The Thief of Souls

I nodded, seeing where this was going.  It all sounded so goofy, so strange, that it was only fair to check it out before drafting and filing what could turn out to be frivolous charges.

They let us go, and we each went our separate ways.

#

When I got back to the office late that afternoon, I laid down on the black leather couch at the far wall that was about as old as my career and tried to take a nap.  I was awakened fifteen minutes later by a call from Tom Bridge.

“Congratulations,”  he said.  “Not only are you a top notch investigator, but I think you’ve got a career in marriage counseling.”

“What are you talking about?”  I asked, still groggy and ornery from the ordeal of the last couple of days.  I had been knocked unconscious and drugged for two straight days, hardly good for my health.

“Paul and Nancy Lane,”  he said.  “He showed up at the ex-marital residence this afternoon.  Just about an hour ago.  They reconciled.  It was as if nothing had ever happened.  She called me wanting to know how I could undo the divorce.  I told her they just had to get re-married.  You may be the best man.”





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