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surprising that Jaime'd stuck through it once the pain set in.
    Such was the paradoxical nature of people though. Maggie had long ago learned as much from her work.
    As their rapport strengthened, Maggie found a curious depth in the seemingly shallow woman. The tattoo was an homage to Jamie's mother and grandmother with a piece of herself, the lotus, entwined. Her grandmother had loved roses, her mother lilies, while Jamie saw the lotus as a flower of wisdom she hoped to become. Such depths of character defied the conventions usually applied to her.
    For the most part, that was a norm for Maggie's stereotyped clientele. Most contradicted the views with such depths that Maggie found comfort when considered one herself. That she was not the only one to grate such monikers was reassuring. She did her best to subtly encourage the defiance too, no matter her clients' stations.
    That said, it wasn't uncommon to find people befitting their stereotypes either. In that, some were downright shady. Then again, Maggie knew, that was the occupational hazard of such a niche market in a place like Oakton.
    By one P.M, the session had finished. Maggie applied the last of the ointment with a wooden tongue depressor, then secured gauze to Jamie's side with medical tape. Jamie pushed up, sore but satisfied. She adjusted her bikini-top, slipped into her shirt and coat, then headed for the reception desk.
    Maggie sterilized her space and supplies, joined two women at the counter. Jaime thanked Maggie with a one armed hug and a pair of hundred-dollar bills. She said goodbye to Mandy, and stepped past a man on her way through the door.
    Jamie did a double-take at his rump, and cast a raised brow to Maggie as she slipped on sunglasses. The door shut on Jamie's giggles and Maggie shook her head, stepped around the counter beside Mandy.
    The man's sneakers tread lightly across the floor beneath his denim jeans and blue wind-breaker. It swished loosely off his broad shoulders, its zipper half-down to reveal a light-brown shirt clinging to his chest.
    Mandy nudged Maggie, who looked up, immediately taken by the casual confidence in his step. Her view was opposite what Jamie's had been, but she understood the school-girlish giggling better. The man gazed through well-set eyes that presented an air of razor-sharp intelligence and analysis beneath an attractive veneer.
    He couldn't have been much older than Maggie, but he looked oddly out of place, much different than her usual clientele. A part of him seemed to recognize it and agree, and mustered an extra calm to compensate.
    Maggie willed away her captivation, slipped the 100s into her back pocket, “Can I help you?”
    The man stepped to the counter, business card in hand, “I found this card and was hoping to speak with Maggie Doherty.”
    “That's me,” Maggie said lively. “What can I do for you?”
    He glanced from Maggie to Mandy beside her, “Could we speak privately?”
    Maggie's brow furrowed confusion. Her heart skipped a beat. “Uh. Okay. May I ask your name?”
    He slid a hand into his jacket pocket, produced a badge, “I'm Detective Russell Williams with O-P-D Homicide. I need to ask you a few questions.”
    Mandy's eyes bulged and darted between Maggie and the badge.
    “U-uh, o-okay.”
    He did his best to reassure her, “I just need to ask you a few questions is all.”
    Maggie noted his shift. He was suddenly as uncomfortable as her. She muttered something and led him toward the back room. Mandy was frozen, watching through a perplexed stare.
    Maggie cleared the back room's table, offered him a seat across from her. The bathroom door behind her cast opposing, incandescent light inward atop the fluorescents above.
    Russell sat and removed a small, digital recorder from his jacket. “I hope you don't mind this. It'll make things easier when reviewing my notes.”
    He set the recorder in the table's center. Maggie's pulse raced, “Sh-should I call a lawyer?”
    Russell hesitated