It was a perfect June morning.
Outside the sun was shining; dulcet breezes were sighing; flowers were wasting their sweetness on city air.
Inside Gabe Bergeron, CPA, was crunching numbers ceaselessly in his little cubicle. Well, he might be in the breakroom making coffee currently but he was work adjacent.
And then his day, week, and life started to degrade; rapidly and relentlessly. It began with his client Marge Swank showing up at Garst Accounting dressed all in black. With a veil. And this ill-omened raven refused to croak about why she had appeared in his office. Where no Bergeron man had seen her before.
And then she vanished. Which was also unprecedented. And unwonted. And unheard of.
And the following morning, tall, lean, icy-eyed Monroe, spy, intelligencer, and rogue operative, was standing over his bed and saying, "I need your help." And Gabe was dragged from his bed...literally...to a crime scene; to Detective Vonda Golczewski's crime scene in South Philly.
Someone had shot Mitch Garza three times in center of his chest. Such wounds were almost invariably fatal; they certainly had been for Mitch.
Obviously Monroe knew a whole lot more about this Garza than Gabe or Vonda or probably anyone else in the greater Philadelphia area but he wasn't sharing. Monroe just stared into Gabe's eyes and said, "Just find out who killed Garza. I know you can do it."
And then he vanished. Which was totally precedented. And wonted. And heard of.
