Today we write about: the disappearance.
Inspired by the mysterious disappearance of our pea seeds today. We think we've got it figured out now, but it took a while.
Did some more work in the garden today, transplanting stuff out from the greenhouse. Which, somehow, is still totally packed.
Monsieur Savard's last known sighting was outside a wine bar on 85th Street, shortly before 1 a.m. on the 3rd of December. He was alone, though that did not prevent him from carrying on a conversation, very loudly. He was also, as you may have surmised, very drunk.
A woman living in a second floor apartment across the street reported yelling at him to go home and sleep it off. This earned her nothing but a loud belch in her general direction. She slammed her window shut and went to bed, but not before putting in her earplugs.
Four days later, I've been unable to find anyone who has seen Savard since.
The trail is as cold as my coffee and its been sitting on my desk untouched since 6 o'clock this morning. Night is settling in all over the city and I'm desperate for a break. I pick up my phone and dial my best contact.
"Good evening Detective Olson." Ah, her voice is sweeter than honey. Just what I needed to hear.
"Hey Lucy," I say, the smile already on my lips. "Book me on the next plane to Vegas. I need to get out of here for a few days."