I noticed her, more because she looked out of place, completely overdressed for the local bar, than for any other reason. A long, black evening gown, sparkly silver clutch, long clawlike fingernails that were horribly unattractive, hair ironed and slicked back into a tight ponytail at the crown of her head. She sat down beside us at the bar, ordered a drink, paid cash, and checked out the local scene, detachedly observant.

Moments later, she bent over to get her things and left the bar, drink still half full. A few minutes later Tricia and I noticed our wallets were missing. Damn her. After a round of expletives, we walked out onto the sidewalk, seeing if she was still in the vicinity. No such luck.

We informed the bartender of what had happened. He offered his apologies, bought us a round of drinks, then commented, “I knew there was something suspicious about her. I mean, who orders Bacardi and pineapple juice? That in itself screams criminal activity…”