Barrel of Fun

By J. Dane Tyler

Stanley Danslow is a two-bit private eye. He’s not Phillip Marlowe or Sam Spade, though. Danslow’s the guy you go to when you think your spouse is cheating on you, or the insurance company thinks Joe Blow’s running a worker’s comp scam.

So when the beautiful Mrs. Tellinghousen comes in and asks Danslow to check out her husband, who she thinks just might be a killer, he’s a little out of his depth.

He doesn’t find out just how much he’s out of his depth until he’s in way over his head.

• Language: English
• Publisher: J. Dane Tyler
• Release date: Jun 27, 2015
• ISBN: 9781311831873

J. Dane Tyler

J. Dane Tyler is a father, husband and Christian living in the greater Chicago metro area and lamenting hot, humid summers and long, bitter-cold winters while pining away for his lost hair color and waistline. He enjoys his family and sitting around in his underwear, scratching himself in unmentionable places, drinking coffee and complaining. In short, he's a writer. He has had a non-fiction book published under another name and is currently working on a second. When he remembers to do so, he works in the IT industry. Occasionally. Please feel free to make connections on Facebook or Twitter.

Book preview

BARREL OF FUN

by J. Dane Tyler

Stanley Danslow is a two-bit private eye. He’s not Phillip Marlowe or Sam Spade, though. Danslow’s the guy you go to when you think your spouse is cheating on you, or the insurance company thinks Joe Blow’s running a worker’s comp scam.

So when the beautiful Mrs. Tellinghousen comes in and asks Danslow to check out her husband, who she thinks just might be a killer, he’s a little out of his depth.

He doesn’t find out just how much he’s out of his depth until he’s in way over his head.

When she walked into my office, I knew it meant trouble.

Her legs went to her neck, with curves that could break a neck. An emerald colored sleeve dress clung to every firm mound and soft dimple. I let my eyes pour over her, the way whiskey poured down my neck, and she went down better than the booze. I felt my jaw unhinge and snapped it shut before a fly got in. I wanted to stand but wasn’t sure my legs would hold me. Instead, I leaned back and listened to my ancient chair groan and creak, and collected my cool. Tried to, anyway.

Her dark hair shined copper highlights under the harsh exposed bulb overhead. The crimson sign across the alley screaming GIRLS! GIRLS! GIRLS! cast weird shadows on her through my Venetians, and accented her form in the dim. A veil hid most of her face, except a luscious mouth. Her skin was porcelain white, and for a minute I saw her as a marble statue, carved by a master.

May I sit down?

Her voice sent a shiver down my spine and a blush up my cheeks. Sorry, I said, I wasn’t expecting anyone, and you didn’t knock. Have a seat.

She eased around the chair and floated onto it. The door was open.

I blushed again. Right. You’re right. Sorry. What can I do for you? I had to fight the urge to say, What can I do ya for? The answer is, I’d do her for free. Repeatedly.

She fidgeted, tugged the dress her over her knees even though it didn’t ride up. The taut fabric outlined those delicious thighs. I wanted to lick my lips, but didn’t have any spit in my mouth.

Finally, I forced something out of my mouth. So…you came here for a reason.

Are you Stanley Danslow?

That’s what it says on the door.

That wouldn’t make you Stanley Danslow.

Yeah, I’m Danslow. She had a way, that’s for sure.

She fidgeted again, edged forward on her perfect rump. I hadn’t seen it yet, but I knew it was perfect. Round, plump, firm and —

I need your services, Mr. Danslow.

Just Danslow, Ms…?

It’s Mrs. Mrs. Tellinghousen.

"Are we going to get to the point of your visit soon,