The Private Eye

martini and shot Odessa an irritated glance through the lenses of her rhinestone-studded glasses.
    Shirley was about the same age as the other woman but her background was considerably different. No one had taught Shirley Smith the social niceties at a tender age. To her, dressing for dinner meant slipping into a pair of stiletto heels and an extremely tight, strapless dress of shocking-pink satin that ended well above her bony knees. She was wearing her entire collection of rhinestones this evening. She even had a tiara perched on her heavily teased, brassy blond hair.
    The Colonel nodded solemnly and patted Odessa's hand with deep affection. “Shirley's absolutely right, my dear. You mustn't fret. We had no choice in the matter. It was time to take decisive action.”
    Maggie Gladstone scanned the faces of the three permanent tenants of Peregrine Manor and mentally crossed her fingers. She sincerely hoped she had done the right thing. Hiring a private investigator was an entirely new experience for her. Nevertheless, she'd read enough mystery novels to be fairly certain what to expect from the man in the black car. Excitement bubbled up in her. She was about to meet a real live private eye!
    “I'll go introduce myself and get him checked into his room. He's had a long drive from Seattle. I'm sure he'll want to change before dinner.” Maggie put down her glass of sherry and leaped to her feet.
    “Yes, of course,” Odessa said regally. “Remind him that we dress for dinner here at Peregrine Manor.” She pursed her lips. “I do hope he is a proper sort of detective. One of the old-school types that one always finds in those lovely British mysteries – not one of those brash young men who are always dashing about waving their guns on television.”
    “Strikes me we might need a man who knows how to handle a pistol,” the Colonel declared ominously.
    “Dang right,” Shirley agreed. “The last thing we need is some snobbish little wimp. This is a job for a guy with guts, as my Ricky always used to say.”
    Maggie paused in the doorway of the parlor. “He's from Business Intelligence and Security, Inc. It's one of the most exclusive security firms on the West Coast. We were very lucky to get him. I'm sure he's no wimp.
    Now, please hush, all of you. We don't want him to hear us discussing him.”
    “Run along and greet him, my dear,” Odessa said.
    “Yeah,” added Shirley with a grin. “We'll behave.”
    Maggie hurried out into the hall and caught a glimpse of herself in the huge, gilded mirror that hung near the front desk. She had chosen to wear a black silk jumpsuit that she thought complemented her slender frame.
    Her mass of tawny brown curls had been swept up on top of her head, caught with a gold clip and allowed to cascade down her neck to her shoulders.
    Maggie frowned critically at her own image and hoped she was projecting a savvy, with-it attitude. She wanted the fancy private investigator to consider her sophisticated and businesslike. High-powered city people sometimes thought they could bamboozle folks who lived in small towns such as Peregrine Point. She didn't want this expensive security expert to get the idea he could stay here at the manor for a month rent-free, write up a short report and then leave. Maggie wanted action.
    Something thumped against the door. It didn't sound like a polite knock. Maggie grabbed the knob and yanked open the door.
    She stared in amazement at the man who was standing on the front porch. Her heart sank in disappointment. He was clearly not the private investigator they'd all been anticipating, after all.
    The poor man had obviously just been released from the nearest hospital emergency room. He was balanced on crutches and his left foot was heavily taped around the ankle. There was a large white bandage on his forehead. Both of his eyes were outlined with dark, purple bruises.
    “Oh, dear,” Maggie said. “I was expecting someone else.”
    The man scowled down at her. The glowering frown only served to make an already hard-looking face appear downright ferocious. The shadow of what looked like a day's growth of beard emphasized the effect. His black hair was wet from the rain, as was the denim of his work shirt and jeans. Could her first impression have been erroneous? He was certainly tall enough to suit her image of a professional man of action, and he was built along the lean, solid lines she had envisioned. Furthermore, there was something