The Scrambled Yeggs
Republished under new title and changed to Richard S. Prather by Fawcett Gold Medal Books, 1958
When the door opened, I raised my eyes slowly. Maybe I should have started with her face, but if I had, I'd have missed all the fun of getting to it. She was put together as if I'd planned it myself, and she was wearing a dress that fit her like plastic surgery.
"Did you just come to look," she asked pleasantly, "or do you want something?"
I'm broad-minded so I answered yes to both questions....
Me? I'm Shell Scott, a private eye as private as a town hall clock. When I'm not mixed up with murder, I'm mixed up with molls.
They're both my trademark.