And danged if I know where it’s supposed to go next.
Helen Gilfillen-Branigan had a grin that showed the skeleton underneath. I admired her cigarette holder; it looked like regular ivory, the old and extra-expensive kind, but judging from those teeth, easy to see and ready to gnaw, it’d have to be granite to hold up under the pressure. I wasn’t sure why my new client bothered with a holder, though. Surely no cigarette smoke would dare risk her wrath by trying to leave behind any stains.
If you could remember only two things about Ms. Gilfillen-Branigan, it’d be a tie between those teeth, and her two last names. Either ‘Gilfillen’ or ‘Branigan’ would open doors in this town; the two combined would just knock ‘em down if you didn’t answer the doorbell fast enough. And from the smug smile coming above and below those teeth, she knew and was ready to use that fact, nice and hard. So why was she in my office?
Why, indeed?