Ben Hansen
Several minutes passed, the dynamic duo sitting awkwardly while their bemused hostess made their drinks in a distant kitchen.
"So," Ben said, his blatantly false smile gracing Hugh from beneath half-lidded eyes momentarily before he continued to glance about the room. Hugh wondered why he seemed so eager to take everything in, sometimes. Was he hypervigilant, always on the alert for a hypothetical attack that may arise at any moment? Or was he just looking for valuables?
Hugh pondered this for a while, before concluding that Ben was just desirous of some real food and searching for anything that could be laid claim to before their hostess returned. He pondered his own place in the affair, wondering if there was anything in the vicinity he should be taking in. Nothing leapt to mind.
It dawned on him that Ben was looking at him strangely. The stain had long since faded into irrelevance, Hugh was sure, and he hadn't done anything worthy of note.
He cast his mind back over recent events and, finally concluding that Ben actually expected a reply to his own non-committal statement, considered the various alternatives before hazarding the response which seemed most apt.
"...So," he said. Ben smiled, seemingly satisfied, and sat back, arms stretching across the couch's (and Hugh's) back. Ben pulled a chocolate coin from his pocket, and after offering a half to Hugh (politely declined), unwrapped it, cramming the slightly melted brown mass into his own mouth.
They were uncomfortably close.
"You know, Hugh..."
"Yes, Ben?"
"We're all alone in here..."
"Yep."
"Nobody would ever know if we -"
And their hostess, thankfully, chose that moment to appear. She unceremoniously plonked a coffee, a tea, some Milo and a glass of tonic water before the one, and some Milo before the other.
"We're fresh out of fanta, sorry," she said, a twitch of her lips suggesting that if she had any love, affection or passing interest in the two she'd have smiled.
"Never mind, those eyes are sweet enough," Ben stammered. Hugh pinched the bridge of his nose, a frown placed upon his chin.
"Anyway," their hostess forestalled, "Let's get started. Who are you two?"
"I'm Hugh and my partner here is Ben," Ben said.
Hugh stared.
Ben winked.
Hugh wondered if it would be too overt a gesture to bury his head in his hands.
"My brother hired you to find his murderer?" their hostess replied.
"Murderer?" Hugh muttered. "I barely know 'er."
"I could get to know 'er," Ben snidely interjected, a wink directed at the hostess.
"And your name?" Hugh put in before the hostess had a chance to digest this.
"You - Oh, my name is Hillary Schotologeny."
"A very erudite sounding name, ma'am."
"Oh, not at all. It's gibberish."
"Ah. Anyway, your brother turned up on our doorstep a short while ago -"
"Without a hiccup," Ben added.
"Sans hiccup - to hire us, that is me and him -" here Hugh paused to jab his thumb vindictively towards his gangly companion - "to investigate his murder."
"Which isn't a murder."
"So we're investigating his assault."
"Battery."
"Whatever it is."
"Murder."
"Yes," Hillary nodded, "He's not the brightest of rocks in the garden, our Neville. It really gets quite infuriating at times. If somebody hadn't beat me to it, I might've stabbed him myself before long."
Ben tried to jot this down in a notepad surreptitiously and succeeded only in loud rustles that attracted the looks of Hugh and Hillary both. He put the notepad away once again, a mild blush rising.
"Can we see the crime scene?" he asked, seeking to divert their attention.
"Can I get some lemon juice and sugar in this?" Hugh asked, proffering the tonic water he'd been offered.
"See the crime scene?" Hillary asked, picking Hugh's glass up and moving back towards the kitchen. "You're sitting in it, boys."
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