The classic perception of a private eye, one that through the years has been glamorized by novels, films and television, is that of a man somewhere between 30 and 40 years of age; seedy in appearance; dressed in a trench coat with a fedora hat pulled low on his head; a cigarette dangling from his lips; the smell of Jack Daniels oozing from his every pore. He is portrayed as a loner; a gallant warrior fighting for truth, justice and for those that the legal system has betrayed. Not known for his personal hygiene, he wears the same rumpled suit for consecutive days, and his meals are mostly liquid. In spite of all of the above, our hero is a romantic, appealing to women who like living dangerously. They want to feed him; clean him up; tend to his wounds (physical and emotional); and protect him. Our private eye goes along with them for a while, but, in the end, unable to even care for a plant, he reverts to his old ways. I was one of those individuals who had that same impression. Although I had read books, seen films and television series that featured them, I never aspired to join their ranks. However, due to an unpredictable turn of fate that quickly changed as, unlikely as it may have seemed, I, myself, became a private eye. In my case, though, in contrast to being a tough, smelly loner and drinker of Jack, I was female, mother of three daughters, who not only bathed twice a day but also smelled of Chanel No. 5. It was in 1986, when I decided to write a book featuring as the main character a Cuban-American female private investigator, that I became a private eye, an interesting time to enter the profession, especially in Miami where I lived, a city then referred to as ‘the cocaine capital of the world’. As I began writing, I quickly realized that in order to realistically portray how a private investigator went about investigating cases and the demands on their personal and/or professional life, as she did so, I had to become one, if briefly. Once I’d made the decision, I had to find a way to do it, no easy feat considering I was Volvo driving, married mother of three, living in Coral Gables, Miami. Not just that, but I had just given birth to my third daughter, so I barely fit into my clothes. Those were not exactly the qualifications one would associate with Sam Spade or Mike Hammer. I consulted with a friend, a successful criminal defense attorney, who recommended that I apply to work as an intern in the private investigative firm. I did as he advised and, much to my surprise, I was immediately offered employment. Later, I was to discover that the reasons I’d been hired: I was willing to work cheaply ($8.00 per hour) and I had never been arrested. Most important, I did not have any apparent drug habit. Of the eight investigators employed at the firm, I was the only female so I was not exactly welcomed with open arms. However, through hard work and because I accepted the absolutely worst assignments, I slowly gained their respect. Once my private investigator’s license was granted, I quit working for that firm, and, together with a Federal agent I had met while working there, opened a private investigative firm. My partner showed me how to shoot; conduct surveillances both moving and stationary; lift prints, read court files; write official reports; interview witnesses. We worked both civil and criminal cases, and built up a very successful firm.

Although I enjoyed the work, it was not easy doing so as a mother of three, and I learned how to juggle my personal and professional lives. For example: I used to buy duplicates of my daughters’ school books so I could help them with homework while on surveillance. Once, while dumpster diving (collecting trash from garbage bins) at dawn, I fell into the dumpster, and, unable to get out, had to call my partner to take my daughters to school. The six months that I intended to spend working as an investigator somehow turned into 10 years. It wasn’t easy or glamorous work, but I gained the experience to write the book, and I have no regrets about the time I spent doing that. I was very fortunate in that my family fully supported what I was doing. In 1995, I quit working, and sat down to write what became my first book: Bloody Secrets. Now, having had nine books published here in the United States; having had them translated into 12 languages; a movie made from one, my stint as a private eye worked out quite well. I still get calls from criminal defense attorneys tempting me by reporting that they have a case ‘right up my alley’. I remind them that I write pretty much full-time now and I’m retired from ‘the life’. I have to wonder, though, if that is really the case, why do I renew my private investigator’s license every year?