Jake Randolph, Private Investigator Pt. 84

I turned to see a little old woman. She was holding onto the door frame to keep from falling over. I could smell the cheap gin from across the hall. She was wearing a terry bathrobe that looked like it hadn't been washed since the Roosevelt administration, and I mean Teddy Roosevelt. Her eyes were swimming laps in their sockets like an Olympic gold medalist.

"I told you idiots," she yelled loud enough to wake the dead in the neighboring state, "I don't want any damned encyclopedias! Now get the hell out of here before I go call the cops!"