Аннотация
Frank Tuttle
The Cadaver Client
Chapter One
“Happy birthday, you mangy fleabag, you.”
I scratched his battle-scarred head. He rewarded me with the merest flick of his long, black tail.
I sat in my chair, my shiny new boots propped on my battered old desk, and watched Three-leg Cat lick the stump of his missing paw.
That’s how I celebrated the tenth birthday of my business. It had been ten years ago today that I’d scraped together enough coin to pay the rent on the office on Cambrit Street and hire a man to paint a finder’s eye on the bubbled glass pane set in the weather-beaten door. Three-leg, then a mangy injured kitten, had been the first living soul to pass through my open door.
For the last ten years I’d done what every finder does-I’d found things. Sons or daughters or fathers or trouble. If you’ve lost something, or someone, you can seek out my painted finder’s eye, and I’ll pull my feet off my desk, and for the right handful of...
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