Leave it to a man to be all up in a woman’s business without rhyme or reason. They’ve been terrorizing us for centuries, I don’t know why I thought working for Investigator Abrams would be any different. And before you ask, no- there aren’t any women PI’s in Starkville. I will be the first one. That is, if I can survive this internship.

Abrams has been hired by a suspicious local businessman who believes his wife is sleeping with someone. He’s a portly, crass man and I can’t imagine why she would want to do that. Abrams has been on this case for weeks to no avail. As it turns out, their gardener (that was his number one suspect) happens to be happily married to his husband of 10 years. He spent far too long trailing the poor fellow from hot yoga to whole foods on the daily.

So we have no leads. Abrams is listless, poring over the case file & cursing over his whiskey glass. He has a brilliant idea and cajoles his client into inviting anyone his wife interacts with to a soiree chez eux.

The night of, we stand against the wall, surreptitious as possible. The lady of the house is a vision in a pearl opalescent gown, her smile wound by a red ring of lip stain. The night progresses, people get drunker and Abrams sniffs like an old bloodhound. He too imbibes and grows dull. The only scent he caught by nights end was an obtuse side eye from the client’s cousin once removed (he was checking the client’s wife out.)

I had done my research. There is a stunning administrative assistant that Mr. Crass recently employed who has been helping around the house, and I’ll be damned if I didn’t see red lipstick on her blouse collar..

but I think I’ll let this underserved wife have her fun.

After all, once I get started, no one in this town will have secrets.