The exercise:
Write about: the breakthrough.
Bakery is still pretty quiet. I guess it'll be this way until things pick up around Christmas. We'll see how much of that I get to see, but the current plan is to stick around while I continue searching for a full time job.
Took Max to the park this afternoon, where we arrived moments before one of the boys from his soccer class (along with his mom and baby sister - who is only 3 days younger than Miles). We've been in various classes with Clark the last few years, so they know each other a little bit. This was the first time they'd run into each other at the park though.
And they had a friggin' blast.
I've never seen Max play with another kid like that (other than Natalie of course). He usually would rather play with me (or Kat if she's the one with him) than other kids. But him and Clark were climbing all over the place, going down the slides, checking out the firetruck, running everywhere... and Max barely said a word to me the whole time.
I honestly didn't know what to do with myself.
I chatted with Clark's mom for a bit. I tried to stay warm in the chilly wind. I gave Max more time than we really had before we had to get home for dinner prep.
It was pretty great.
Mine:
The investigation went on for months. No detail was left unexamined, in any of the three dozen crime scenes. The work was extensive and thorough - there was too much at stake for anything less, and the man in charge of the case was keenly aware of that.
His team was on their fourth day on the most recent scene when Marquez, a newly assigned Detective, noticed something odd. It was extremely minor - in fact he almost didn't bother to bring it to the attention of his boss.
But better safe than sorry, as they say.
The man, who everyone simply referred to as The Head Honcho, did not at first appreciate what he was being shown. He was about to send Marquez back to the scene when he took another look at the photograph of the shard of glass.
"Wait..." he said, cocking his head to the side. "This looks like it came from... but it couldn't be."
"What is it, sir?" Marquez asked.
"Quick! Someone bring me one of the water pitchers from the lunch room!"
And, finally, a breakthrough had occurred in the Breakthrough Case.
4 comments:
The bakery seems like a nice place, and if you can stay there while waiting to get that body-double role with the Mayor I know you're hoping for that's not a bad thing. Would it help if I made a Canadian assassination attempt on the current Mayor (come up behind them, tap them on the shoulder and whisper "Tag, you're out!")?
Sounds like Max might be making his first best friend then! I think it was very nice of you to endure the chilly winds so that Max could enjoy playtime like that too -- well done!
Hmm, I really like how the first few paragraphs convey the inconclusivity of the investigation so far, there's a strong sense of industry that's just not achieving anything. I'm still mystified as to what's going on in the case, but I'm sure you'll put this on your "to-continue" list and alleviate my puzzlement soon!
I'll even continue my post from two days ago as a token of good faith :)
Posting twice, sorry. Still need to learn to keep things to a reasonable length!
The breakthrough
The policeman knocked on the door of the boarding house, his cap already in his hand. His mother was a friend of April M. Day's mother and he had strong memories of afternoons spent in shadowy parlours, the curtains drawn against the intensity of the sunlight, playing hide-and-go-seek with a young girl with chestnut hair while the murmur and bubble of conversation happened in distant rooms. He could remember the smell of mint from the pitcher that the ladies were served from, and a young April daring him to drink from it when they found it three-quarters empty in the kitchen. The harsh taste of alcohol, so nauseating then, had become a bosom friend since.
The door opened and April was stood in the hallway. For a moment there was silence while they looked at each other.
"Phillip," said April. She looked at his uniform. "Perhaps it should be Captain Armstrong?"
He smiled. The hair was thinner than he remembered, wrinkles gave her face character and her hands were no longer as smooth and pale as marble, but the fiery spirit was still there and her brown eyes were luminous in a face that was maybe just a little too thin to be good for a soul.
"April," he said. "I think you used to call me Yellowjacket, because I annoyed you so much."
"Yellowjacket." Her eyes looked down at the floor, and her hands casually caught each other and began gently massaging. "Oh yes, you always were too good at finding me when we played hide-and-go-seek. I was sure you were cheating."
"Your perfume," he said. He had to stop himself inhaling as the wonder if she was wearing it now rose. "I could always follow your perfume."
She lifted her eyes and a mischievous smile appeared. "How careless of me," she said. Once again a silence hung between them. "Then you're not here for me?"
Instantly he wished he were. "The Packard hotel," he began.
"I saw the smoke and the flames. Such a shame, and I know poor Delilah will be distraught. Could they save it?"
"Razed," he said. "But shortly before the fire began two of your boarders were see leaving it. I'd like to talk to them, please."
That mischievious smile appeared again and her hands separated, one reaching for him and resting briefly against his chest. Almost unconsciously he puffed it out.
"You can talk," she said. "But the conversation might be a little one-sided. They're both mute."
She turned and called, "Angelo! Bogdan! Might you be so kind as to come and meet a guest, please?" There was silence, and Phillip had to chide himself: of course there was. His spirits had fallen though: if neither could talk then what hope was there for an immediate breakthrough in the case?
Angelo appeared first, shirtless, his trousers belted with a length of rope, sockless and shoeless.
"Signor!" April sounded shocked, but Phillip was sure she was hiding a smile. "Please remember that this is a decent boarding house. Your clothes!" Angelo's hands moved like a conjuror's and he disappeared again.
"He says his shirt is wet as he was washing it," said April.
Angelo reappeared wearing a soaking wet white shirt that was now nearly transparent, which, Phillip reflected, seemed somehow less decent than no shirt at all.
Greg - well, my tale was making reference to the Kool-Aid Man, but that might be a North American thing? Either way, I'm glad you enjoyed it :)
And what a fabulous continuation it is! Absolutely loved the interaction between April and Philip, along with their backstory. And I do believe things are about to get particularly interesting as the questioning begins...
I'm glad you're enjoying the story of the mutes: I will continue them a little more as Ernest's tale allows (let me know if novelising on your blog is actually against the rules, aight?).
I've heard of Kool-Aid, but I didn't know there was a Kool-Aid man! Now I do and I enjoy your tale the more for it :)
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