Chapter Two
I was a late the next morning. Agatha had beat me to the office again. I came in through the back and walked to the front office. I looked at the couch, and noticed an overweight, middle-aged woman sitting there. "Can I help you?"
"Oh yes," she said as she grinned shyly. I gestured with one arm into the office, which she obeyed, nervously looking about the room as if there were several people who wanted to hear what she had to say. There, she sat down, and fanned herself with a piece of newspaper. I sat behind my desk.
The woman was overweight but not obese. She was wearing white linen pants with a navy blue sleeveless shirt that allowed her flabby arms to be viewed well, if anyone wanted to see. After looking at her for a few moments, and seeing that she was not going to speak unless given some prompting, I asked, "Well, ma'am, what can I do for you?"
"Are you the same Mr. James that helped a friend of mine- Ada Fountaine- with her tramp of a daughter?"
"Yes," I said. I didn't have the slightest clue who Ada Fountaine was. "And how can I help you, Mrs...?"
"Oh, forgive me," the woman in front of me said. Her blond hair was prematurely going grey, and there were numerous wrinkles which, I guessed, were the result of worrying too much about everything. "I am Mrs. Joan Guirard."
"Mrs. Guirard," I said, changing the pitch of my voice slightly as if the name meant something to me. "Why don't you tell me what brings you here?"
"Oh, it's the most dreadful thing," she said. "My husband, Larry Guirard- the head doctor at St. Joseph's clinic, it's one of the most highly regarded clinics in Baton Rouge, as I'm sure you're aware- is having an affair."
I looked to my desk, then back at the woman in front of me. "Really?" I asked, my voice affecting sympathy. "I am sorry. Are you sure of this, Mrs. Guirard?"
"Yes, I'm sure," she stated indignantly. "A woman can always tell when her man is busy fornicating with others."
"Well, how can I help you, if you are already certain of this?" I asked.
"Well, Mr. James," the fat lady wheezed as she spoke, "I plan to come out ahead in this situation. I would like to have evidence of my husband's affair, so that I may produce it in court.
"I hope that this will be satisfactory as payment." She dug in her purse, a large, expensive sack that was larger than the plastic bags issued by grocery stores, and brought out a check for five hundred dollars, and slid it across the desk. I glanced at the check, quickly reading the numbers.
"Yes, ma'am that's fine," he said. "I will need an additional three hundred, in the event that I can produce this evidence."
"Of course," Guirard said. She sounded slightly disappointed. I smiled to myself for giving her a little discomfort.
"Now," I asked, "Is your husband supposed to be going anywhere during the next few days? Any plans that have been made out of the ordinary, or special, that you are aware of?"
"Yes," the woman answered. "He is attending a conference today at two at St. Joseph's. He called me earlier today and said that it would likely take until five. Given where we live and how long his normal commute is, I was told to expect him by seven."
"That's fine," I said. "Do you have a recent photograph of your husband that I may keep until this is over?"
Guirard dug in her large purse again, and into her wallet. She brought out a wallet-size photograph of her and a slim, middle-aged man with black hair that was turning grey on his temples. The man had a friendly smile, with a small scar that ran down the left side of his neck. The background was bluish-grey, typical photography shop backdrop.
