Blondes. They always spelled trouble.
I could tell the one standing in the middle of my office was no different; with those bored baby blues and the way she couldn’t move from window, to desk, and finally to chair, without first making sure her hips got a good look around.
I had been surprised to find her here at this hour and could only guess that my ever-reliable assistant had let her in before quitting the scene. She had that typical blonde air about her; an air of entitlement. It was an attitude that just because she was a blonde, with a gorgeous figure and Tinseltown looks, and I was a man, that God had put me here to serve her. She would learn soon enough that that assumption didn’t hold true everywhere.
Luckily for her though, it held true here.
Between the booze in my head and the loneliness huddled around it, I was ready to do my best to make her comfortable. I tripped over myself to pull the chair for her and fumbled her a cigarette, then dropped my lighter. This last at least afforded me opportunity to discreetly slide my eyes the full length of her. It was a roller coaster.
“Mr. Murphy,” she said, with false innocence, “I have a job for you.”
Now dangerous things always come in threes; there was Alvin in the bar downstairs and I was considering the blonde already as being detrimental to my health. I could only assume that the job would be the coup de grace.
“It’s my friend,” she began and she got all uneasy, this time for real. Something to do with the word “friend,” it seemed to have some special implications in this case. It spooked her.
“Anything you tell me is confidential,” I assured her. “Ms…?”
She didn’t fill in the blank.
“My friend… A man I’ve been seeing. He’s gone missing, Mr. Murphy.”
“Men go missing all the time, Ms…” She left me hanging again. “What makes you think you need a private dick?”
“This… man,” she said cautiously, “he was supposed to meet me. He never showed up.” She took quick short tugs at the cigarette. “Mr. Murphy, I think his wife may have… well I think she murdered him!”