The Affair of Ann Marie

Being a private investigator means two things. You can be sure you'll run into trouble, and you can never be sure you'll get out of it. Not much you can do about it, I guess, except...

like Julie always says. Walk softly, please, enjoy. He, she's the gal in my front office, periodically cleans out my waste paper basket. From it, she says anyone could read my character like an open book.

And to prove her point, she wants to raid the contents on my desk. I remember it contained some empty cigarette packs, Some letters written on pink paper with violet ink from a girl who signed herself your darlings dora, a more empty cigarette packs, a collection of assorted bills, and two empty bottles of scotch.

The empty bottles are significant, and point to the fact that that must have been the week I made the acquaintance of Annamarie. Annamarie? Oh, my fellow sufferers, there was a woman to delight your tired old eyes.

Annamarie. The memory of her conjures up soft lights, the perfume of Jasmine, and sweet, sweet music. Isabelle, we have to listen to all that gooey music all day long. Don't you like it Annamarie? There's an obsequit, Paul said in my photograph this house, not having that drummed in one's ears all the time.

Oh, Annamarie, how could you say such a thing? Oh, well, don't go Wesley up there in his sick bit. I'm going Wesley, probably out of Libba's all. Turn that thing off for you. Do you think he will?

What? Outlive us all. He's contrary enough to him. Why, you say some terrible things. He's a bell, dear, sweet cousin. It's just that I'm not a hypocrite. Oh, he is very sick. I think he's just teasing us.