She walked into my office on a hot, muggy night, one of those nights where you could wring the sky out like a wet pair of wool socks. She dabbed at her red eyes with a lace knit hanky and fell into the chair opposite me.
I pulled my feet off the desk and looked the dame over. She didn't look like my usual clientele, not by a long shot.
I'm Gyle, by the way. R. Gyle, and I'm a detective.