Arriving at the shoppe around 9:00 pm, the remaining sunlight was quickly making its descent behind the earth's rotation. The area surrounding the bistro was still hopping with patrons who enjoyed a nice cool sunset and a splash of their favorite java. As to enrich a traditional style decor - the diner was small, yet outlined with sandstone needed for a rustic appearance, beautifully snuggling itself with the surrounding color scheme.
As several faces made themselves aware of my arrival, I began taking mental pictures of the the area just in-case we were recognized or I needed to make a hasty getaway.
         I had only been waiting a couple minutes before Mrs. Jones pulled up to the curb, driving a late model - shiny black, Mercedes Benz coupe. I was instantly star stuck, as she placed one foot to the ground, exiting her sexy automobile.
Walking into the diner was like entering a wax museum - it seemed as if every piece of furniture was dedicated to its own era of American culture. We were lucky enough to have been seated in a section that was influenced by the 90's - boasting an array of cultural scenes that were specific to my teenage years. I have always been fascinated with every era of American Culture, except for the 70's, disco scene - I'm quite sure no one would ever miss the golden years of shitty music and movies that were especially unattractive. Ya, these were years that if God were to suddenly dissolve any memory of those who knew it best - there surely wouldn't be any grievances filed.
        Moving on, we were finally seated, and began our conversation with the usual small talk - she asked me how long I've been a private investigator?" I answered in hesitation for no other reason than I was doing skip traces and other odd jobs even before I declared myself a business. When I finally answered, a smirk of amusement glistened my face, stating "for about five years now". The idea of this time frame wasn't very self satisfying, when by all accounts - I've been a journeyman of the business for many years. I quickly asked a couple personal questions regarding her hobbies and other interests, and then without pause - we quickly moved right into the brass tacks.

Mrs. Jones spoke very eloquently as she began telling a story of nightly misery. She explained her grief as if she had concrete evidence of betrayal in hand; however - she readily admitted she didn't have true affirmation, only feelings of dishonesty on the part of her husband.
While speaking - I was mesmerized with every movement of her lips. Her words felt noticeably entrancing - catching myself becoming more and more enamoured with every syllable that softly made its way from her lips to my ear. Yes, she appeared to be every man's dying wish - never fully grasping the ruse until the trap was set and she had you completely entangled in her web.
As her story continued, a visual of every word was committed to memory as she left an everlasting impression on my school boy psyche - admitting to myself there was nothing I could do to resist her Medusa like mythology.
This kind of entrapment was mostly unfair to the many who were noted as being the strongest competitors. And for several minutes I found myself inside her riddle box that competed only with Lemarchand's enigma.
We chatted for another twenty minutes or so, before finally hashing out a plan. She would be out of town beginning on Friday, and wouldn't return until the following Monday - which was perfect as I was making a road trip Saturday afternoon.
As we were leaving the diner, I explained to Mrs. Jones that I was going to the bathroom and would contact her Monday afternoon - updating her on every juicy detail of my investigation. However, as soon as she stepped one foot out of the diner, I immediately found my way to the back of the diner - tailing her to the next destination.