Designer Detective

Начало книги

The private investigator introduced himself as Jake.

“I understand you’re an interior decorator,” he said.

“Designer. I don’t just decorate I design living space,” I said.

He cast his eyes around the room like maybe he didn't understand me right, like I'm glad you're not my interior designer.

“Okay, I know the place is a mess. I'm busy. I lead an active life. I travel a lot. But that’s not why you’re here.”

We sat on my beige leather couch. His knees didn't quite fit between the couch and the black lacquer coffee table, overloaded with books and empty coffee cups that hadn't made it to the dishwasher. He spread his legs wide in the way only a man can do. His thighs were big, and his Levis fit tight. I like the curve of a man's thigh so I sneaked a discreet glance when he wasn't looking. I didn't think he noticed.

“I understand you found the deceased when you went to his house this morning.”

“Yes. I have a key. I let myself in because he leaves for work before I arrive.”

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