Dubin stood frozen in the doorway staring back at Nicole as if she’d caught him in the middle of some unspeakable crime. “Just joking,” Nicole smiled, her emerald eyes twinkling in the dim light. “Hasn’t anyone ever told you that you look like Edgar Allan Poe?” “Yes, actually, someone has,” he stammered, trying to smile. “But why did you expect Poe to show up at your door?” “It’s a long story,” she laughed. “I’m sorry. What can I do for you?” “My name is Dubin and I—” “Dubin!” She said the name as if it were French, with the accent on the second syllable. “That’s perfect! Are you a detective?” “Yes, as a matter of fact, I am.” “And tell me, are you working with the préfecture du police?” “The police? No, I despise the police.” “Ah! You despise the police! Just as I’d expect!”
