Case Closed

Chapter 1

(edited : tanks to kookiedou)

Brooklyn's POV

Refrigerator: 36 kilograms

Temperature: 36 °C

Brooklyn Moore: a normal girl in lack of a proper job

On such a hot day, you might be wondering why poor Brooklyn's carrying a human-sized fridge down the busy streets of Beverly Hills.

I forced myself to continue treading along the sidewalk with the fridge tied to my back. It sounds like a nice job, doesn't it?

Who in the world wouldn't want to carry a massive fridge on a scorching summer day, along the crammed sidewalks of California, with no water and plenty of people staring at you? Like I said, it sounds just like a dream.

Before you start judging me, let me tell you that life isn't always sunshine and daisies; it's a tough economy. For the last two years, after graduating high school, I've been walking the streets looking for decent-paying jobs. I've managed to grasp a few and tried to get as much as I could out of them. This job just so happens to be one of them: dragging a fridge along the sidewalk.

Brooklyn, you can do this. You're almost there, I told myself.

And by far, this job is the worst one yet. So other than giving a huge fridge the piggyback ride of its life, things couldn't get any worse, right?

Nope, I've just managed to stumble upon a very steep staircase. Taking the paper with the recipient's address from my pocket, I prayed that I had simply mistaken the address. But of course, with my luck, I arrived at the correct location.

Bummer.

With the back of my hand, I wiped off the sweat trickling from my forehead, took a deep breath and prepared myself for what was yet to come. Cautiously setting my foot on the first step, I started climbing.

Now, you may be wondering who the fridge belonged to.

One step for my overdue lunch.

Is it a mysterious bad boy? Nah, I don't think so.

Another step for my extra large burrito.

Maybe it's a prosperously rich family with a hefty amount of money? Not likely either. They'd probably have ten already.

Finally, I made it to the last step and set the fridge on the ground. Straightening my shirt, I walked up to the door and knocked.

A loud ruckus was heard behind the door before it finally opened. "Hello dear! What are you doing here?"

I looked up, surprised, and met the eyes of Ms. Jenkins. To say I was shocked would be an understatement; I was completely mortified. The strong stench of dirty cat litter and cheap cigarettes clawed at my nose. Deep wrinkles were visible around her blue eyes when she smiled down at me, or at least tried to smile.

She and her ex-husband used to be our neighbours when I was 16. In the span of just two years, she became tired-looking and downright drained of any love or happiness. Her hair was dyed platinum blond rather than her natural warm brown. She was also wearing a dull jumpsuit (something not even my aunt Nancy would wear) instead of her usual casual dresses.

From what my sister had told me, Ms. Jenkins caught her husband with one of his one-night stands in their own bedroom. As you may have guessed, they filed for divorce a week later. It's actually quite a sad story. They used to be the lovebirds of our neighbourhood; the one perfect couple that held each other's hand while taking romantic walks along the shorelines of the beach. They even had matching Halloween costumes: she as Britney Spears and he as Justin Timberlake. Ms. Jenkins was absolutely heartbroken and has probably been drowning herself in sadness and cigarettes for the past few years.