Super Detective in the Fictional World

(Thanks to ally Forest A Stone for his support of the book)

The lady who was greeting the yachtsman's parents in passing finally stopped and turned her head in surprise.

She was dressed in a white dress that clung wetly to her body.

A thick black hair was drenched into a lock by the seawater and hung down in disorder, covering half of the face, but the exposed face was particularly white.

If the woman hadn't broken into a rant as soon as she landed, Eleanor might have thought she'd met some sort of ghost of the sea or something supernatural.

The painteress didn't know the visitor, but Luke was all too familiar with her - the distinctive rhythm and accent of the G-rated cake maker Max Trap Man would have impressed anyone who heard it.

The night was now dark, and the beach was illuminated by shadowy landscape lights only a few dozen meters away.

Max turned back to look at first glance and vaguely noticed two figures leaning against each other.

Marguerite? Lying there she was completely treated like a piece of junk by Max.

Max stepped forward a few meters away, which confirmed that the two were a couple.

But being a veteran driver, she immediately noticed the subtleties of the two's posture: emmm~ This posture...I seem to be familiar with it.

Then, Margaret also woke up in a daze.

Hearing the noise, the cheap sister-in-law looked around in a daze.

Max saw the situation, suddenly a face of "boy juice you are good oh" expression.

"Wow, bro, you're really good at this." The baker, who forgot to let off the gas once he was driving, subconsciously winked at Luke.

Luke laughs cryptically, "Thanks for the praise. But are you sure that's all you need to be concerned about right now?"

"You're right, so can I borrow your phone for a second?" The speeding female driver sniffed suddenly.

When she finished, the tires in her head somehow drifted again and her hands went up in a resisting gesture, "Wait, first of all, just borrow the phone, never the meat."

Luke was speechless, so he took Elena aside with both hands and set her aside.

Max let out a squeal and seemed shocked to raise her hand to cover the side of her face, but her glazed eyes swept right down the lower third of Luke and Elena's face from her wide open fingers.

Then she muttered in surprise, "I can't believe I guessed wrong? It's impossible."

Eleanor's little dress had been pulled back to near her knees, and it didn't prove anything about what she was or wasn't wearing.

But when Luke went to "pick up" the picnic supplies, he put on a set of T-shirts and shorts that were neatly tucked in.

With Max's extensive camping experience, he was sure that the shorts were not low enough to walk a bird, but were 100% in the right place.

Luke was not surprised to see the mental turmoil in this guy's head - after all, a bakery lady who doesn't drive is not a good Max.

He didn't even have to explain that the one-click change of storage space was such a seamless feature.

Casually digging in the bag beside him, Luke casually removed Margaret's phone and tossed it to Max.

He'd spent the last few years replacing his phone's functions with his nano inner armor, and hadn't bothered to bring it along for show.

Besides, it was just a formality.

Max caught the phone and stared at Luke for a few seconds with a "I can't believe I'm wrong" look on his face.

Luke smiled at that.

How could he be fooled by her when he'd been through the usual cake baker routine a million times.

Max finally gave up on pursuing the wheel print, said thank you, and stepped ten feet away to make a phone call.

The call was brief, and over in less than twenty seconds.

When Max walked back to return the phone, Margaret had gotten up curiously and handed over the large bath towel she had covered as she retrieved her own phone, "Dry off the seawater first, or you'll catch a cold."

Max looked a little oddly at this Margaret who was smiling pleasantly at him: this product... why does it look a little like Caroline? Well, the same Caroline who was the first to run to a fast food restaurant to apply for a job, smelled like an upper class rich white woman.

Good cake baker has always been very broad-minded, no habit of hating the rich without saying anything, besides, she but she needed a bath towel.

Wind-blown wet dresses were only one of the reasons, but more importantly, white dresses were so see-through when soaked in water that they felt more irritating than not.

Thankfully, this guy is two in a row, so he's not going to go on a rampage and drag me into making a double heart sandwich. The baker whispered to himself, while on the surface he thanked Margaret and talked to her.

It didn't help that Luke over there was still whispering with his arm around the painteress, and there was none of the maniacal pouncing that Max imagined.

To her dismay, Luke was a man who only occasionally paid attention to what was going on over here.

It was the petite woman in his arms whose eyes hovered over her "key" curves like a scanner.

Eleanor had been awake for a few minutes, and the sight of Max's "stormy" body made her think of the lines of women's fleshy beauty in famous paintings.

Relatively speaking, art is still a little more important than Luke.

What was more important was that Luke could see it often, but not necessarily again.

Not only that, but as she looked at it she naturally whispered consulting a certain professional human mapper, "Is this scale...F, or G?"

Luke: "G, it's not far from H."

Eleanor makes a small slurping sound under her breath, "And I feel like it's pure - genuine, that's a sad gift...too."

Luke shrugged his shoulders and agreed.

In fact, there were quite a few female athletes in Europe and the US who could reach G or even H, but non-fat, pure natural ones were still rare.

If this woman still had a face comparable to Margaret's, she was definitely a phoenix in the sky.

To put it another way, it's that if Margaret had Max's G-rated strength, there would be more than a few times as many men after her - you know, Margaret herself is already a billion-dollar white woman.

Elena's painterly scans gave Max the illusion: it's not like he's met some sort of gang of turned too-homicidal maniacs, is it? Or is it the husband and wife kind, wait, maybe add a third counterpart who helps push the ASS?

Margaret was completely unaware of the extra sympathy in the cake-maker's eyes as he turned back to her: it was a kind of cup of life when someone else was eating and you were watching. Well, it was something Caroline was familiar with, too.

On this thought, Max felt more vested in Margaret, and simply made small talk with her.

Margaret is really not too cautious, basically ask whatever you want to say - of course, Luke psychologically implied that she can not say anything to the public, she also can not say.

Max heard quite a bit about the three, but it was basically the same amount of public information that could be found out in the open for a little money, which amounted to asking for nothing.

And two minutes later, the secondary billet with Chris Evans' handsome face on top showed up at the beach, so she didn't have time to continue to get her silly sister-in-law's words.

Max had never been direct and free-spirited when it came to action.

When she saw her boyfriend backing her up, she immediately DuangDuanged over and leapt up to move the bimbo slammer, paying in advance for her boyfriend's labor on the horse.