It was a dark and stormy night. My coffee was cold and two days old. I hadn’t seen a client in a week. Miriam, the cleaning lady shuffled around the office pushing the dust around. With a flash of lightning and a crack of thunder, the door flew open and in walked a dame in her late twenties, possibly thirty. I could see she was in distress by her flaring nose and clenching jaw.
“You must help me,” she said and slapped a folder on my desk.
“And you are?”
“Shadow La Rue,” she said. “Well, are you going to help me or not?
“Bo,” I said and offered her a handshake, which she ignored. “Bo BayLeaf, Job Detective.”
“What brings you here so late?” I asked. I noticed Miriam dusting the same lamp for the third time.
“I need a job detective to find out what’s wrong with my boss — she won’t promote me,” Shadow said. She tapped on the folder. “It’s all here. I’ve been passed over two times for lead dog walker and I won’t stand for it anymore. Will you take the case or not?”
I took the case. Promotion cases always proved interesting, never what they seemed.
“Wonder why she can’t get promoted,” I later asked Merriam.
“The dogs probably don’t like her,” Miriam muttered.
When Work Goes to the Dogs