She was about ten years older than me, dressed in a simple ivory blouse and black slacks, with her thick black hair teased up in something that Jackie O might have gone with a half-century or so ago. Rhonda had on reading glasses and had the odd habit of peering over them, like she couldn’t quite believe who was sitting in front of her.
I was certainly getting that feeling now.
Her office was impeccably neat with bookshelves filled with binders and thick books on learning, along with three filing cabinets. Around her slim neck was a wide lanyard with her photo ID and keycards dangling from it.
Rhonda said, “You’re the first private investigator I’ve ever met.”
“I hope I’m leaving a good impression.”
Not a flicker of emotion on her stone-cool face. “And you want to go to the prom this
