A Misnamed Murder

It was, in fact, a dark and stormy night. And I am a Private Eye. How cliche. But anyway, I had a case, and that was all that mattered, some dame named Victoria VonTruesse. Probably just some old lady that had knocked off her husband for the cash and wanted a fool to lead the police in circles while she slipped off scot-free. The door opened. I was wrong. Then Victoria came the rest of the way in. Really wrong. Victoria VonTruesse looked to be about 5'10, and had long, choclate brown hair that curled in an unruly manner about her head, piercing black eyes, cocoa skin, and was wearing one of those non-fussy blouses with a pencil skirt. In a unexpectedly Spanish-tinged voice she said "Please help me. My brother is missing." I had a case.