The Case of the Poisoned Model

It was another Monday morning. The sign on the door said Private Investigator.

But the sign below that said broken and I was saying yes to a third cup of coffee.

It was harsh and acidic, like an appsec team requiring a 90-day password rotation.

My partner was out of town looking into stolen antiquities. But that case was like a bad supply chain – lots of artifacts and no provenance –

When a model walked in.

I knew the type.

You could always tell they had a sob story, but you could never tell how they were going to choose their words.

“You don’t look,” they said, “like much of a private eye.”

“Ignore that,” I prompted, “and rephrase it like the sign says on the door.”

“You look broken?”

That might be more right than they knew, but I wasn’t going to let on.

“I think someone’s trying to poison me,” they continued.

I sighed. I’d heard this a thousand times before.

“I’m not making this up.”

“Ok, then”, I said. “Explain yourself.”

This was the third noir-styled opening, continuing the events from episodes 252 and 250.

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