(This is an excerpt from a sci-fi P.I. story that I'm noodling around with.)
I was blowing smoke rings and watching the traffic go by two floors down when I heard the sound behind me. I pretended I didn't. If it was a bill collector, maybe they'd go away; if it was trouble it was too late anyway. It never occurred to me it might be a client. It was.
"Mr. Bensen?" I couldn't tell if she wasn't sure or didn't want to be.
"That's right." I took my feet off the window sill for the first time since breakfast and turned to see the face that went with the voice. I wasn't disappointed.
The first thing I noticed were her eyes. They were brown and moist and doe-like. She had been crying recently. But it didn't ruin her looks any. Her skin was as smooth and clear as a baby's and her hair, though worn simple to the shoulders, shone like a blond halo. She would stand five-six, five-seven in her stocking feet but the heels she was wearing showed off her calves nicely. If the dame had a problem, she didn't deserve it.
"My name is Lissa Horn." She said it as if that explained everything.
"Uh huh." I said. As if I understood everything.
"The uh . . . the reason I am here is . . . You'll have to forgive me, Mr. Bensen, but this is a . . . new experience for me."
"Go ahead." I interjected sympathetically.
This time she got it all out. "The reason I am here is that I want you to find out who murdered Angela Hardy."
I asked her to have a seat then watched her decorate the wooden chair like gold plating on a three dollar watch. She crossed her long legs and then thought better of it under my interested gaze. It never hurts to look.
"Angela Hardy was my roommate." she was saying. "We shared an apartment over in Xylor City, near the Spaceport. We were both stewardesses for Unity Spacelines and . . . " She faltered, words eluding her.
"And what, Miss Horn?"
"And now we aren't, I guess."
I hate awkward silences. That's probably why they're so awkward.
"So why come to me?" I asked bluntly.
"I think maybe I'm the one who killed her."
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