At first the cops had little to go on, a paycheck stub from Starlight Productions, a matchbook from the Edgewater Inn.  Oh, and a body. Definitely male and decidedly dead, covered with strange little puncture wounds.  Then they showed Beaumont what they had found in the blackberry bush. A woman’s cobalt blue shoe with a five-inch stiletto heel caked with blood and hair. “We have a bingo,” the cop said. Detective J.P. Beaumont had his corpse. He had his murder weapon. Now all he had to do was fill the shoe with a woman.

At first the cops had little to go on, a paycheck stub from Starlight Productions, a matchbook from the Edgewater Inn.  Oh, and a body. Definitely male and decidedly dead, covered with strange little puncture wounds.  Then they showed Beaumont what they had found in the blackberry bush. A woman’s cobalt blue shoe with a five-inch stiletto heel caked with blood and hair. “We have a bingo,” the cop said. Detective J.P. Beaumont had his corpse. He had his murder weapon. Now all he had to do was fill the shoe with a woman.