The New Client
By J.M. Snyder
She walked into my office as if she’d just
bought the place. Gorgeous, with a head of blonde curls, soulful
eyes, and a pout that made her look hard to please. A mouth like
that, you wanted to smile at just to see if it would smile back. I
tried, but she didn’t take the bait. “Richard Guy?” she asked. I
pushed my chair away from the desk and nodded. “I heard you
specialize in missing persons.”
I nodded again. “You heard right.” She untied
the belt that cinched her raincoat around her waist, exposing an
ample bosom barely restrained by her tight sweater. As she prised a
photograph from between her breasts, I warned, “I only find
them—what you do after that is your business. And you are…?”
“Tiffany Murphy,” she said, in a tone
suggesting I should
