Angel & Miss Piggy
Angel tapped on the door, still debating if he wanted the woman to be home or not. Wesley'd had quite a few things to say about the inhuman actress, and it sounded as if Miss Piggy had a few similarities to Darla. Blond, image-conscious, willing to play on the reactions of others, and possessing a determined mind under a pretty face.
It wasn't a comforting comparison.
"Who is it?" A voice called from inside.
"My name's Angel. I wanted to ask you a few questions," he hoped that she'd open the door. Being invited in might be a bit much to hope for, but he preferred to at least see who he was talking to.
"Does this involve that detective agency?" the door opened, revealing Miss Piggy, enveloped in a purple silk robe, blond curls cascading to her shoulders.
Now she was really reminding him of Darla.
Smiling at the blond actress, Angel nodded. “I know that Wesley talked with you before. I wanted to talk to you about that and a few other things.”
“Come in, sit down, make yourself comfortable,” she smiled at him, waving him inside.
Angel wasn’t sure why he felt a cold shiver run down his back. He stepped inside, and soon found himself settled in a plushy pink chair, with two big pillows collapsing over his lap. It left him feeling almost trapped. “Thank you.”
“So you’re the Angel who owns Angel Investigations,” her voice was thoughtful. “Not bad at all.”
Angel felt quite uncomfortable as he nodded. “We’ve been pursuing a number of leads on the case of your agent, Mr. Lanomer.”
“What sort of results have you uncovered?” She shifted in her seat, the robe falling a little on her shoulder. The movement looked entirely casual, gracefully seductive.
He remembered Darla practicing one very similar for hours before she was satisfied that she’d got just the right mix of seductive and casual.
“We’ve found a remarkable number of people who didn’t like him, but didn’t kill him,” Angel admitted. “Of course, there are still a large number of people that we’re investigating, and several more that we’re trying to locate. I was hoping that you might be able to help with that.”
“And so you come to moi,” she mused, one hand stroking the arm of her chair. “I do have better records of where some of us are now. The only one who might know as much about where we’ve all gone is Kermie. Who are you looking for?”
“Wesley’s got an address for PePe, and I’ve sent Cordelia to talk to Gonzo. We’re still trying to track down Muppet Labs, and if you could get a current address for Scooter Dee, the former stage manager?” Angel looked at her, wanting to finish things so he could get out of here. Darla always did something nasty once she had her victims in her gilded clutches, and Piggy was far too similar for his comfort.
“Hmmm,” she pulled out a lavender book, and started flipping through pages. “Bunsen keeps getting chased out of buildings after a few major explosions, so it’s not surprising that you’re having trouble finding them. Here’s… no, not since last month. This is the address as of Friday.”
Angel watched as she wrote out an address, not surprised at the monogrammed page. “Thank you, I think. We need to talk to them, but ‘want to’ might not be the right words.”
“And here’s Scooter’s address. He hasn’t been working in the business since our theater closed. I think he’s been working for some sort of packing company,” Miss Piggy wrinkled her snout at this. “Poor guy. He loved working for the theater.”
Angel took the paper, looking at the curling handwriting. “Thank you for your help, Miss Piggy.”
“Has anyone tried to find the Count yet?” her voice was softer, almost hesitant.
“Honestly, we’ve been trying to keep that for last,” Angel admitted. “We’ve done a background search on him, and he was… The fact that he was a close friend of my grandfather is somewhat terrifying.”
“What else have you found on him?” Miss Piggy asked.
“A mathematician in Williamsburg, over a century ago. The death was… rather similar to the one suffered by Mr. Lanomer, and it was covered in extensive detail. We also have a contact that had a few stories about a more recent visit of the Count’s to the Hellmouth, and he left a group of rather traumatized minions,” Angel shivered again, glad that he had missed that visit. Anything that had the Master’s minions running out of the lair during the day to work on a plan to get someone away from Sunnydale… And there had been something about medication. Entire packs of demons that had sworn never to interfere with vampires on medication ever again.
“I thought he was on medication?” Miss Piggy’s fingers tapped on the arm of her chair.
“Medication can be interfered with, or run out. And we’re hoping that it wasn’t him,” Angel countered.
“I thought there was some sort of bigger, scarier person who dealt with misbehaving vampires?” her voice held confusion. “Some word that wasn’t in English…”
“The title gets translated often,” Angel murmured. “In English, it’s Slayer. From what I’ve heard about the Count, he’s met them before, and that means before he was on medication. He’s still here and they aren’t.”
“That would explain why you’d rather it was something else,” she nodded. “Please, keep me informed.”
Angel nodded, escaping the cushions of the pink chair. “Of course, Miss Piggy. We’re working hard on this case. I do hope that it hasn’t been too damaging to your career?”
“A minor setback,” she waved a hand. “We might reform the theater, if enough of us are still interested. Just the other day, Scooter said he found a building that would make a perfect theater, and it would be just like old times.”
“I hope things work out for you,” Angel kissed her fingers, certain that she would prefer that to a pedestrian handshake.
He left the building with the addresses clutched in his hand, feeling like he’d had a narrow escape.
End Angel & Miss Piggy.