PREVIOUSLY ON POP CULTURE MYSTERIES: ENTER THE BLONDE
PART 1 – Detective Jake Hatcher arrives in his office to find a mysterious blonde dame…
PART 2 – …who seems to know an awful lot about our fearless private eye.
Attorney Delilah K. Donnelly, Examiner of Bookshelf Q. Battler’s Legal Briefs
(That’s not an inappropriate pun or anything, he really gives her a crap ton of paperwork.)
“I’m here to offer you a very lucrative deal, Mr. Hatcher.”
How many times had I heard those famous last words uttered to me by a she-devil in a skirt?
“Let me guess,” I said. “You’re going to tell me that you want to hire me to take incriminating photos of your good for nothing husband in the throes of passion with his cheap floozy secretary. Only you’re going to shoot them both before I arrive and when the cops show up, they’ll mistake me for the trigger man. While I’m getting outfitted for a pair of striped pajamas, you’ll be on your way to Barbados with a pile of your dead hubby’s cash. Whaddaya say, sweetheart? Am I warm?”
“You’re ice cold,” the dame said with a chuckle. “My goodness, you certainly are distrustful of the fairer sex.”
“I trust no one, ma’am,” I said. “Dames have just given me more reason not to.”
My uninvited guest puffed away on her filtered cigarette and gave me the old once over with her eyes, looking at me in much the same way a lion must look at a fat gazelle with a gimpy leg.
“I hope one day you’ll learn to trust me, Mr. Hatcher.”
“Doubtful,” I said. “Especially when you’re probably going to try to bat your pretty little eyelashes at me out of a mistaken belief that you can make me fall in love with you and dupe me into killing your husband because you’re too chicken to do it yourself? Did I figure out your fiendish scheme yet?”
“Some detective you are!” the lady said as she snapped off her right glove and stretched out a finely manicured hand, complete with red nails polished so brightly I was able to see my mug staring back at me in them.
“You failed to deduce that there’s no ring on my finger!”
I stared at that dainty hand and silently kicked myself on the inside for letting a clue slip past me. Maybe it was late, maybe it was the extra doses of Jack Daniels, but that gal had gotten one over on yours truly, and I didn’t like it.
Not one bit.
“Even so,” I said. “It’s been my experience that a woman with a body like yours is always up to no good and this palooka didn’t just fall off the turnip truck, see? I think you made a mistake in coming here, sister. The all-day sucker store is two blocks down.”
“You’re really something else, aren’t you Mr. Hatcher?” the dame asked. “My employer warned me about you.”
“Your employer?”
“Yes,” the woman said as she handed me a business card. It read:
Delilah K. Donnelly, Esq.
In-House Counsel for Bookshelf Q. Battler
Bookshelf Battle 
