It was inscribed, “Mrs M. Jones, Assistant Detective”, followed by my telephone number (yes, my public call box telephone number!), and “c/o” ...er posh hotel address.“How?” I asked, marvelling how she could have this produced in time.“Oh, the concierge at the hotel can get almost anything done for you overnight. Anything at all, no questions asked.” She smiled sweetly, and rather innocently, which was completely convincing, even though she was still using that young middle-class English accent. The manager of this boutique, Jill, was a total snobby bitch but flirting with the male customers was and is encouraged. After the first week there, Jill told me that the mall maintenance team would be sending over a technician to look at the lights in the back room. They could not complete the task during business hours and that I would have to stay late in order to lock up after they were complete. She agreed to pay me some overtime. That evening I closed up the shop from a relatively boring. More

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