"Let us now transport ourselves, in fancy, to this chamber. What shall we first seek here? The means of egress employed by the murderers. It is not too much to say that neither of us believe in praeternatural events. Madame and Mademoiselle L'Espanaye were not destroyed by spirits. The doers of the deed were material, and escaped materially. Then how? Fortunately, there is but one mode of reasoning upon the point, and that mode must lead us to a definite decision.” - Edgar Allan Poe
Jenny Everywhere took one last look into the room and decided to kick the roof off. She still had one boot laced up, so it wasn't a hard thing to do. The tiling scattered and flew to all corners of the apartment, the dollhouse tipped over on its side, its miniature tables and chairs askew. Jenny kneeled down before the house to take a second look, nodded, and rose once again. The exorcism had been a success. She righted the damaged dollhouse and took off her other boot.
For months now the dollhouse had been a source of both comfort and terror, whispering sweet platitudes in the night. She had tried to shut it up once by repainting the walls of the tiny living room and adding a phonograph with a painted on copy of The Mountain Goats second album playing silently to the poltergeists, but to no avail. That only added to the problem, with spectral music drifting from the corner of her bachelorette every hour, on the hour. She had opened every room in the house to allow the ghosts a passage out, as she had been advised, but had exhausted every key available. All except one, which didn't belong to a single lock anywhere in the house.
A phone rang, and at first Jenny believed it to be another crank call via the haunted dollhouse, but within a heartbeat she realized it was the one from her kitchen. Jenny felt the crunch of roof tiles splintering through her socks as she reached the doorway, ignoring these irritants because of a new, clear purpose. Her previous tantrum was almost completely out of her thoughts now. She picked up the phone on the third ring.
"Jenny! You won't believe what's happening!" The voice on the other end was Ellen, the only person who ever called this number. Jenny waited for Ellen to tell her the exciting news. She didn't see any reason to prompt her. Jenny was in that kind of mood.
After a moment's silence, Ellen chimed in. "Jenny, are you ok?".
"What's happening?" Jenny prompted.
Ellen knew the inflection in Jenny's voice well enough not to question it, instead choosing to dive right in. "A mystery, Jenny! You were so successful solving the Case of the Broken Weathervane that I tracked down another tantalizing enigma for you to tackle! And this one is even more despairing then the last!"
Jenny shut her eyes tight, nuzzled the phone to her shoulder and let out a weak sigh. She stole a glance at the damaged dollhouse and wondered if Ellen's exuberance would withstand the sight of the destruction. Jenny wasn't the least bit interested in another case, especially so soon. Despite a natural talent for observation, she didn't have the passion for crime solving that so enthralled her closest friend and confidante. It was the burden she had to bear, being dragged along a trail of crumbs towards murder and mayhem, all the while yearning for a good book, a warm sweater and two kitties circling her feet. If she had to unwillingly enter that strange world once again, at the very least she could take comfort knowing that Ellen would be aghast at seeing her beautiful Victorian dollhouse spread across the floor like a double-wide in a monsoon.
"Come on over, Ellen."
Jenny hung up the phone, wiped her sweaty hands on her apron, and smiled for the first time that day.
Fifteen minutes later there was a knock at the door. Jenny assumed that another tenant had left the lobby entrance open for Ellen, and shuffled over to let Ellen in. A tall man in a rumpled blue suit leaned forward into her doorframe, his gaunt face hovering over her like an apparation. He smiled a not altogehter unpleasant grin and extended his hand, speaking in clipped, precise sentences.
"Jenny Everywhere. Pleasure. Come in?"
Jenny could never resist welcoming strange guests into her home. She moved her short, plump frame aside and let the man squeeze through without even asking his name, wondering if he was a Jehovah's Witness, a Mormon, or some other religion she could check off her list. He lurched by her, unknowingly stopping short of her apartment's newest acquisition. His mind was elsewhere at the moment.
"Jenny, I've come to warn you of a grave danger that threatens your well-being."
The man allowed her a moment to interject. Instead Jenny chose to wait. She didn't see any reason to say anything yet. Denied, unnerved, the visitor continued speaking.
"You may be aware that the city has recently disallowed the postering of notices on public spaces for the purpose of promoting live musical events. This new initiative will be strongly enforced. We have heard rumours that a small band of young rabble rousers will be flaunting this law, covering the city with its peculiar brand of filth and angst. Some of these placards are not even being created with the purpose of drawing in customers, but in advertising abstract ideals using the crudest profanity. Destroying these stickers and posters is not nearly good enough. The city has hired specialists to track down and arrest these hooligans."
The man paused, took a breath, and looked for a sign from Jenny. She only barely showed a trace of contempt. He continued.
