All of her co-workers stood circled around her, sipping on the freshly bottled coca-cola. The tension was so great, you could cut it with aa butter knife. All 18 eyes were blarring on her. They wanted an answer. She was the one with the sticky fingers. She had to prove herself, but couldn't seem to put the clues together.
Thump, thump, thump. Heart beating out of her chest. The room began to spin, a ringing in her ears. Struggling to put her glasses on because of the sivering of her hands. Then she saw it. The ulimate clue...
"The feather...thie ink...her hands...the writer...look at her hands," She hit the floor.
You could hear a pen drop through the silence.
Mr. Fitz, their boss walked over to the writer.
"Take off your gloves ma'am."
Slowly, finger by finger the writer stipped her hands of the gloves. To reveal blue ink and pieces of feathers stained to her palms.
"Aaaahhh," the entire room gasped. The employee was innocent afterall.
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