She was in her early thirties, I figured. Thick brown hair, matching eyes that had a sultry look to them, a real determined nose, and a sensual mouth. Her name was Tracy Miller. She was wearing a black silk shirt flattened against her full breasts while her nipples made a couple of interesting indentations in the thin fabric. Tightfit black pants completed the picture. On her right wrist was a heavy silver bangle that clattered against her glass every time she took a sip of her drink. We were sitting in one of the better Pine City bars where the banquettes are covered with genuine imitation leather. 'It was nice of you to come meet me, Lieutenant Wheeler, ' she said, in a husky voice. 'But do I have to keep on calling you lieutenant, the whole time?' Her smile was all pearly-white teeth and meaningful. I guessed being in the bar with her was a big improvement on staying home alone and listening to my hi-fi machine.