When I got to my office in the Lassiter Building on the Sunset Strip I put my feet up on the desk and began to read the story.
According to the article a dame named Paige Turner (which sounded to me like a nom de plume for a pulp novelist), who sang at the Cherokee Club, had been found dead in her apartment in Inglewood. The police were looking for the last person that had been seen with Turner: Milton Dunn.
It had been years since I'd heard that name. I went to grade school with that slimy little weasel...
Christopher over 6 years ago
I'll usually be posting more than one a night like with the other JR stories, but didn't have the time tonight. Bear with me!
Steve McBrevity over 6 years ago
The suspense is growing already. Love it!
Neville Hunt over 6 years ago
Love Paige Turner! Bravo! The great thing about the drabble stories you write is that they are page turners and the pace and paucity of words makes the output ‘a pint that thinks it’s a quart’. More soon please😲
Neville Hunt over 6 years ago
I wonder if Dunn dunnit?
Christopher over 6 years ago
Thanks, Steve.
You know me, Neville. I like those weird little names. And thanks for the compliment. The drabble format has really taught me to be succinct and precise, and I try to pack as much of the story as I can into each one.
Christopher over 6 years ago
Yeah, "whodunnit" sounds better than "who-miltoned-it!"
Frenchie over 6 years ago
And the plot thickens!