the touch, soft too, but Aiden felt a slight shiver go up his spine. He relinquished her hand and licked his lips before continuing. “I...appreciate my colleagues who have referred my services. How may I help you?”

“You’re…a detective.” Miss Williams sat into the chair, laying her longcoat on her lap. “And from what I have heard, an excellent one at that.” Under the table, her foot glided suggestively up Aiden’s calf, “I’ll cut to the chase; I represent the township of Idyllic. We are in need of a detective to solve a certain murder.”

Aiden blinked twice. His stomach was turning, not from the alcohol nor from Miss William’s overtures, but from something else. “Idyllic...you mean the town outside New York City?”

“That’s correct.” 

“You want me to solve a murder that has taken the life of a resident of Idyllic?”

“You’re as sharp as they say.”

Yeah, right, Aiden thought. “I assure you, the stories are embellished. If anything…” His eyes narrowed, “Those days are behind me—far behind me.” He met Miss Williams eyes. “Something has been bothering me; you keep referring to me as a ‘fine detective’ and you’ve heard ‘good things’. Exactly which of my esteemed colleagues should I be thanking for the referral?” Aiden's voice dropped low; he had had enough banter. From the start there was something amiss; the final straw was the job location being in Idyllic. “Any of my immediate ‘colleagues’ should be saying the exact opposite. In their eyes, I’m a drunk who is incapable of even solving the mystery of where the sun vanishes to at night.” He tilted his head. “So, who sent you? Are you who you say you are? Idyllic needs me? Who are you trying to fool?”

Miss Williams’ face was fascinating to look at. During his soliloquy, her expression did not change, nor did she cower at his harsh tone. She seemed to become more resolute with each phrase that left his lips. Her own lips turned up, and she rested her head on the palm of her hands to get a better look at Aiden.

“I was right, you’re perfect.” She reached across the messy table and rested her cool hand on Aiden’s. “I’m sorry for putting up such an unsightly front, but I needed to know if you could be exploited.” She pulled her longcoat on, covering her revealing dress. Additionally, she dropped the dulcet tone, her voice lowered almost an entire register. This voice, Aiden thought, was much easier to stomach. “I have asked for recommendations from your fellow Private Eyes within 50 miles of here. Your name was always at the bottom of the list. However, I am not one to take someone’s word at face value. You’re not incapable; you’re simply in a rut, and a long one at that.”

Aiden opened his mouth to object, but Miss Williams raised a hand. “You turn down jobs, accepting only the bare minimum to scrape by.” She grabbed a stack of unpaid bills on his desk, shaking them in front of him. “I take that back; you’re barely scraping by. Depression, alcoholism—all of it stems from a botched job in your past. But based on our interactions just now, you’re no less sharp than before. You’ve allowed criticism and one failure to cripple your resolve.” She stared at him, “If I’m correct, you still hunger to solve mysteries. Why open a Detective Agency if that was not the case? You crave more; stalking petty affairs or finding where pawn shops have been exchanging their collateral diamonds for fakes isn't enough for you. I’ll promise you this: I come with a far more enticing job, and only you are capable of solving it.”