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“Ready to go home?” Blanc’s question was quite simple, not exactly something Helen should have any problem answering and yet…
…did she really have a home? Yes, of course, she liked being a teacher (love was too strong of a word for it) and her parents were great people; people she cared about and whom she wanted to remain in her life. Still, none of this meant she had an actual place she liked to call Home and, in all earnest, as terrible and selfish as it had been, helping The Greatest Detective Alive had been the more she had been alive for a very long time.
It had been reckless, dangerous and quite nonsensical at times, but the thrill rushing through her veins had been worth all the nervousness (and the rather late in life discovery of what a lot of alcohol upon an empty stomach can do). She wondered if this is how her sister had felt, toying with the potential of otherwise despicable people and risking everything on the charm of a pathetic conman as Miles.
Goddammit! She had going to give it to Andi in the end. She didn’t like the idea a bit. After all, Andi’s fate hadn’t exactly been one to be longed for…
“Screw it. Brand, get it together. Today you blew up a rich asshole stupid corny mansion in the middle of Greece. Anything else will be mild and safe as children’s blanket in comparison” she thought.
She turned to the Detective, who was muttering something about getting back to Stephen in a new Among Us game, since he was indeed a brilliant composer and lyricist, but he was a much better investigator.
“This guy is half nuts, Helen, you’d better know what you are doing” she told herself one more time before, almost speaking in a very Andi-manner again, said:
“How would you like an assistant?”
Since the Pandemic had begun, Marta had to admit Meg Thrombey had become a rather pleasant companion, if she still sometimes wanted to strangle her when the born-into-health woman seemed to forget that, currently, the one with the financial resources was Marta. Even if she had used most of it to give back to those who were always stepped on and to turn her nurse degree into a doctor’s one (though she still worked as a helper, only that know coordinating a centre she had financed for those people that weren’t as fortunate -economically wise, that is- as Harlan had been).
“So…this new job…do you really think you can turn the girlfriend of a machitoesfera into a popular figure around democrats?” Meg scoffed.
“Of course I am not sure! But, you know, since you are still backing me up…” she almost blushed as she said so, making Ana having to contain an eye roll. She knew pretty well her crush on the other woman had been mutual, but Meg had been too much of a privileged rich ally to acknowledge to herself she felt into the queerness of it all.
And, even if Marta’s infatuation was far gone by this point, Meg still felt a bit uncomfortable when put in a situation that could be, even remotely, be considered a couple-ish’s-thing.
Meg had continued speaking, as Marta got lost in her own thoughts, giving her all the details about how to approach her turn to the left (a remarkable thing in this country, coming to think about it) and some other points that, knowing Meg, it was better to not have heard.
“In conclusion, I think Whiskey and I had a very hard task ahead of us, but we will be able to handle it” she finished with a teen-with-a-crush smile and Marta had to roll her eyes internally again.
“Sal de una puta vez del armario, Meg, POR DIOS” she prayed in ther mother’s tongue.
She was going to be forced to give a fake translation (and phrase it so she wouldn’t be lying) when the doorbell rang and Marta had to contain herself not to giggle of happiness to go an open the door, ready to welcome the man who had, via correspondence and shared live-unforgettable-events, become one of her closest friends.
She lost her breath as she opened, for Benoit was not there, but a very beautiful woman, only a few years older than her, with curly hair and a messy sweater-centric outfit. Her dark skin and eyes matched almost magically and her ever so slightly uncomfortable smile made her blush the moment her blood decided it could flow through her veins and arteries once again.
“You are not Blanc” the newly arrived woman frowned for a second, her expression so clear the words “Obviously not!” could be heard without a single one of them being said out-loud.
“Well, this is what happens when you let your shitty driver husband park in Population Nowhere” Marta shrugged and tried to content her emotion in front of this new person. She had wanted to meet Benoit’s husband for a quite already. “Uh…not to be rude or anything but…it is not exactly hot outside and your house seems a little too big for you alone”.
Marta was going to reply how she wasn’t alone, but chose not to. Meg owed her enough (both economically and emotionally), accepting this person’s presence wouldn’t by far the price she ought to pay, so she better not complain.
“Helen, by the way” she tended a hand with a pose that felt learned and, in all earnest, no completely hers. Marta wondered which story would there be behind and put a mental note to ask later, if there was ever a trust connection formed between the two of them.
“Ojalá”.
When they reached the living room, Meg had gone, leaving only a note:
Forgot about a meeting of What Can We Do? see you another day. Loves, Meg.
The name of the group gave Marta nauseas compared to the ones she felt when lying. The condescendence was almost readable.
Once again, she tried to remind herself that Meg, at least, was trying; not as every other single member of the previous owners of her house had done…
“You got company?”
“Uh, yeah, a…family friend” at this, the other woman smirked.
“Ah! One of the rich dead-ass assholes that used to own this place, right?” Marta burst into spontaneous laughter at the boldness of Helen.
“Pretty much, yes”.
They sat and, trying not to let an uncomfortable silence sink in, Marta asked Helen how she started working with Benoit Blanc, The Greatest Detective Alive.
At this, her expression turned sour for a second and then just said that “he had helped me to bury some of my sister’s literal demons”.
Having failed at not provoking an uncomfortable silence, Marta decided that, instead, she would ask about the cases they had together, just in case she knew any of them. Of course she did; apparently, among others, Helen had been the mysterious figure appearing to the Chief of the CIA in the Mysterious Case of the Spy that Was Always Known; that had been speculated about for months.
Helen explained that, after they were certain he was the one leaking information of certain agents under the false prefect of protecting more the ones not yet revealed, knowing he was an extremely superstitious man and that nobody close to the man had seen her that far in the investigation, it was perfect to appear as one of his very first victims, who looked a lot like her. After she finished the story, she joked about looking like too many ill-formed corpses, thing that Marta clearly didn’t get this last piece of information and marked down for later on asking.
Then, it was Helen’s time to ask, and she wondered who Marta did to still be an actual real human being worth breathing while having much more money than so many of those privileged little shits.
Marta shrugged and thought fondly of Harlan and how good he had always been to her. She also thought about her family that, even if they had taken in all the money she had offered, hadn’t been confident enough yet to get new jobs (or even attempt at quitting their previous ones) because “new money comes and go every day, querida”.
“I guess I have some people to look up to…” realising a tear was threatening with leaving her eye, she chose to ask a much lighter question.
“Tea or coffee?” to this, Helen gave her a cheeky grin.
“Have you ever tried both at the same time?”
“Sacrilegio” she thought; half horrified, half too curious to deny the challenge.
They were definitively going to try it; the morning looked rather good.
Benoit and Philipp finally arrived a couple of hours later, to find both women in an intense conversation touching hands without even noticing.
Both men stared at each other and Philipp gave the detective a thumbs up gesture before the man coughed, politely.
“So…chase to the proper case?”