Chapter 1: Introduction
The cityscape of High Rise City is a mishmash of concrete, glass, and steel on steroids, with a healthy dose of smog, cynicism, and apathy. Jenn had been living and working there as a gumshoe for a better part of a decade, and the city's charm wore off around the same time her first marriage did.
There was Jenn, a private detective with a license to lurk and a penchant for sarcasm - the more biting, the better.
She had long, raven-black hair that curled and bounced as she walked, piercing blue eyes that missed nothing, and a slender figure that gave off a whiff of danger and intrigue. A real head-turner, she was. But beneath the sultry allure and witty repartee was a sharp mind, a strong sense of justice, and a heart that refused to harden no matter how many cheating spouses, deadbeat dads, and shady businessmen she encountered.
She had been on her fair share of steamy romps and dangerous escapades, but nothing got her blood pumping like a good old-fashioned private eye gig.
And she was about to get one. A big one.
A case that would make headlines and earn her a fat stack of cash.
Well, maybe not headlines, but at least a decent amount of clams.
An anonymous tip came in the other day about a woman who went missing, Amelia something-or-other.
No apparent signs of struggle, no ransom demands, no trail to follow.
The cops had already written her off as a runaway or worse, but Jenn wasn't convinced. She could smell a mystery from a mile away, and this one had her nose twitching.
"Amelia Nott," Jenn said, twirling her long, black hair around her finger as she read the case file. "28, red hair, blue-eyed, a knockout. A real-life femme fatale. Disappeared two weeks ago without a trace."
She looked up at her partner and best friend, Claire, who sat across from her in their dimly lit office.
Claire had short, cropped red hair, glasses, and a button-down shirt tucked into her jeans.
She was Jenn's partner at work, and her best friend. A dyed-in-the-wool lesbian, Claire was constantly pining for her partner, who lived across the country and never seemed to have the time to visit.
Despite her romantic woes, Claire was rock-solid and unflappable, and the perfect sounding board for Jenn's wild theories and half-baked ideas.
"Well, babe," Claire said, peering at the file over the rim of her glasses. "We've got our work cut out for us.
I've got a hunch that this case isn't as open-and-shut as the boys in blue think. And besides, I could use a break from chasing around deadbeat dads who skip town and leave their wives holding the bag."
Claire nodded in agreement and closed the file. "Alright, let's start by talking to the family, neighbors, and friends. You know the drill."
Jenn stood up, grabbed her trench coat, and flipped up the collar.
"You bet your sweet bippy we do, doll. But not before we check out this sugar shack where Amelia was last seen. The Sugar Rush, owned by Emily Sinclair."
Jenn arched an eyebrow and gave Claire a knowing look. "I heard that Ms. Sinclair isn't just a baker, but a bit of a vixen, if you catch my drift."
Claire rolled her eyes.
"Oh please, Jenn. Not everything is about sex."
Jenn smirked and handed Claire the keys. "Sure thing, sweetheart. But just remember that sometimes, a cigar is a cigar. A vixen is a vixen. And a baker with a reputation for being a cougar isn't just baking muffins in that bakery of hers."
With that, they hopped into Jenn's vintage red Mustang and took off towards The Sugar Rush, the pastry shop owned by Emily Sinclair.