Marion Riles
by RD Larson

The Case of the

 Sexy Gams

I had plenty to do. Like think about bad bets. And doodle on a pad, making those golden arches and spinning buckets. A knock at door made me jump

A dame walks through the door, mostly legs. Real gams, and, boy, are they ever. Her strappy, spike heels clicked as she danced through my crummy office door.

“Can you help me?” she said, her lips curving around every sound. Her lipstick gleamed fire engine red and her big brown eyes were surrounded by thick, furry eyelashes. Her long chestnut hair hung on her shoulders. Her halter top barely covered her melon-sized breasts, but her legs made me want to beg her for some. Those legs were a good five feet long from her slim ankles to the hem of her blue denim shorts. “My name is Sherisa LeGrand. And I need your help, Mr. Riles.”

“Okay, Ms. LeGrand. I can listen to your story but you’ve got to know I’m really up to my buttocks in a messy divorce investigation.” I pushed my fedora back on my head as I stood up. “Have a chair and tell me about it?”

 “My fiancé is missing and the cops won’t look for him,” Sherisa LeGrand folded herself into the wooden office chair. Her legs were the last to fold. Thighs tanned and strong with muscle definition lingered before crossing. She crossed them in slow motion. One high heel dropped down showing me an arched instep, a pale round half moon of a skin. “The bastards won’t look for him because they say he has a history of disappearing, you know, running out on the bride-to-be. He loves me, I know he wouldn’t do that, not to me, Mr. Riles.”

“Buenos, Senorita, call me Marion, everyone else does.” I rubbed my head where I once had more hair. I read the look on her face. Her cute little mouth made a mew like a cat as if she said “Oh no, a bilingual cross-dressing transgender.” I smiled benignly. I’m accustomed bullshit like that.

I pulled my skirt down. I looked her straight in the eye. “I’m a Scot and fond of me kilts, lass.”

“Okay, well, I just need some help, Marion and you’re the man who can help me.”

“Who sent you over here?” Yes, you sweet thing I’ll help you, right onto your back, I said to myself.

“That pumped-up dyke at Guys and Gals Fitness Spa, Freddie. We had a beer after class today.  Freddie runs a great gym. No joke, best equipment and best trainers. It has a classy rainbow look.  Anyway, she said you helped her beat a conviction because she didn’t do it and the cops wouldn’t investigate all the evidence. You know, like OJ.” Sherisa pressed her chest forward. Her melons bumped each other in the middle. Speaking of bumping?

“Where did you last see—what’s his name? The guy, your guy?” I licked the end of my number 2 pencil, trying to discourage her as a client.

“Robert Ellsworth Stunning III. My dad owns a string of secondhand car lots and one new car dealership. Rolling in dough, my old man is, I mean. Anyway, poor Robert is always broke. I’ve supported him for the last year and a half with my allowance from my dad. I’m really a cardiac nurse. I can give artificial respiration to a dying man and raise him right up.” She laughed nervously. Jumping up, she whirled to glare at me. “I just haven’t had time to work. I’m busy with Robert’s acting career. Well, Marion?”

“Sure I’ll look into it. That’ll be $300 a day and expenses for a week to start.” I wrote down a bunch of nothing so she’d think I really wanted her case. “Where should I start looking, Sherisa?”