Adultery is my bread and butter; it takes up over 50% of my business!

A woman came into my office, one day.

"Barefoot Jenny?"

"That's me."

"Hi. My name is Barbara Garrison. I suspect my husband is having an affair."

I nodded. "Sit down and tell me about it."

She sat. "Every Wednesday night, he comes home an hour late; he claims he's working overtime. What's more, he's been action very 'guilty,' recently—like he's got some secret."

"Have you tried to confront him?"

"Once. He said it was nothing, and he loves me."

"I see. How long has this been going on?"

"About two months, now."

"OK."

"Oh, there's something else: When he comes home on Wednesdays, he sometimes smells like. . . chocolate!"

"Must be some interesting overtime!"

"Yeah!"

We discussed my fee, and other details.

As she was leaving, she looked at my feet, under the desk.

"I can see how you got your name!"

I smiled. "I'm barefooted as much as possible!


That Wednesday, I went to his office building. He left in the company of a girl. They got in a car and sped off. I followed them in my car.

They stopped at a grocery stare. They spent about 10:00 there, then went on. They stopped again at a house. They got out and went inside.

I decided not to stay; I had all the evidence I needed! So, I made a note of the address, went back to my office, and looked up who the house belonged to, online.


I had a strong feeling that John—That was his name—had a guilty conscious about what he was doing. Therefore, I decided that a direct confrontation would be the best course.

So, I waited in front of his office building, the next evening. He came out at 5:05PM. I walked over to him.

"Excuse me, a moment. You're John Garrison?"

"Yes."

"Hi. My name is Barefoot Jenny, and I'm a private detective." I gave him my business card. "I'd like to talk with you about something?"

"What about?"

"Nancy Johenning."

He signed heavily. "How did you find out? My wife hired you, didn't she?"

"I think we should talk about it."

"There's a Starbucks over there." He pointed to it.

"That's fine."


We bought coffee—he paid—and sat at a quiet table away from others.

"She works in my building, in another office," he said. "We'd see each other often, and we started talking. I guess she intrigued me. One day, she suggested we get together for a.. . 'tryst.' I'd never cheated on my wife before, and I should've refused. But like a fool, I agreed to it."

"By any chance, did this 'tryst' involve chocolate?"

This surprised him. "You know about that?"

"Your wife told me that you've smelled of it, on occasion."

"Yeah. She likes to cover herself in chocolate syrup. We did it together a couple times, and I must admit that I enjoyed it. But then I felt guilty; I do love Barbara. But when I tried to break it off with Nancy, she threatened me. She said that she would tell my wife AND my boss at work!"

"I see."

"I'm in a real mess!"

"In more ways than one!"

"Huh? Oh, yeah!"

"I think I can help you out of it."

"You can?"

"Yeah. But I think it's time for you to tell your wife."

"OK. I'm ready to do that."

"Good. Write your cell phone number on the card I just gave you."

He got it out, wrote his number, and gave it to me.

"I'll think of a plan. Then I'll call you at work with all the details."

"OK. Thanks, Barefoot Jenny."

"No problem."

We finished our coffees and left.


Most of this was told to me second-hand, because I wasn't involved with it until later.

John and Nancy met after work, the next Wednesday. They went to a Safeway and picked up two large bottles of chocolate syrup. Then they went to her house.

They went into one of the upstairs rooms. It was largely bare, except for a large plastic pool. They put the chocolate bottles in front of it.

"Nancy, before we begin, I have a little favor to ask you."

"What is it?"

"Can I cover you in chocolate, first?"

"All right."

She started to take her shirt off, but he stopped her. "Could you keep your clothes on?"

"WHAT?!"

"Please, Nancy?"

"Well, OK. But I expect you to let me cover YOU in chocolate, with your clothes on, too!"

"Sure, I'll do that."

She took her shoes off and sat in the tub. He opened one of the bottles and began pouring it over her. He worked slowly, getting it over her clothes, arms, legs, even her face and hair.

"Satisfied?"

"Oh, yeah!"

"Now, it's your turn."

At that very moment, there was a knock on her door.

She panicked. "Don't worry, I'll get rid of them," he said. He went downstairs and answered it.

It was his wife—and I. He led us upstairs. We immediately took out cameras and began snapping photos of the chocolate-covered Nancy!

She tried to attack us, but he held onto her. I then pulled out a gun!

"Say, what's going on here?!" she demanded.

"Allow me to introduce us," I said. "I'm Barefoot Jenny, a private eye. And this is Barbara Garrison."

"We're through, Nancy!" John said. "It was fun, I'll admit, but I'm sorry I ever got involved with you!"

"And don't think of trying to blackmail him," I added. "Otherwise, some very hard-to-explain photos of you might show up online!"

She sighed. "Go!"

The three of us left. I kept my eye on her, while leaving.


Barbara forgave John, and they're still together.

Nancy Johenning left the area for parts unknown, a few weeks later.

Between Barbara and I, we got about 10 photos of her covered in chocolate! I gave copies of them to the Garrisons.

I got $1000 for the job. Barbara and John split the bill.