She smelled like angels ought to smell. That’s a line from a film I once saw.
She smelled like an angel and looked like an angel. Only without the wings! Tall, leggy, blonde, a figure to die for! Or to kill for! All of it expensively dressed in a cream silk suit that probably cost more than I earn in a year. Correction – make that five years plus an arm and leg and other assorted appendages.
Her perfume, subtle and sexy, wafted over me like a caress.
‘I want you to find my husband,’ she said.
‘I want to kiss your feet,’ I answered. Actually, no I didn’t, but I thought it.
‘Tell me,’ I answered. Just to put you in the picture, I’m a private investigator. A not very successful private investigator, not Magnum PI, Mullins PI.
Her name was Angela Mackenzie and she told me that her husban
