Here I sit at a police station being accused of murder!
Will wonders never cease? How could I have decapitated Gerry Delaney when he was a big, barrel-chested man and I’m a slim woman, barely registering five-feet six? That’s something the cop interrogating me can’t or won’t answer. Besides, why would I kill Gerry? I was trying to get him to buy tequila mixers for his dive bar. He hadn’t made up his mind yet and killing him wasn’t going to help.
I’m Hetty Carson, private investigator. Business was slow, so I started selling tequila mixers on the side in downtown L.A. Who knew it could lead to murder? I mean, Gerry’s murder was a tragedy, for sure, but I figured it didn’t have anything to do with me. Until someone figured it did, and now I have to investigate why if I want to stay alive.