"Oh, yes, it's horrible, but necessary. As I said upon entering, you are yourself in peril. Keep away from the utility poles along Bronson Avenue, Jenny, or you may be injured. Or worse. Do we understand one another?"
"What the Hell are you talking about?" Jenny replied.
The man in the old blue suit laughed, his wrinkled brow creasing and folding over upon itself in his mirth. He lifted his rake-like hands into the air and waved them around in a show of arrogant satisfaction.
"Jenny. Jenny Everywhere. You know exactly what I mean. I've only come to warn you, Jenny. I wouldn't want any harm to come to you, so please be good. Otherwise, I can't help what may happen next."
The man started for the still open door, pausing long enough to look over his shoulder at the dollhouse, as if finally seeing it. His smile, ever changing yet ever present, finally dissolved.
"There's a broken dollhouse on your floor..."
Jenny didn't know if she was supposed to reply to that. She closed the door behind him and considered what he said for half a minute before deciding to make some shortbread instead.
Ellen's silver moped could been seen from Jenny's balcony turning onto the head of the street. She carried a passenger, something which Ellen had neglected to mention over the phone. Jenny supposed that she hadn't really given Ellen a chance to warn her, but it was still an annoyance. Jenny hadn't cleaned in at least a week, and there was a demolished children's dollhouse sitting on the carpet, a testament to the tenant's instability. Jenny considered a quick clean up, but decided against. The haunted dollhouse would deflect attention from her dirty drawers lying about.
Jenny's buzzer sounded, and Ellen's voice rang out with today's password. "And there was thunder, thunder, over Thunder Road..."
"Thunder was his engine, and white lightning was his load..." Jenny replied. Mitchum was their God.
Jenny opened the door to her apartment and wandered back into the kitchen. She wanted Ellen to check out the mess and stew for a few seconds before greeting her and her new friend. The two cats cautiously approached the doorway, Mo in the lead, Tsuki taking up the rear. They glanced around to make sure that yes, they had completely free range, and then they took their chance. Mo shot out three feet into the carpeted hallway, the flourescent lights playing tricks on his silver undercoat. Tsuki very nearly leapt on top of him during her escape, but she stopped just in time to take in the new sights and smells behind him. Their chests heaved with their breathing, their bellies scraping the ground. Then, the elevator opened with a grating wail, and the spell broke like an antique weathervane and in the blink of an eye they were back in their comfort zone. No one saw their escapades. They would take the tale of their exploits to the grave.
"Jenny, your door was open agai..." Jenny leaned against the kitchen counter, ticking off each second that Ellen paused in consternation from the chaos she just stepped into. "Jenny! Jenny, someone destroyed your dollhouse!"
Jenny poked her head through the passageway from kitchen to her foyer, her grin dimpling her round face, her long knit scarf whipping gently around the bend. She could barely supress a laugh at the expense of her best friend's consternation. Annoying Ellen was by far her favourite game, and one of the only reasons she ever allowed herself to be dragged along on matters of suspense and intrigue. Ellen was Jeff to Jenny's Mutt, a willowy girl who was so blonde she was nearly silvermaned. Her eyes were of an even lighter hue, giving her an alluring look to some, a discomforting gaze to others. Her lips were thin, but able enough when needed for a smile, of which Ellen supplied many more then the normal person's quota. In that Ellen and Jenny were alike, if in no other attribute. Jenny stood a full two heads shorter then her Nordic pal, with soft Asian features, straight black hair held at bay with a single barrett, and a body that, while of normal girth in the real world, was considered fat in comparison to modern day perceptions. Jenny's weight hung on her with an ease that was almost uncanny for a member of a species so uncomfortable with its own skin. She moved as if she were a machine, with no false actions or irregularities, her clothing simply an ill-fitting disguise for something utterly fantastic.
"Oh my, Jenny! Are you ok?" Ellen seemed genuinely upset, and so Jenny stepped out into the foyer to placate her concerns.
"What happened? Did someone break in?"
"Well, yeah," Jenny replied, "but not to kick in the dollhouse. I did that."
Wide-eyed and confused, Ellen pondered Jenny's answer, allowing her guest to sidle up beside her and get a closer look. Jenny took a closer look herself. This was her third visitor of the day, about three times as many as she normally received in a month's time. Jenny hadn't been able to ascertain the appearance of Ellen's co-pilot from her vantage point on the balcony. The visitor was a tiny man, serene in his posture, his thinning hair falling where it may, seemingly as unconcerned with the carnage as Ellen was panicked about it. His hands never left his pockets, yet somehow he managed to take off his shoes, jacket and light a cigarette without their use. The only thing that gave him away was his stare, which cut its way through everything in its path like a rusty handsaw.
