The Peculiar Case of Agnes Astor Smith Read online

  “It’s strange, sure, but definitely legal. I don’t really know the full extent of the position, yet. So far, I seem to be organizing files in her rather... strange organizational system,” I smiled, taking another swallow of my drink. He tapped his fingers on the arm of his chair, seeming to consider his next words very carefully. I could tell that he was confused, but truth be told, so was I. I wouldn’t let it get between me and this exciting new experience, though.

  “So you’re working for a woman... organizing her things. What sort of compensation are you receiving?” He asked, giving me a chance to explain myself. I opened my mouth to reply, pausing and flapping my lips for a moment when I realized I hadn’t been paid yet. I hadn’t even thought to discuss pay, with as much fun as I’d had.

  “We haven’t quite discussed the pay, yet, but I’m sure I’ll be compensated for my time,” I said nervously, realizing just how bad that sounded. My father’s expression turned somewhat more stern, and he rose to his feet, offering me his hand.

  “The roast is probably done. Come on, we can talk more over dinner,” he suggested, his voice sounding a bit more strained than usual. I couldn’t really blame him, considering he seemed to think I was being taken advantage of. I kept quiet for the time being, trying to formulate a way of explaining how the job seemed so important to me. I knew it didn’t make sense, or wouldn’t make sense to my father.

  Sitting down at the table, I smiled at the older man as he served up some of the roast with a sizeable serving of mashed potatoes, gravy, and steamed vegetables. He completely filled my plate, and though I didn’t expect that I’d be able to finish the large meal, I didn’t say as much. When he sat opposite me, his expression turned pensive once more.

  “How much do you actually know about this woman? Did you do a background check, or anything to ensure she’s not some sort of psychopath?” He inquired. I tapped my fingers on the table, shoving a spoonful of food into my mouth to stall. I could lie, but I didn’t trust myself to do so with any measure of conviction.

  “I don’t know much of anything about her. I’m sure she’ll tell me more in time,” I said after swallowing. He still didn’t seem convinced.

  “Well, before you quit your job at the framing shop, I’d suggest you give this woman a bit of a trial run. See how it works out, and then if it isn’t as... enthralling as you seem to think, you’ll have a normal job to return to,” he suggested. I hummed under my breath, realizing that he had already made up his mind that the position wouldn’t work out. I took another bite, savoring my food.

  “I really think this job will be good for me. It’s strange, but I just have this certainty that everything is going to work out for the best,” I smiled. He nodded quietly, returning his attention to his food.

  The rest of the visit passed rather uneventfully, and I bid my father a good night before making my way back through those winding roads. I was tired, and in spite of how sure I had felt, I was beginning to entertain some vague doubts. I didn’t know much about Agnes at all, except for her name. I hoped that was enough to get some measure of information from a web search. I immediately made a beeline for my computer when I got home, booting it up and opening my browser of choice. I typed her name into the search bar, only receiving a few scarce articles that sourced old work of hers. I couldn’t find the original source material for the life of me, but it seemed that she was something of a scholar.

  I decided that, regardless of my results, my dad had a point. I dialed up my boss’s number, reaching his voicemail as I might have expected. It was much easier to lie over the phone, so I swiftly made up some excuse about my father getting injured while hunting. I explained that I would have to be out for a week or so to take care of him, and left my contact number just in case there was any problem with the vacation. I doubted there would be, my boss was pretty lenient when it came to my days off. After all, I’d only used a total of around two sick days for the entire duration I’d worked for him. He had no reason to suspect I’d be making something up just to pursue other interests.

  Hanging up the phone, I found myself grabbing the newspaper clipping from my bag, looking over it with a faintly fond smile. Though I had my doubts, I still had a large measure of excitement. Agnes seemed harmless, so the worst thing I could see her doing is ducking out without paying me—a difficult task considering she’d welcomed me into her home. I sincerely doubted she would move just to avoid the end result of a prank gone wrong. She was eccentric, I would admit that much, but I didn’t think she was entirely insane. I may not have been the best judge regarding a sound state of mind, but I was sure that things would work out.

