It’s the Swinging Sixties and dynamic, catsuit-clad Liberty Moon sets up business as the city’s sexiest, trendiest, swingingest lesbian detective. Aided by Clare Sullivan, a horny and curvaceous student, and Holly Hazzard, a scatterbrained hippie reporter, Liberty takes on a range of insidious female adversaries, including a renegade war criminal, a murderous witch, a trio of communist spies, and a mad scientist and her beautiful if dim-witted daughter.
Maya Anders is back with another witty and outrageous sapphic romp. With settings ranging from a women-only nudist club to a psychedelic pop concert, it’s a breathless nostalgic trip through a bygone age of free love and flower power, with plenty of cool chicks and hot lesbian liaisons.
I was careful to spend the reward money from my first case wisely. I invested in a proper, professional-looking desk and put large, eye-catching ads in several of the more upmarket newspapers and magazines. I also bought myself some seriously up-to-date detective hardware. I purchased several good-quality cameras, including spy-type miniature ones, a police-band radio, a bunch of covert bugging devices and a whole assortment of skeleton keys and lock-picking tools. To top it all—because the gadget shop just happened to be right next door to a sex shop, plus the fact that I’m such a horny young thing -- I bought myself a nice selection of lesbian sex toys as well.
Just as I was laying out the latest set of purchases on my recently acquired desk, the phone rang. I picked up the handset and said “This is Liberty Moon, the swinging lesbian detective. How may I help you?”
“Good morning, Ms. Moon,” a serious-sounding contralto voice said. “You don’t know me, but my name is Holly Hazzard, and I’m a reporter at the Daily Globe.”
Suppressing a snarl, I held the receiver away from me and gave it my most ferocious glare. Holly Hazzard just happened to be the dorky little bitch who snatched that plum job at the Globe right out of my grasp. And she had the nerve to not even remember me! I counted to ten to calm my nerves, then replied as politely as possible. “Ah yes, I think I may have seen your byline on one or two pieces. How do you come to need the services of a lesbian detective?”
“Just a detective, really.” She gave a faint laugh. “It doesn’t have to be a lesbian one. But I rang you because you looked like the cheapest PI in town.”
I held my breath and glared at the receiver again. I was liking this woman less and less. “Okay, so my prices may not be as high as some others. That simply reflects the fact that I’m only just starting out. You can be assured of the quality of my work.”
“I hope so,” the voice at the other end of the line said. “Because I may be putting my life in your hands. Have you seen today’s headlines, about the murder last night?”
I grabbed a morning paper off my desk and glanced at the front page. “Vagrant Found Murdered in Cemetery -- is that the one you mean?”
“Yes, but that sounds like the Chronicle’s headline. Have you seen my piece in the Globe?”
“Um, no -- I’m afraid I don’t take that title.” I’ll say I didn’t, not since the bastards refused to give me my dream job, anyway.
“Well, if you want the assignment, I suggest you get hold of a copy and take a look at that article. Then meet me at the Starlight Diner on Seventh Street in half an hour.”
“Okay, Ms. Hazzard,” I said, swallowing my pride. She was only my second client, so I couldn’t afford to turn anyone down at this stage, even a total dweeb like her.
