When I was younger- ten or eleven, my best friend Michelle and I formed a club- "The Sherlock Holmes Detective Agency" or SHDA for short. We had one big case we never solved- Michelle's older brother had some cassette tapes stolen from his car. Despite the physical evidence found- grass on the floor of the passenger side of the car, possibly from the perpetrator, the cassettes were never recovered. The case went cold. And we found more important things to turn our attention to, like boys, or painting our fingernails. 
Using my detective skills I honed so long ago, I was able to solve a mystery today.
We shall call it "The Case of the Missing Viola."
It was a cold and windy day. An unusual chill had settled over the city. Outside, the people passing by could be seen scurrying to their various destinations. A frosty wind blew in their faces, and bit at their noses and ears.
But inside, a woman was oblivious to all of that as she sat at her desk, a mug of hot chocolate growing cold in her hands, lost in thought. She was a private investigator. She specialized in finding lost things. But today she just sat there, thinking about that one case that still haunted her nightmares. The case she was never able to solve. That was over two decades ago, the perps got away, the cassette tapes were never recovered, and still it gnawed at her insides.
Oh, sure, she'd developed a serious reputation for being able to find things. Mostly shoes and jackets, and remotes and the occasional favorite stuffed animal or blankey, but still...
Suddenly a shrill ring from the telephone broke the silence. On the other end the voice was frantic. The young man was clearly upset and panicked. "Can you help me? I've lost something important. A viola. It's a matter of life and death! I need it within the next three hours, or I will be in serious trouble!"
"Give me the details. And I'll think about it." She said. She wasn't sure she wanted to take on another hopeless case. Sometimes it's just better to cut your losses.
"I left for school like I do every morning, with my viola in hand, stopped and picked up my friends, walked to the bus stop, but when I got on the bus I realized it was missing! I just don't know what could have happened to it! I'm always just so careful."
"Where was the last place you remember seeing it?"
"I set it down on the front porch at my friend's house."
Aaaah. She thought. This should be simple. Run on over to "The friend's house" and it should be there. "Sure. I'll take your case."
An hour later the case had turned cold. She searched the front porch of the friend's house. Talked to witnesses, asked questions. No leads.
She searched her client's house, every room, every corner. Maybe he never even left the house with it? It's been known to happen. It wasn't there.
Re-tracing her client's steps, she wandered the streets. Searching through bushes, behind walls, any place a viola could hide. She came up empty.
She called her usual contacts to see if they had seen anything or heard anything of any rumors flying around about a hot viola out there on the streets.
The neighborhood association- "Sorry. Try landscaping."
Landscaping- "Haven't seen anything. We'll let you know if we do."
The junior high where the client attends- "Sorry, nothing has turned up yet. Did you try transportation?"
Transportation- "Nope. Sorry. Good Luck."
The P.I. returned back to her office in defeat. She'd failed, and now that kid was certainly in trouble with more than one person. As she sat drowning her sorrows in a glass of fresh squeezed lemonade, mentally retracing her own steps, something was nagging at her in the back of her mind. What had she missed?
The clock was ticking. Only an hour to go.
And then she had it. As she mentally retraced her steps back to the bus stop, her mind stopped in front of the elementary school. The elementary school that stood just next to the junior high bus stop. In her mind she saw kids walking to school, only minutes after the bus would have left. Maybe one of them would have noticed a viola case sitting abandoned on the sidewalk and turn it in to the front office. Maybe. Just maybe. It was her last shot.
One phone call later and the viola was located. A responsible citizen had indeed found and turned in the missing viola to the elementary school.
With only minutes to spare, the viola was rushed to the junior high so her client could have it in time for his orchestra class. The day was saved. 
She returned back to her sparsely decorated office, indulged in a piece of celebratory chocolate, and contemplated just how much to bill her client. Usually she settles for just a "thank you" or a big hug. But this job was more difficult than merely looking under the bed for the AWOL shoe. This would require some serious payment. Like doing the dishes for a whole week or something.
The End
