Detective

            I walk up to the giant wooden doors. Brass knocker, looking like gargoyles, hang just above my head. I look to my left and see a button for the doorbell and press it. An older gentleman dressed in a suit opens the door.

                        “May I help you?” he drones.

                        “My name is Ember Gilmoore. I am here to see Mr. Caesarea,” I reply.

                        “Come in.”

            I walk past the man and marvel at the house before me. The marble stairs rose before me. The wood banister curled with the twist of the stairs. When my eyes reached the top they fall upon deep black matte loafers. As my eyes drift up I scan across slate grey slacks, shiny onyx belt, and a burnt orange shirt unbuttoned at the top.

                        “Miss Gilmoore how can I help you?” he asks descending the stairs.

                        “I am here about Milo Vasquez.”

                        “What about him?”

                        “He’s dead.”

                        “I am aware Miss Gilmoore. What is your point?”

                        “Did you do it?” I ask.

He smirks slyly at me then turns and heads into what appears to be a den.