It was after 9:00 p.m. when Button and I returned from a long walk to the condo. Two homemade banana biscuits for Button and three peanut-butter cookies for me, and we"d been good to go. As had become routine, she"d lay on a well-padded (extremely comfortable) wicker three-seater in the lanai and survey the marina and stars, and I"d check the Triple Threat Private Investigation Agency website that I maintained and regularly updated with new crime-doesn"t-pay stories. Lastly, I"d check email. We"d get the odd one from the parent of a lost cat or some jokester, but nothing of serious this-will-pay-the-bills prominence had yet arrived in the agency"s inbox—until this evening.
I left a voice message earlier. I"m certain my wife is cheating on me, but I need proof. Millions rest on this. Will
