Maybe getting their coffee between cases. I pictured doing PI work for her and her idiot boss. So I told her, 'It's me or your job,' to which she replied, 'Maybe you should change your job' and she meant it-her firm needed a private investigator and she wanted me to take the job. I mean, Jeez, lady, I know somebody has to do it, and the money is terrific, but I was feeling matrimonially challenged. The last straw was when she took the case of a high-level drug guy who, aside from his American problems, was wanted in Colombia for icing a judge. I mean, I'm trying to put scumbags in the slammer, and the woman I'm sleeping with is trying to keep them in business. He may have liked more than her style, but aside from that, our marriage became a conflict of interest. She switched sides and took a high-paying job with a big-name defense attorney who liked her style in court. Robin, by the way, was a Manhattan assistant district attorney once, which is how I met her. She said, 'I reached Emma at her florist shop, and she's on her way to the Peconic Historical Society house.' Maybe it was another brown-bearded man in a white Porsche. Yet, he didn't seem to recall his June visit. Fredric Tobin had been at the Gordons' on at least one occasion. Murphy asked, 'Where is she?' 'Detective Penrose? She's home with morning sickness.'Īpparently Mr. I shook my head sadly then said, 'Okay, thanks again.' I exited quickly, got back into my Jeep, and drove off.

Over the causeway and onto Main Road, heading back toward the hamlet of Cutchogue. Remember, don't talk to anyone except Chief Maxwell, me, and Detective Penrose. I told her it concerned the Gordon murders. I couldn't see anything sinister about the place, no paintings of burning churches on the walls, no black candles, no needlepoint pentagrams or black cats, and the kitchen had no bubbling witch's cauldron. It wasn't actually a museum in the sense of exhibits it was just a decorated period house. I didn't see or hear anyone in the house, so I wandered about from room to room. The place was all antiques, of course, mostly junk if you want my opinion, but probably worth a bunch of buckos. The foyer was big, and to the left was a large sitting room, to the right was the dining room.

The house, as I said, was large, circa about 1850s, typical of the home of a rich merchant or sea captain. All I'm trying to do is help, and I'm getting home-towned by the local old boys.Īnyway, I drove back to the Peconic Historical Society house and parked in the small lot beside a van marked 'Whitestone Florist.' I should have opened the bottle of Tobin wine and chugged it before meeting Mrs. On the other hand, I think I had geriatric overload, and the thought of talking to one more septuagenarian was more than I could handle. I wasn't sure why I was here, but something had drawn me here. I didn't see a wedding ring, observed Agnes.

Fable 3 prince or princess