  They had to.

  Chapter Four

  Promptly at noon, as Agnes had specified, I rapped my knuckles on her front door. I waited patiently for an answer, startled when Agnes yanked the door open and considered me with a wry smile. She gestured for me to follow her inside and I, of course, obliged.

  “Punctual. I like it,” she said quietly, as if speaking to herself. I felt somewhat proud of myself, in spite of how infantile it may have seemed. There was something about the woman that just made you strive to impress her. I was sure I was far from the only person to fall victim to her inexplicable charms.

  We walked towards the library in a companionable silence, and I noted that the other woman seemed a bit more excited than the last time I’d seen her. I wondered what sparked the burst of enthusiasm, mouth hanging open a bit as she grabbed a large tome from her desk and placed it in my arms. I stared at the cover, not quite sure what to say. It was something regarding the discovery of the United States, for all the depths and intricacies of the subject. I smiled widely, touched to receive such a gift—especially considering that it seemed to have been taken from her personal collection.

  “What... what’s this for?” I said a bit nervously, worried I might offend her. She simply smiled, turning away from me to consider the documents that had piled up on her desk once more.

  “Just a small gift. You seemed interested in the subject,” she said airily, and I sat the book on the desk, flipping it open. It was certainly extensive, and I found myself humming aloud as I considered the contents.

  “I’ve never been that much of a history buff. The only reason I knew so much about this subject is because it was one of my dad’s favorites,” I admitted, realizing abruptly how ungrateful I must sound. She seemed nonplussed, in fact, she seemed particularly interested.

  “Well, is there any subject in this library that you were particularly drawn to?” She asked, and I felt my cheeks redden a bit. It was strange for someone to care about my interests, though I’m sure she had to have some deeper reasoning. I didn’t think there was anything nefarious about it by any means, but she seemed to have a rhyme and reason to everything she did. I didn’t have to consider my answer for long, in any case.

  “I’ve always been interested in Pompeii. I know that may seem a bit strange, considering how little information there is aside from the same old repetitive thing. It just seems like a mystery I’d like to sink my teeth into. Not that I’m a scholar by any means, not like you...” I trailed off, and she looked at me a bit oddly. “I was looking at some articles that sourced your work... I couldn’t find the source materials, which seemed a bit strange, but you seem to know your stuff,” I smiled.

  “And you are the perfect picture of curiosity. The files were likely lost to the sands of time, I’ll see if I still have them in my possession,” she said a bit dramatically, especially considering that she didn’t look all that elderly. I couldn’t help but smile a bit at her antics, enjoying how curious it was to be working for the woman. I opened my mouth to speak, but she held up a hand as her cell phone began to ring. For some strange reason, I almost hadn’t expected her to have a cell phone—it seemed almost too modern for her. It was out of place in this vast library, filled with ancient texts and handwritten documents in languages I couldn’t always place.

  I looked on quietly as she c
onversed with whoever it was who had called, watching as her expression shifted to one of delight. She gestured wildly while making mention of some ‘artifact’, and when she hung up I was nearly overwhelmed with anticipation. She shoved some of her things into a patchwork bag, throwing it over her shoulder and gesturing for me to follow her.

  “Where are we going? Who was that?” I asked, butterflies of excitement curling their wings in my stomach. It was so different from the average, day to day life I’d been living—Agnes was simply so vivacious and bright, and her exuberance was nothing if not infectious.

  “We’re going to the museum downtown. They have an artifact that they’d like for me to study, as I’m the most qualified in the area. I expect you’d like to come along?” The older woman prompted, and I nodded frantically. “Right then, come along,” she said in a hurry, bustling me out of the house and towards a rather expensive looking vehicle in a carport that I’d not paid any mind to previously. I had to swallow my gasp of awe, wondering just how wealthy Agnes truly was. If her house and collection of books were any indication, she had a vast amount of money—of the sort that someone like me couldn’t begin to fathom. In spite of myself, I found myself wondering just what sort of financial compensation she may be providing for my job as her assistant. Would it be hundreds? Potentially thousands? I didn’t want to get ahead of myself, but the odds were promising.