Ellen finally snapped out of it, and by necessity, so did Jenny. "You did this? And someone else was here? When?"
"For which incident?", Jenny enquired
"Both."
"I broke the dollhouse just before you called, and had a man barge in not soon after. It's been an eventful morning. Who's your friend?" Jenny didn't have time for a recap. She was afraid of her shortbread burning.
Ellen took the hint and stepped aside. The small, wisp of a man pushed past her in the narrow hallway and finally let a carny hand snake out of his pocket.
"Paul Amberson. It's an honour to meet you, Ms. Everywhere."
Jenny shook Amberson's hand, returning his weak grip with one of her own. Her shoulders bunched up as her head tilted to one side to take him all in. This cute pose was an involuntary weakness, a tell that let on that she was sizing up a suspect, even before there was anything to suspect. Only the most observant or her closest friends could notice it. Mr. Amberson, obviously something of a poker player, shot right through her intent and smiled back knowingly.
"What can I do for you, Mr. Amberson?"
Ellen nearly had a fit behind the visitor, hands crammed under her lower lip, an excited giggle barely suppressed. Mr. Amberson glanced from Jenny to Ellen and back again. "I think Ellen would rather tell you. I'll fill in anything she missed."
There was nothing Jenny enjoyed more then hearing the same story twice. She determined to make herself more comfortable, and led the way into her spare living room. Ellen tossed Jenny's Mexican wrestling mask off of the end of her futon, and dug in for the long haul. Before anyone else had a chance to get their butts comfortable, Ellen began.
"Mr. Amberson works as an investigator for a major insurance company, Boyd and co. They specialize in strange policies that other firms won't touch. The Boyd credo is that if a policy is in some way similar to anything previous to what they've handled before, they'll refuse it. Keeps them on their toes. Their usual customers are magicians, publicity seekers and eccentrics, both rich and poor."
"Recently, Carnio Boyd the Third, the patriarch and CEO if the Boyd family concern, passed away while attempting to replicate some of Houdini's lesser known escapes, like the pinwheel of death and the seance of one thousand glass daggers. A natural born packrat, it took weeks for his family and associates to burrow through his papers to find what brings us here today."
Ellen paused for effect, cocking one eyebrow at her captive audience. Jenny felt a sudden desire to read a John Dickson Carr novel. She resisted the temptation to sit on the edge of her seat out of spite.
"Among Mr. Boyd's papers were found a diary devoted entirely to a very specific case. A man by the name of Roland Caspar, shaken by the state of the world and convinced that an apocolyptic event was inevitable, had elected to encase himself in a single-room concrete bunker far under the earth. According to Boyd's papers, he faked his death and entrusted his secret only to the deceased Mr. Boyd."
Ellen faltered, gave it some thought, and continued. "I mean, Boyd was alive at the time Caspar signed on, but he's dead now. Oh, Boyd's dead, not Caspar. Sorry about that. I just didn't want there to be any confusion between the Boyds. He had two sons and..."
"OK, we get it, Ellen. Fuck. Maybe you should let Mr. Amberson speak now." Jenny interjected. Ellen's hands fumbled around in her lap as she pouted, but in the end she knew enough to relent. She could never get very far into a story without messing up important facts.
"Thank you, Jenny," continued Mr. Amberson. "As Ellen pointed out, Boyd was not only the sole person to know of Caspar's plan, but also remained his only link to the outside world. The journal covers nearly two decades of clandestine meetings, all made through a two-way, closed radio transmitter-receiver. Supposedly, Boyd had committed himself to the project completely. Blueprints I found a few days into the investigation show that the concrete bunker was created with absolutely no windows, doors or other points of entry. The only way inside was through five feet of reinforced concrete, buried under tons of earth. Supposedly Boyd had some means of providing food and water for himself, as by the dimensions shown on the blueprints, it's unlikely that he had enough room for twenty years worth of supplies.
"Boyd's last journal entry was one week before he passed away. By the time we found the journal it had been a month since anyone had contacted the entombed Mr. Caspar. The radio, which we found in Boyd's tool shed, worked fine, but though we were able to get a signal, Caspar did not respond. The only noise from his end was a sizzling sound that we could not fully distinguish. None of which would be a problem if Boyd had revealed the location of the bunker, which he did not for the sake of client confidentiality. The insurance company cannot make a ruling on the rather sizable claim without further inspection of the premises, and one presumes, the body of Mr. Caspar. This is the first time we've been unable to solve a disappearance, accident, foul play, or hoax, whichever the case may be."
Jenny leaned forward. "So the last resort has to rely on a last resort. Sweet."
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