My name is Morgan. Mitch Morgan, Private Investigator and ex-cop. The case: find Mrs. Octavia Flatone's piano. It disappeared from her 8th floor apartment last week. There were no signs of a struggle.
I do my best thinking in the local donut shop, so I headed there, bought a half dozen, and hunkered down in the corner to munch and mull.
Suddenly a tall blonde woman wearing sunglasses and a glistening black trenchcoat appeared.
"The secret to the missing piano is on your plate," she whispered.
I looked at my six donuts. "You're crazy lady," I said.
"On yeah?" she said. And then she rearranged the donuts into three figure eights.
She licked her fingers and pointed. "The secret is right there," she said.
I heard a screech of tires. My ex-cop instincts forced me to look outside to see what was up. When I turned back to confront the tall blonde, she had disappeared.
I looked down at my plate. Only five donuts remained.
"Hey! Not my maple dip!" I cried.
But it was too late. The tall blonde had vanished.
