Hanky Panky



IN PIGEON FORK, KENTUCKY, MONEY TALKS. BUT I SHOULDN'T HAVE BEEN LISTENING THE DAY IT BELONGED TO MAEDEAN PUCKETT...

I smelled a rat the minute I heard what Maedean Puckett wanted me to do, but I admit that didn't stop me from taking her fifteen hundred dollars. For months the number of clients needing a detective in Pigeon Fork, pop. 1,511, matched the local crime statistics. Zero. I wasn't about to look a paying customer in the mouth though I did stare at Maedean's skintight leopard print pants, low cut blouse, and Poopsie, the poodle in her arms. She told me she was having "merry-tull" problems and needed to know if I was a really private investigator. My secretary Melba is the town gossip, but I pride myself on confidentiality and said so. That's when Maedean made her wacky request.

I informed her it was a dingbat idea, not in those words, mind you. She wanted me to put her under surveillance twenty-four hours a day to prove to her husband, Dwight, that she wasn't cheating. Although I thought she was a few cans short of a six-pack, I did it ... until Dwight was murdered. In his hand was a hanky with Maedean's initials right on it. Not as incriminating as her name written in blood, but close. That's when I figured it out. Maedean had an airtight alibi--me. Now I felt obliged to investigate the case and find out if I was a patsy for the merriest widow in town....
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