Henry Wood: Time and Again: by Brian Meeks Page B

day…” More snickers from the peanut gallery. “…an associate of mine, a private detective, who I occasionally consult with, has expressed interest in bringing on a secretary. Though I suspect ‘Chaos Manager’ may be a more apt title.”
    Celine shot a serious look at the old man. “A detective! I would be a great secretary for a detective. Didn’t I figure out that you're a professor?”
    Brookert laughed, “That you did, my dear, that you did.” He pulled out a piece of paper and wrote down the address and a phone number for the Henry Wood Detective Agency, and included a note to Henry. “If you give Henry this piece of paper and show up at 9:00 sharp tomorrow morning, he will grant you an interview.”
    Celine, showing an even higher level of enthusiasm than she had already displayed that evening, popped up from the table. “If I'm going to be bright-eyed and bushy-tailed tomorrow, I best go. Night, girls. Professor Brookert.” Celine flew out of the bar, and, true to form, immediately started her special winter prancing. A few careful steps later, and she was in a checkered cab.
     

 
     
     
    Chapter Twenty-Five
     
    Celine walked down the long hallway and read the words aloud on the door as she approached. “Henry Wood Detective Agency.” Just hearing it seemed thrilling, certainly more so than her last job. She just hoped that this Henry Wood was more of a gentleman than Mr. Grabby Hands.
    Celine was not one who was prone to stage fright. She hadn’t been at all nervous when she played Little Orphan Annie as a child in the school play. Today, though, there was the slightest bit of trepidation. She really needed the job, and wanted it more than she had wanted anything in a long time. She took one last long deep breath, which calmed her fidgeting, and came to stop in front of the door. She raised her perfectly manicured hand and knocked at an appropriately moderate noise level.
    She heard movement and then footsteps approaching the door. She counted the steps and quickly surmised the distance from the back office to the door. She pictured the inside and a desk, which would be hers.
    “Hello, come right in. How may I help you?”
    Though she didn’t show it, she was a little startled by the question. The professor had told her to show up at 9:00 and to give the man the piece of paper, which she had in her coat pocket. Celine had expected to be expected.
    The smile and enthusiasm made an impression immediately, though she hadn’t said a word yet. Henry took the piece of paper which had just been thrust at his chest with the speed and accuracy of an Olympic fencer. He opened it.
    “I'm here about the job!”
    Henry held the door for her and offered to take her coat. He hung up next to his, and motioned for her to follow him into his office. They both took their seats. Henry grabbed a yellow legal pad and pencil.
    “I’m Henry Wood, as you might have read on the door. What is your name, Miss?”
    “Celine Spinoza.”
    Henry wrote her name at the top of the page. “Have you done secretarial work before?”
    She spoke clearly and at a blindingly fast pace. “Yes sir. I can type 100 words per minute, take dictation, short hand, pick up dry cleaning, fix coffee, and on occasion bring in a plate of brownies which will change your perception of ‘yummy.’”
    Henry had delusions of note-taking, but knew that he wouldn’t be able to keep up with her, so he tried to fake it.
    “The brownies sound delicious.”
    Celine cocked her head to one side. She looked intently at Henry, and there was a long, strangely comfortable silence. “Did you really write all of that down?”
    Henry looked at her, his eyes narrowed, and then he held up the yellow pad, turning it around so she could see that he had been bluffing.
    “I knew it!” she said while pointing a finger. Henry thought it would have been more dramatic if she had said it in French, “J’accuse!” Still, her delivery was excellent.
    “You need