While you ponder, LMA, a little something to set the mood---

The Customer Is Always Right

The Salesman--

She shivers in the wind like the last leaf on a dying tree

I let her hear my footsteps

She only goes stiff for a moment

Care for a smoke?

C:Sure. I'll take one

C:Are you as bored by that crowd as I am?

I didn't come here for the party

I came here for you

I've watched you for days

You're everything a man could ever want

It's just not your face

Your... figure

Or your voice

It's your eyes

All the things I see in your eyes

C:What is it you see in my eyes?

I see a crazy calm

You're sick of running

You're ready to face what you have to face

But you don't want to face it alone

C:No

C:I don't want to face it alone

The wind rises electric

She's soft and warm and almost weightless

Her perfume is sweet promise that brings tears to my eyes

I tell her that everything will be alright

That I'll save her from whatever she's scared of and take her far far away

I tell her... I love her

The silencer makes a whisper of the gunshot

I hold her close until she's gone

I'll never know what she's running from

I'll cash her check in the morning

by Frank Miller

Wow. Very cool.

Take a page from Jo Rowling. One of the most important clues in the first book appears, on first reading, as a throw-away line that merely decorates the narrative.

You've had a comment from John in Limbo for a few days and I decided to let it out.

How about some more Frank Miller. . .

Marv. . .

I was always good
at jigsaw puzzles.

Back in school I
had this buddy, name
of Chuck. He was
retarded. He'd watch
me put the pieces
together and I loved
that guy because he
was the only person I
ever met who was dumb
enough to think I was
a genius.

And the situation I got
right now, it's just
one more jigsaw puzzle.
Problem is I'm
damn short on pieces.

I've been framed for
murder and the cops
are-in on it. But the real
enemy, the son of a
bitch who killed the
angel lying next to me,
he's out there
somewhere, out of
sight, the big missing
piece that'll give me the
how and the why and a
face and a name and a
soul to send screaming
into hell.

The good news is that
the killer isn't sitting
back and waiting for
the cops to polish me
off. "There were some
men who came looking
for you," Mom said. "They
weren't police."

So all I go to do is
send the bastard an
invitation. He'll come or
he'll send somebody and
either way if I don't get
dead I'm bound to wind
up with one or two more
puzzle pieces.

The Hard Goodbye

Well, I'd be happy to be as good a storyteller as Rowlling is. It's easy for her, because she is so good at characterization that there's plenty of "local color" in her stories. That makes it easier to hide clues.

The Queen writers aren't as good, but they put in enough to camouflage their real intent. That's all it takes.

Writing a puzzle is just like doing a magic trick: it's all about misdirection.