  “Your car is quite nice,” I observed, trying not to feel intimidated as I reached out to open the passenger door. She hummed her acknowledgement, slipping into the driver’s seat and pulling on a pair of gloves. I watched with fascination as I settled into the passenger seat, fastening myself in before folding my hands in my lap. She glanced over at me, her eyes dancing with mirth.

  “Are you ready to ride, Clyde?” She inquired teasingly before shifting into gear. She shifted to let the top down, and a thrill shot through me at the prospect of the wind blowing through my hair.

  “Y-yes. I’m ready,” I stammered out, feeling somewhat nervous. This car was much nicer than my father’s convertible (though God forbid he ever heard that implication). I felt wealthy by association just sitting at Agnes’ side. When she tore out of the driveway, I jolted before clutching the armrests of the seat. The other woman laughed, her voice melodic as we streaked down the city streets. If she was concerned about the law, or the repercussions of her speeding, she didn’t give any indication. It was as if she was free of such worries, safe to live her life in whatever manner she deemed appropriate. I longed to feel the same freedoms she did, to spread my wings and soar as she seemed so likely to.

  “As my assistant, you will receive full access to the museum. Though I’m going for a specific artifact, you can feel free to explore as you wish,” she called out over the wind, and I nodded quietly, lost in thought. It was usual for me to become caught up in the intricacies of my own mind, though I was often burdened of thoughts regarding whether or not I was good enough. What I longed to be ‘good enough’ for was never specifically clear, just a sense of feeling like I should be better as a person. Less meek, more adventurous, more like Agnes, truth be told. The thing about being remarkably normal is that you’re not necessarily thrilled by your lack of excitement. I’d never had any sort of rebellious phase as a teen, getting good grades and doing right by my father through whatever means possible. I never felt the need to rebel like some of the other girls my age, with their vibrantly colored hair and tattoos gotten primarily out of spite.

  “What exactly are you being sent to study,” I inquired softly, trying to tame my hair back into place as we parked in the back of the museum.

  “It’s actually quite ironic. You mentioned how much Pompeii interested you, and I’m called in to look over an artifact recovered near Mount Vesuvius,” she mused aloud, and I tried to ignore the excitement alighting shocking tingles through my extremities. To be part of something like this, to see something that may have been from the very lost city I dreamed of was an experience I never could have expected, coming into this job. It was an experience I never could have hoped to achieve, working my dull job at the framing shop. She watched my expression carefully, seeming amused by my almost childish sense of wonder. “Come along, then. Let’s go have a look,” she hummed as she emerged from the car. I moved to get out as well, forgetting about my seatbelt for one long and embarrassing moment. She didn’t linger to watch me struggle, and I was torn between being grateful and afraid that she’d slip away without me being able to follow.

  “Agnes,” I called out, managing to unfasten the seatbelt and lurching out the side of the car. I nearly hit the ground in my hurry to follow her, but she paused at my bidding. “S-sorry, I got a bit, uhm. Tangled up,” I confessed, feeling utterly humiliated. She chuckled a bit before beginning to walk ahead again, almost too fast for me to keep up. I never expected her to be in such physical condition to be able to race around me in circles, though I suppose that reflected more on me than Agnes herself.

  As she reached the actual entrance, Agnes actually waited for me to fall in line beside her. She considered me from the corner of her eye, seeming serious. I wondered, irrationally, if she had somehow decided that she no longer wanted to allow me this great privilege. After all, I was just some dull city girl. I’d been capable of solving her puzzles, for the most part at least. Being privy to an artifact that likely hadn’t even been displayed yet was another matter entirely.

