Angelique.  There is no escaping her.

To wit:

I’m not sure if I’m a doctor or a detective.  I tracked down what I think is the missing painting-under-a-painting.  It belongs to a Mr. Sky Rumson… involved in publishing.  And a crashing bore.  I don’t mean to be petty, but I must.  People at work always gripe at me about my idiosyncratic taste in men, but better interesting than prefabricated.  I looked for the tab on his neck to inflate him.

The most perverse part is that he’s married to Angelique.  I know because he has her portrait hug.  Not a painting that looks like her.  No.  It is the very portrait.

What on Earth?  I’ll find out when she comes home in just a few minutes.




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