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              "A financial advisor named Ryan Hunter. He's the primary suspect in the murder of his ex-girlfriend, Jessica Evans. She was found strangled to death at the LaMarca store she managed on Canal Street. The poor woman was only twenty-six."
    " There's a LaMarca here? I love that store." I thought back to a trip to Italy I'd taken several years before and the fabulous black leather handbag I'd splurged on at the original LaMarca on Rome's chic Via Condotti. "You know, I think I might have heard something about that on the radio when I was coming into town."
    " Yeah, it's been all over the local media for weeks. Come on. I'll tell you about it on the way to the office."
    After assuring Napoleon that I would be back soon, I locked my apartment door and then got into Veronica 's waiting white Audi convertible.
    " So, here's what I know." Veronica started the engine of her car and then backed out of the driveway. "Keep in mind that I haven't seen the police report yet. But from what Ryan told me, and from what I've heard on the news, a salesgirl found Jessica's body when she came to work on the morning of December 13th. She said the back door was unlocked, and Jessica was lying on the floor in the middle of some racks of scarves. Nothing had been taken from the store."
    " You said she was strangled, right?"
    " Yeah, with a scarf."
    " Was she killed that morning? Or the day before?"
    Veronica took a left turn. "Sometime the night before. Apparently, she'd stayed late after the store closed. The police didn't release the information about the murder weapon being a scarf, by the way. Someone leaked that to the press. Anyway, Franki, this is big. If we can help clear this guy or even solve the case, we're golden. Private Chicks, Inc. will be a household name in Nola."
    " That would be amazing," I said, trying to hide my concern. Solving a high-profile murder in The Big Easy could be a hard job to accomplish.
     
    * * *
     
    A half an hour later we arrived at the office, and my jaw practically dropped to the street. Veronica had neglected to mention that it was located in her three-story , brown brick building. She had also failed to mention that an Italian restaurant and bar called Nizza was occupying the first two stories of her building, which had freshly painted white doors and windows bordered with charming bright-green shutters and a fabulous second-floor balcony—the wrap-around-the-building kind that people threw bead necklaces off of during Mardi Gras. This was classic Veronica: Her mind was always so focused on work that she would forget to tell you about all of the pertinent details of her life, no matter how momentous these may be.
    After I recovered from my initial shock, Veronica took me upstairs to our office space, which consisted of two separate apartments on the third floor. One was for our personal offices, and the other was for private meetings with clients. I spent the rest of the day organizing my office, which was in what used to be one of two bedrooms, and learning how to use the case management software for private investigators that Veronica had given to me.
    At a quarter till four, I heard a bell sound as someone entered the living room that served as our waiting area. Thinking that it might be Ryan Hunter, I walked out to greet him. I was met by a young man with a thin, angular face and lanky frame. He looked no more than sixteen or seventeen. He's clearly not Ryan , I thought, that is, unless Jessica Evans was into jailbait .
    " Franki, this is David Savoie," Veronica said, walking into the waiting room with her handbag and her laptop. "David, Franki Amato."
    David extended a hand with long spindly fingers. "Nice to meet you, Miss Amato."
    " Oh, call me Franki. Please," I said this last word with a wince—David had a powerful handshake for such a skinny kid.
    " Sure thing, Franki." He flashed an enthusiastic, toothy smile.
    " David is our computer Boy Friday," Veronica explained. "He