"This is character driven hardboiled noir that actually works."--Russel D. McLean, CrimeSceenScotland.com
"With murder, women, and some choice stories, this book is a must."--Detective Mystery Stories
"If you want great characters, mysteries that are not the norm, and a work that draws you into the storyline, you will want to read this book."--Shirley Johnson Midwest Book Review
"Very entertaining."--Robert H. Goss Roundtablereviews.com
Didymus
Braking to stop at a traffic light, I debated how many millions a shanty in this McLean, Virginia neighborhood commanded. Money, the devil's spawn. Why I bet a methamphetamine lab cooked its death brew in that corner estate. And over yonder in that French Colonial once owned by Teddy Kennedy, they shot snuff films. True or not, all sordid goings-on of the rich and famous soured my stomach. And yet here I was again back in their clutches.
Of course, there always came the exception. Like now. Pulling away, I checked my Timex. Ninety minutes to assemble a bag, hop on my flight, and ride in First Class to Ankara. Only the best by this client. From the get-go, we'd hit it off.
"My twin sister has a glass eye." Speaking, George DuPont had hurried over to top off my tumbler with bourbon. "I snagged it, you see, with a trout fly when we were just kids vacationing in Jackson Hole. A fishing accident. Ever since, I've been overly protective of Ginger. We're so inseparable people call us 'double trouble.'"
"What was she doing in Turkey?" I asked.
"Ginger is an archeologist," George replied. "I often underwrite her field projects. She left for Ankara three weeks ago, then abrupt silence. Perhaps she's on another expedition, out of contact. She gets so absorbed in her work."
"Did you scare up a recent photo of her?"
"Surely." A color print emerged from the rolltop desk. "Is your passport valid, Frank?"
"It is, George."
Eyebrows waggled below his shaggy hair. "Stupendous. Your jetliner leaves out of Dulles Airport at five-twenty."
"One last thing," I said. "Any idea where your sister disappeared?"
"I'm not positive she has. In fact, I'm probably overreacting. But even if there's a smidgen of a chance Ginger is in peril, I want to be ready to dash in leading the 7th Cavalry. Just locate her, report back she's okay. Put my mind at rest. That's all. Have a safe trip."
An alluring, young secretary with gymnast legs in a short blue skirt ushered me by miles of mirrors and mahogany to the high vaulted portico. Thinking with the wrong head, I ached to jump her bones.
"Have a safe trip," she repeated, the door clicking shut.
Why don't you come along, mix in a little spice? I thought.
Unhatted in the icy spring rain, I regretted that I couldn't linger longer to drink DuPont's booze. Or ogle the flirtatious secretary now smirking a smile through a side window.
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