This is my first-ever fanfiction, so... let me know what you think? Obviously I have no rights to Endeavour characters, plots, etc.
"Miss Frazil?" Morse said as he opened the door to the Oxford Mail. Usually the editor was the only one in the building, so he assumed the dark hair in the center of the office was his sometimes-colleague. He walked toward her, but stopped when she turned around. It was not Miss Frazil.
"I'm afraid she's gone out for lunch. Can I help you?" the not-Frazil young lady said.
Morse looked her up and down. Tall, modern. Dark. She had short hair like that model, the stick-thin one everyone was on about these days. She wore trousers, even at work. Pretty, if you liked that sort of thing, he decided.
"Detective Constable Morse, City Police. I have a question for her about an old edition. Maybe you would know? I'm looking up a death from '55."
"Oh, I'm afraid I won't do you any good there. I've only been in Oxford for two years," she explained with a shrug. "I can have her ring you when she gets back."
"If you could. She has the number," Morse halfway turned to go, then turned back. "What did you say your name was?"
"I don't think I said," she smiled, almost cautiously, then held out her hand to Morse. "Tuesday Allison."
They shook hands.
"Tuesday Allison, not Allison Tuesday?" he asked. How many days of the week could one man know in one town?
A short, practiced laugh, and then, "Common mistake. And before you ask, I was born on a Saturday."
Morse considered her for a moment before nodding, saying a quick thank you, and turning to the door.
"Detective," she called after him. "Shall I take your number down, just in case Dorothea's lost it?"
Morse smiled to himself. Maybe he liked that sort of thing.