Jake Randolph, Private Investigator Pt. 66

I cleared my throat as she looked up and groaned at me. She placed a dog-eared bookmark in her novel and laid it beside her on the desk.

"Can I help you, sir?" she asked with all the enthusiasm of someone having their appendix removed with a rusty butter knife.

I feigned crying and then said with a shaky voice, "I'm...sorry...I just..."

I blubbered again. Her look changed to one of deep concern.

"Hey, now...," she said, coming around the desk to put her arm around me.

"What's this all about, honey?"

I laid it on thick. "It's...my fiancée!"