The Donna Dunham Case

Hello, Candy-Matson. I understand you've been hired to find out who knocked off Donna Dunham. Abrupt and wracked to the point. That's my business, old man who talks like a ghost. Take care of your health, little lady.

Donna Dunham is dead. Better stay like that. You take care of your cues and I'll show my piece. Understood? Not quite. Listen to this. Oh, goody-goody. Well, it's not delivered by phone. Thanks for this plug.

I'll have it identified later. Maybe you'll be identified later. Remember what I said, Candy-Matsen. Forget about Donna-Donna. My name is Candy-Matsen. I like money, lots of money.

That's why I became a private eye. And to you meet such interesting people. Mostly dead. But getting back to the cash angle, that's why I took on the Donna-Donna-Donna case. I knew it was full of dynamite.

But a girl has to eat now and then, maintain a penthouse on telegraph hill and keep the morse out of a few main coats, doesn't she? Sure. And a shot fired into your room from across the street at three in the morning is just one of those occupational hazards.

So I took the job, and the 500, and went to work. I'd like to hear how the whole thing started. Well, leave this proceed to act one. I'd had a hard day at the office, sleeping all day.

Many did a bit of a tonic to pick me up. So the natural thing to do was to ground loop into the marigold room and see what could be done. As I sank down onto one of the padded stools, a dispenser approach.

I'd make it a martini, my good man, Betty Dry. So dry it comes out like a blotter. Look, lady, nothing would give me more pleasure, but I can't serve you here unless you have an escort.