Clare drummed on the table with her fingers, picking up the pace as her anxiety increased with every ring. How busy could the police station be? Nobody ever reported crimes anymore because nobody ever remembered, and even if they did, nothing was going to get done.
Finally the phone was answered, and before the person on the other end of the line could even introduce themselves, Clare had begun talking.
“I need to report a crime.” Clare said hurriedly.
“Ma’am, did you mean to call a tip line?”
“No. I need to speak with a…” Clare drummed her fingers harder as she tried to remember past cop shows that she watched. “Uh….uh…a detective.” She said, feeling more than a little triumphant that she had somehow managed to remember that. “Someone’s about to be murdered.”
“Ma’am, if you can give me your name and number, I’ll make sure that a detective calls you back.”
“Clare. I’m Clare Page.” The voice on the other side of the phone instantly changed.
“Ms. Page, please stop wasting our time.” The officer responded, and in one click he was gone.
Clare stared at her phone before hanging it up, confused. Wasting their time? If murder was a waste of time to the boys in blue it was no wonder that the city was the way it was. But this was too important to give up on. She needed to find another way. Any other way to get people to listen to her. Clare wracked her thoughts for any useful ideas. Glimmers of information shimmered in, and as she thought about each one they faded out. It was as if she were attempting to play a game of tag or whack-a-mole in her head. And then she finally hit one.
Her father went to Devon’s Diner every morning. She could meet there with him, grab some breakfast, and he would tell her what to do. He always told her what to do. Clare patted her pockets checking for money and a room key, and seeing that she had both left the room in search of her father.
(Pretty quick, but I have to say inspiration is really fickle. Lately, I’ve been wanting to write a different story, so I haven’t been able to give the same amount of thought to this one. Inspiration is one of the true blesses and curses of writing. When it’s there, you can be so productive and just get a lot out, but when it’s not…well, you end up with chapters like this. Short. Filler. Dull. Hopefully it comes back soon!)
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