Happy #WriterTuesday, I hope you are well, wherever you are. Keep using those precautions. Today’s #WritingPrompt is
Use it to inspire a piece of writing, and then post that piece as a contest entry below, or as a non-contest entry on the Shoot da Breeze page:
Here’s my draft for today.
Four others, Kazuo Takahashi, Lisa Gomes, April Waters, and Jesus Galiza were all right up there in sales. By all accounts, as he leafed through the monthly tallies, Chan guessed that all five were sitting in the million dollar club.
The fingerprint and photography people arrived. One of the photographers, Jimmy Doi, said, “Damn, David, so you think it’s a homicide now?”
“Not sure, Jimmy, but it’s looking that way.”
“Funny,” Jimmy said. “The place we were at before this, out in Hawai‘i Kai, it’s a realtor too.”
Chan stopped. “What’s his name?”
“Sorry, David, I didn’t get his name. Maybe I heard them say something like Hayashi? Sorry. We just shoot, right? I hear random stuff.”
“Uh huh,” said Chan, thinking. Hayashi? Takahashi? Maybe. He wanted to talk to Detectives Anderson and Kamamiya about that suicide. Carefully picking up the receiver, he dialed the police station with his pen.
“Sorry, Lieutenant,” said the woman on the HPD switchboard. “Neither one is in right now.”
Victor Yamamoto went to see Waters and Galiza, leaving Takahashi and Gomes to David Chan.
Of course Chan wanted to see Takahashi first, and of course he wasn’t in. In fact, he’d not been in all day.
“Is he normally out of the office all day into the afternoon?” Chan asked head secretary Annette Rodriguez.
Sometimes. Real estate worked that way. The sales staff might be in all day or out all day, depending on showings, closings, home and yard dressings. There were all kinds of reasons why Mr. Takahashi might be out.
Chan asked her if she knew whether Lisa Gomes were in. Mrs. Rodriguez buzzed her office. “You are in luck, Lieutenant, Lisa is in and knows you’re coming up.
Lisa Gomes’s office was one floor below Enfield’s, on the opposite side of the building. She ushered Chan in, hardly saying a word, and gestured to a chair in front of her expansive Koa desk. Yes, she was doing well.
“This is such a tragedy,” she said. “Bob’s always so happy, so upbeat. I can’t believe that he’d do such a thing.”
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- Enter as many times as you like using a trigger/prompt (this page).
- Contest Challenge entries can be prose (including short stories, nonfiction essays, or whatever you write), poetry, or plays -- or any type of hybrid writing you dream up.
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