MiraThe convenience store's light lies in a long streak across the pavement, wet from the night's rain. Water drips, drop by drop, from one of the flowerpot saucers.
As Mira pulls a tape measure from her trench coat pocket, a receipt falls out as well. She quickly picks up the receipt and tucks it back in.
I'm Mira, a detective. So far, it looks like someone is rearranging the flowerpots and even giving us a date.
Without touching the paper, she shows you yesterday's arrangement recorded in her notebook.
Are you here because of these flowerpots? Or is there something else you're looking for this early morning?