It was a mysterious whisper of a voicewith an alarming sense of urgency
and a tinge of familiarity. Had I heard it before?
I'd been a shamus my whole adult life and heaven knows I'd talked to a million people along the way.
In this crazy business you hear a lot of voices and do a lot of waiting and drink a lot of coffee--
comes with the territory.
She said that it was vital that I meet her at Chez Marchand at seven that night--
a matter of life and death.
I told her ok but I wanted to know her name and could she tell me what it was about.
She replied that she would explain everything when we met,
that she desperately needed my services
and to make sure that I was packing.
Alarms went off. I told her that I was for hire for any legitimate purpose
but it was four hundred dollars a day plus expenses.
"That will be fine. I'll be the one with the red rose and fur wrap—faux fur, of course." She hung up.
Faux fur? Interesting detail, I thought.
When I arrived at the swanky joint, I was ready for anything.
Was this woman in trouble with the law? Being chased by hoods? Stalked by some crazy ex?
I scanned the room.
There, seated at a cozy spot in the corner
looking like a vision of every beautiful dame there ever was--
with a red rose and a fur wrap, faux fur of course--
was my wife.
The maitre d' walked me over.
She looked up and I remembered all over again just why I had been a done deal
since the first moment I saw her.
"You the private dick?" she asked.
"Oh yes ma'am," I answered, "very private."
"Yeah well, you'd better be!" she declared.
I sat down and told her in a soft voice, "Sorry I've been working so much lately.
It has been a while since we've been out on the town. Who was it on the phone?"
"Amanda. You know, my friend from the garden club.
It was all we could do not to break out laughing."
"So, you got my four hundred bucks?" I asked.
She got serious and mysterious and whispered,
"That depends, shamus. Are you packing?"
I sure was.
Written Content G.A.M. cc
Private Chic Margarita Borodina