Della’s mind was as dense as the evening fog rolling over the pier. You could see something moving around in there, but it was never clear what.
I curse the day she walked into my shabby, third-floor walk-up office. First thing I deduced was that she was dressed all wrong. Her floral print rayon sundress and matching teal brocade espadrille wedges were more suited for a tea party, not schmoozing with me, a low life private dick.
It didn’t take her long to spill her dark, sordid story, and it took even less time for me to take her case.