About This Author
My name is Joy, and I love to write. Why poetry, here? Because poetry uplifts its writer, and if she is lucky enough, her readers, too. Around us, so many objects abound to write about. Once a poet starts with a smallest, most trivial object, he shall discover that his pen will spill out what is most delicate or most majestic hidden inside him. Since the classics sometimes dealt with lofty subjects with a lofty language, a person with poetry in his soul may incline to emulate that. That is understandable. Poetry does that to a person: it enlarges the soul and gives it wings. Yet, to really soar, a poet needs to take off from the ground. Kiya's gift. I love it!
The Case of Aloft National Bank Robbery
This choice: Jessica discovers a broken lock on the door of a nearby store.  •  Go Back...
Chapter #3

What's on the menu?

    by: Puditat
It looked out of place, yet nonchalant enough to have escaped the notice of the police so far. She picked it up. It turned out to be a cheap lampstand, the kind they sell en-masse, and made to last just long enough for the guarantee to expire. It appeared made of wrought iron, but was only black-painted aluminium. It was bent in the middle and a chunk of the decorative filigree was missing. Jessica frowned, scanning around to see if she could find the rest of the lamp, or how it might have come to be in the parking lot.

Nothing obvious presented itself, and the crime scene was securely off-limits. Sighing, Jessica stepped onto the sidewalk beside the police cordon tape and decided she may as well head home. Her eyes alighted on a piece of black, twisted metal, sitting in the doorway of a takeaway joint. She bent to pick it up, noticing the chipped paint around the door's lock as she did so. The damage to the lock looked recent. The shop hours read 4.30pm till late. Mmmm, she mused, so the owner hasn't been here since late last night.

She bent closer to the door, placing a hand against the brown door, warmed under the morning sun. She gasped as the door swung inward to her light touch. Someone's broken in!

Jessica stepped into the darkened interior and stopped to listen. The building sat sullen and silent, for the moment bereft of its neon lights and grease-smoked air. Something didn't feel right. Jessica's training warred with her need to get her money, and the ring, back. She was desperate to restore her finances, but instinct told her this wasn't a good place to be.

She stood, wasting time and feeling the growing frustration add to her dilemma.
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