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19
The day after I returned from Onehouse Island, Maria Ashe, was waiting for me in my outer eight by ten office and I motioned her into the room with the door marked “PRIVATE,” and shut the door behind me.
She was an attractive red-head in her early thirties and she had hired me to find out if her husband was having an affair.
We had first met at the café, Julie’s Place. She had been nervous about hiring me. A newbie. Some could get cold feet. Others had feet of clay. They wanted someone to peek behind the curtains, but they are frightened of what they might find.
She had used the phrase “seeing someone else” which sounded politely courteous coming from her lips. Most spouses tended to voice their mistrust in cruder terms.
&nb
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