  “I expect you to behave with the utmost professionalism, Abigail. While I’m personally fond of your excitement for such things, you have a part to play. If it’s dreadfully clear that you’re not a scholar, I’m afraid it will reflect poorly on the both of us,” she said, her voice stern. I flinched, and her expression softened if only slightly.

  “I’ll j-just... stand by and watch, if you’re even sure you want me here,” I mumbled, trying to ignore the potential disappointment of being sent away. She scrutinized me for a long moment before gently tugging me into the museum alongside her.

  “Silly girl. I don’t waver so easily when it comes to my aides. I would not abandon you so carelessly,” she sighed dismissively, releasing me once we were inside. I trailed behind her of my own volition, nervous excitement creeping up on me once more. We strode through the museum, greeted towards the back by a tall man with a thick mustache.

  “Agnes Astor Smith, it’s such a pleasure to see you. I swear, you look younger and younger every time we meet,” he said smoothly, though Agnes didn’t seem particularly charmed. She smirked, crossing her arms over her slight chest.

  “Oh, Paul, you’ve always been a flatterer. I’m about as interested as always, which is to say, not at all,” she said slyly. I resisted the desire to flinch again, feeling bad for the older gentleman. He simply boomed out a laugh before gesturing for us to follow him deeper into the belly of the beast.

  “Charming as ever, I see. Well, unfortunately for my ego, you’re just the person we need to take a look at this piece. It was recovered on the outskirts of Mount Vesuvius, and we’ve been able to determine that it’s either from the city of Pompeii, or the lesser known Herculaneum. The extent of its preservation inclines me towards thinking the former, but we need your keen eye to know for sure,” he said casually, and I hung on to his every word like it was food for a starving man. He didn’t seem to notice me, or at least, had very little interest in me. However, as we stepped towards the room where the artifact was presumably being kept, he paused to look me over. “Is this a new assistant of yours, Agnes? She looks a bit... green, to say the least,” he said a bit haughtily. I smiled awkwardly, trying to obscure my offense. Agnes was not so kind, turning a cold expression upon the cheerful man.

  “You should know better than to question my choices, Paul. I don’t take kindly to those who belittle my associates,” she said coolly. He reddened in embarrassment, and I couldn’t help feeling somewhat touched by the older woman’s quickness to defend me.

  “O-oh, of course. Deeply sorry, young lady. Now, let’s
get to work, shall we?” He boomed, though it was clear he felt rather embarrassed by the scorn he had received. Agnes humored him at the very least, her apparent irritation seeming to evaporate as she stepped into the study where the artifact was being housed. I lingered behind her, taking note of the obvious Roman origins of the piece. It appeared to be some sort of clay pot, appropriate to the period. However, something in Agnes’ expression shifted as she took it into her hands, turning it around and around.

  “It’s in rather pristine condition,” she muttered, brushing her thumb along the side of the pot. To my amusement, her attention seemed to be focused on a woman portrayed in the art, vaguely reminiscent of herself.

  “Yes, a very beautiful piece,” the older man smiled, clearly trying to win her over again. She placed the pot back on the stand it had been placed on before we arrived, seeming to pay him little mind. She turned to consider me, her expression bright and her eyes dancing with something wild and unrestrained. I was almost shaken by the intensity of her gaze, resisting the desire to draw away as she reached out to take me by the wrist.

  “I’ll do a bit of research and get back to you, Paul. Off hand, I would determine that it likely has origins in Pompeii. I need to look into things a bit deeper, however,” she said, though it was clear she had seen something in that clay pot that set her spirits alight. The man called after us as she drew me back through the halls of the museum, walking with purpose.

  “What’s going on, Agnes?” I nervously implored, and she paused, seeming to consider her words before getting into her car.

  “I’ll answer all your questions in due time, Abigail, but in the meantime, I have a question of my own,” she smiled. I hesitated before answering.

  “What is it?”

  “Do you have a passport, dear girl?”