The trouble started when I opened the small door to the broom-closet-sized room that led into the boudoir. The royal purple material, draped so becomingly yesterday, hung slightly askew. Not a big deal. Maybe someone brushed up against it on their way out yesterday. Maybe Jackie had jerked the material in her huff to get away from the likes of me. Who knew? Although I thought I would have seen it before leaving last night.

I had my answer when I walked into the main part of the boudoir. It looked like a freaking cyclone had hit Frederick’s of Hollywood. Bras and crotchless panties hung from the previously romantic sconces, like leftovers from a bachelor party. Thigh-high stockings and garters littered the floor. After I did a thorough check, I found every single piece of lingerie, every sexy outfit, every panty or bra, was out of place.

The strangest thing about all this was it appeared all the inventory was there except items over a size fourteen. Weird. Not a single plus-sized bra or panty lay among the ruins of the room. No sexy nightgowns with X-anything on the tags. Nothing. It appeared someone had broken in and made off with all the lingerie for the full-bodied woman.

“What the hell is going on?” I said aloud to the wrecked room. As if on cue, the bell tinkled above the door I’d purposely locked behind me when I came in this morning.