I noticed her as soon as I walked into the bar. She was sitting alone at a table, long platinum blonde hair, a few long rows of pearls around her neck and cascading down the front of her black satin dress. She was wearing matching black, over-the-elbow gloves and looked like she belonged at a much classier place than this neighborhood tavern. She was definitely out of place

I had work to do, so I looked away from the broad, although that was not such an easy thing for me to do. I sat down at the bar, put my notebook down in front of me, and pulled a pen out of my inside overcoat pocket. “Scotty,” I said to the bartender, “bourbon straight.”

A few seconds later the bartender put down a glass of bourbon on the bar. “Tab, Mr. Gaines?” he asked.

“Might as well,” I said. “I’ll be here consolidating my notes for a while.” I took a deep swig of the bourbon, put the glass down, and looked over my right shoulder to see the blonde staring at me. “Shit,” I mumbled under my breath and then started putting together notes from various pieces of paper I pulled from my overcoat pockets. Focus, Gaines, focus, I thought.

I’d been at it for around five minutes and I knew that it would be a mistake, but I again looked over my right shoulder. She was still looking right at me. I involuntarily nodded my head, which I guess she took as a sign to come over to me.

“Are you Aristotle Gaines?” she asked. “I was told I might find you here.”

“Who’s asking?” I said.

“I’m Virginia Collins,” she said, offering her gloved hand. I looked at her hand, then at her. “Oh, I beg your pardon,” she said, removing her glove.

I shook her hand. “Yes, I’m Aristotle Gaines,” I said. I had intended to tell her that I was busy, wasn’t taking any new cases, and to go away. But she was such a stunning dame that what came out of my mouth instead was, “What can I do for you, Miss Collins?”

“Oh, that’s Missus Collins,” she said, removing her left glove to reveal a diamond studded wedding band. “I believe my husband wants to kill me, Mr. Gaines. Can help me?”

She’s trouble with a capital T, I thought to myself. But instead of following my instincts and telling her to take a hike, I said, “Sit down, Mrs. Collins. Then I waved at Scotty to come over. “What can I get for you, miss?” he asked.

“It’s missus,” she said. “I’ll have what he’s having.”