#sleuthsts

they sat at a corner table on a roof - top cafe.     the sun was setting,   but at the angle at which they sat,   there were no intruding sun - rays.     the warmth blanketed ava’s back and shone gently across their table.     there was a small array of plates,   all small and stylish,    appetizers long gone ;     two cups and a glass were on his side,   three glasses on hers,    and a   spread of papers   laid down where there was room on the wooden surface.     it couldn’t be seen,   but there was a   division   between the two of them as well ;     like glass,    it separated fact from emotion.

ava monday reached for her cup of coffee   &   an understanding of where he was coming from.     the fragrance of dill and lavender filled the air,   filled her lungs.     “   the way you’ve been going about this,   mister james,   you’d think that she stopped your heart all together.   ”     a sip,   a wince ;     she’d gotten to the   sludge   at the bottom of the cup.     she licked her lips,   taking away the flavour and some of her dark - coloured rogue.     “  love is a nasty business.   unhealthy.   ”

that is,   poor for one’s health most of the time.     but ava monday was no   physician,   never mind the title before her name.     obviously uncomfortable with the topic of emotion,   she gestured again to one of the files splayed open,   a few granules of salt from their french - fries sticking to it.     it was a photo - copy of a photograph,   coloured but heavily pixelated.     surrounding the image was a mess of   scribbles   of two different handwritings :     his   and later on,    hers   over top with red ink.     a   faceless woman   was framed inside the picture,   the tip of her nose seen behind a cloud of   blonde or perhaps,   strawberry - blonde   hair.     the woman stood with her hands in her pockets and the shadows suggested that she was mid - conversation with someone off - frame.     his notes were about reasons for   conspiracy and crime   ;     hers weren’t as thrilling,    but scientific.

the woman seems to be a live subject.   capable of movement,   conversation,   and    spontaneity.     humanoid   in appearance   if not totally human in form.

❝  TO  BE  QUITE  HONEST  ,  this  isn’t  how  i  expected  my  visit  to  virginia  would  go  .  ❞  he  surmises  he’s  speaking  to  an  investigator  now  ,  not  a  police  officer  ,  given  the  lack  of  a  standard  uniform  .  luckily  shawky’s  not  in  cuffs  or  anything              he  suspects  he  may  be  here  to  help  on  a  case  ,  as  the  summons  vaguely  mentioned  .  so  much  for  his  free  day  exploring  a  few  of  the  state’s  sights  .  he’s  supposed  to  give  a  lecture  about  modern  archaeology  at  the  university  of  richmond  tomorrow  ,  but  a  quick  divergence  and  supposedly  desperate  times  has  taken  him  to  a  town  called  salem  .  curious  .  he  watches  the  detective  from  behind  his  round  glasses  and  clears  his  throat  a  bit  .  ❝  can  you  explain  why  i’m  here  and  what  i’m  needed  for  ?  not  angry  ,  just  asking  .  and  will  i  make  my  lecture  tomorrow  in  richmond  ?  ❞

‘ ⋅   ♥̲      .          [          ❛          no  ,          i’ve    never    seen    any    of    those    girls    before  .          I’M    SORRY          /          ı’ɯ    soɹɹʎ          .    .    .          um  ,          uh  ,          um  .          𝚠𝚑𝚘    𝚍𝚒𝚍    𝚢𝚘𝚞    𝚜𝚊𝚢    𝚢𝚘𝚞    𝚠𝚎𝚛𝚎    𝚊𝚐𝚊𝚒𝚗          ?          ❜

       “      WELL DONE,   DETECTIVE.      ”

they watched the man leave.          a well - tailored suit could get you a long way.          a winning smile,   a cunning tongue,   it’ll all buy the trust of others.          but not theirs.          she stood next to him with her hands in her pockets ;     there,   she held onto her trust,   held   tight   to a sense of knowing that   creeped   along her nervous system as   watched,   stared,   glared   at the man getting into the elevator.          in giving away her trust,   ava monday often sliced it like the peel from an apple.          it’d sooner rot than come to taste sweetly on a tongue.          she wondered,   however,   if   he   trusted   her.          he had no reason to,   but most people didn’t really need a reason.          except he did not seem an unreasonable man...     at least,   not until he began to think of   her     -     that other woman,   the living ghost.

❛  you're holdin' out on me.  ❜   he states firmly and, frankly, a little peeved. blanc had this nasty habit of expecting people to tell him the truth when he absolutely refused to pay them the same respects.  ❛  that cannot be the most interesting case you ever had. there's gotta be somethin' better. somethin' more interesting! where's the intrigue? the layers? the necessity for gettin' those little grey cells hard at work? no, your war story is no good, my friend. ya gotta give me one that is acceptable.   ❜