A secretary in a brown, tweed suit ushered Raffi and me into the Oval Office. “Let the detective know we can only spare this room for five minutes,” the secretary said addressing Raffi.
Raffi, with a swell of pride, replied, “Madam, the detective understands you perfectly well. Also, he will require only half that time to complete the investigation.”
With that ring of endorsement, the secretary left, and I set about finding clues in preposterous timeframe established by Raffi. Awkwardly, he wandered about the room in a daze. Every framed picture and plumped pillow filled him with awe. Before the sleek desk, Raffi stared at the empty presidential chair and the three pens lined neatly in a row. He attempted a curtsy. However, he stumbled and managed to crash his massive foot down on my hoof.
“Sorry, Detective,” he apologized.
“Perhaps you could survey the room from where you are currently standing,” I suggested, and Raffi gave me a sorrowful look.
I limped along a curving wall of windows. The glass was covered in translucent sheers that filtered the sunshine. Dove grey curtains hung from the high ceiling and were drawn on either side. With my throbbing foot, I brushed the fabric away from the wall. There was a tuft of orange fuzz on the carpet. On closer inspection, my nose identified cat hair.
Excited, but nearly lame, I joined Raffi where he had glued himself to the carpet. “My investigation is complete,” I declared.
Raffi checked his watch and laughed. “Finished in less than two minutes!” he exclaimed.
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