The black lace that covered her arms was a vain barrier between her skin and the draft in the bar. Her stomach and jaw were clenched from the chill and concentrating on the task-at-hand.
Said task, was sitting in a corner booth directly in front of her own. Peeling the label of some micro-brew and clenching his jaw while listening to his comrade’s escapades from the previous night. Either he didn’t approve or he was cold too. (That clench was intense.)
Fortunate for her, the Seattle bar boasted modern, mid-century decor with low-back seating and moody light. Perfect for blending in and snooping on her current assignment as he dropped bits of beer label onto the table.
Invisibility was Michelle’s super power. No, she did not possess actual magical abilities, but she was an expert at going unobserved when it suited her. She contributed her chameleon abilities to her looks. Her sandy blonde hair, average height, thin figure, and unremarkable brown eyes meant people didn’t find her overly attractive or horribly ugly. To be honest, she didn’t have one outstanding or striking trait that made people remember her for better or worst.
When she was younger she used her bland appearance like a security blanket. Now it was her money-maker.
Nobody from the small logging community where she grew up ever thought much of Michelle, that was fine with her. Never would they suspect she would become a private P.I. with her own, highly successful company, yet here she sat, watching some millionaire’s husband throw back a few beers with his bud.
Rather a boring job by this appearance alone, but the “devil is in the detail” and Michelle was a pro at sniffing out sin. Actually, she was the best.