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datatime: 2022-11-28 13:46:51 Author:TtzBReaH

Right. Robin, by the way, was a Manhattan assistant district attorney once, which is how I met her. We were on the same side. She switched sides and took a high-paying job with a big-name defense attorney who liked her style in court. He may have liked more than her style, but aside from that, our marriage became a conflict of interest. I mean, I'm trying to put scumbags in the slammer, and the woman I'm sleeping with is trying to keep them in business. The last straw was when she took the case of a high-level drug guy who, aside from his American problems, was wanted in Colombia for icing a judge. I mean, Jeez, lady, I know somebody has to do it, and the money is terrific, but I was feeling matrimonially challenged. So I told her, "It's me or your job," to which she replied, "Maybe you should change your job" and she meant it-her firm needed a private investigator and she wanted me to take the job. I pictured doing PI work for her and her idiot boss. Maybe getting their coffee between cases. Right. Divorce, please.

Right. Robin, by the way, was a Manhattan assistant district attorney once, which is how I met her. We were on the same side. She switched sides and took a high-paying job with a big-name defense attorney who liked her style in court. He may have liked more than her style, but aside from that, our marriage became a conflict of interest. I mean, I'm trying to put scumbags in the slammer, and the woman I'm sleeping with is trying to keep them in business. The last straw was when she took the case of a high-level drug guy who, aside from his American problems, was wanted in Colombia for icing a judge. I mean, Jeez, lady, I know somebody has to do it, and the money is terrific, but I was feeling matrimonially challenged. So I told her, "It's me or your job," to which she replied, "Maybe you should change your job" and she meant it-her firm needed a private investigator and she wanted me to take the job. I pictured doing PI work for her and her idiot boss. Maybe getting their coffee between cases. Right. Divorce, please.

I went to the front door, and there was a yellow Post-it near the knocker that said, "Mr. Corey, please let yourself in."

Aside from these little career conflicts, we were actually in love once. Anyway, October first. Then she is officially ex, and I lose the opportunity to be an adulterer or a bigamist. Life just isn't fair sometimes.

Pregnant? asked Agnes."

Remember, don't talk to anyone except Chief Maxwell, me, and Detective Penrose.

I went to the front door, and there was a yellow Post-it near the knocker that said, "Mr. Corey, please let yourself in."

Over the causeway and onto Main Road, heading back toward the hamlet of Cutchogue. I called Margaret Wiley.

Maybe I should find out why Mr. Tobin lied.

She said, "I reached Emma at her florist shop, and she's on her way to the Peconic Historical Society house."

Apparently Mr. Fredric Tobin had been at the Gordons' on at least one occasion. Yet, he didn't seem to recall his June visit. But maybe it wasn't him. Maybe it was another brown-bearded man in a white Porsche.

Interesting. All I'm trying to do is help, and I'm getting home-towned by the local old boys.

Mr. Murphy asked, "Where is she?" 'Detective Penrose? She's home with morning sickness."

About a month, I replied. "Okay-"

I went to the front door, and there was a yellow Post-it near the knocker that said, "Mr. Corey, please let yourself in."

She said, "I reached Emma at her florist shop, and she's on her way to the Peconic Historical Society house."

You can discuss that with her. She's waiting for you.

I didn't see a wedding ring, observed Agnes.

Well, I'm not sure it does, Mrs. Wiley. I was just curious about-

Interesting. All I'm trying to do is help, and I'm getting home-towned by the local old boys.

Aside from these little career conflicts, we were actually in love once. Anyway, October first. Then she is officially ex, and I lose the opportunity to be an adulterer or a bigamist. Life just isn't fair sometimes.

Well, I'm not sure it does, Mrs. Wiley. I was just curious about-

Anyway, I drove back to the Peconic Historical Society house and parked in the small lot beside a van marked "Whitestone Florist."

Apparently Mr. Fredric Tobin had been at the Gordons' on at least one occasion. Yet, he didn't seem to recall his June visit. But maybe it wasn't him. Maybe it was another brown-bearded man in a white Porsche.

Maybe I should find out why Mr. Tobin lied.

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