Ralph really hit the booze soon after that dame floated into his office like she owned it. A classy blonde with deepwater eyes, and a way of arching her long neck and pinning you to the wall with an uppercut look. The type your mother warns you about.
Seems her mother had lost the plot, spouting a tale that would ruffle the feathers of an angel. Strange people – big ambitions, house full of egg collections under glass. Now the family reputation had taken a nosedive and the doll wanted to get to the bottom of it.
That case broke Ralph. Most days now he’s down by the lake – watching the swans.
If your word count’s100 or fewer,
There’s a risk of becoming obscure.
Click the picture right here,
And all will be clear.
Friday Fiction makes ancient tales newer.
Many thanks to Rochelle for hosting Friday Fictioneers, where each week writers submit 100 word stories in response to a photo prompt.