A fool. That’s what they called her. There’s no way she could figure out how to get to the bottom of the “Author Contacts” case. She sighed. It was just like them, thinking she was just a two-bit hack detective not fit to wipe her shoes on the doormat of a police department. She’d show them. But first, she had some work to do contacting some ‘ranger’ who might have a little information she needed.
They met underneath a single lamppost in the middle of a deserted park. He approached nervously, shifting his eyes like a man watching a tennis match. “Where’s the stuff, Frank?”, she asked. “Here”, he gruffed pushing a crumpled envelope towards her. She opened it, ruffling through it. Everything was there. “Get out of here, Frank”, she said, “You sicken me”. With the information she needed under wraps, it was time to start the case.
It had started out easy, perhaps a little too easy. Where was the thrill, the excitement, the knowledge that only she could track down the needed information? A couple of bum leads and she was ready for a cold martini. Staring at the computer screen in the dim light, the lightning flashing behind her, she stubbed out her cigar. She sighed, rubbing her forehead. “I guess the broad was right,” she said aloud standing up and slinging her trench coat over her shoulder. “I guess this work will never truly be over”.
Later, Blog readers!
Author: Shannon Anderson