" Have you called the local authorities, Miss? We try to let them handle it first."Liv hesitated before responding, "I think the Sheriff may be friend... with the murderer. I saw him at the Sheriff's house less than an hour ago! I wasn't sure what to do, so I called you guys. I don't have any reason to think that the Sheriff is in on it, but I couldn't take the chance." Well, I truly hope he didn't know anything about the murder, but you did the right thing. We don't want any conflicts of. Even Liz wouldn't dare blow our cover as a normal dysfunctional single parent family by posting it on any streaming sites.She, mom, and I, are futanari. It was in all of our best interests to keep that on the down-low. It would harm all futanari if we became headline news before our kind claimed a much larger segment of the general population. Thank goodness some normal girls, and a few open minded men as well, somehow seemed to sense our difference. They are drawn to us like a moth to a flame,. Dad had an agreement to take care of anything that worried her even if nothing was wrong we would humour her, check it out and send her on her way, Tom would come in when he got home and take care of any bill.Early one Saturday morning the phone rang in the shop, I answer and it was April, there was oil running out from under their truck. I told her that we weren’t open today, dad and mom had gone for the weekend and the only reason I was in the shop was to work on my own truck. She. I later learned that her name was Jamie, and she was my assistant. She looked professional, and unselfconsciously downscale. She wore a her ribbed dark sweater that was looser than is the current fashion, skirt that was short without being sexual, chunky black shoes and retro cat-eye glasses. It was a clean, wholesome sort of look, and she looked like the grown-up version of that girl that you fooled around with in the Anti-Apartheid shantytown in college, or like Natalie Merchant's more.