the last glove (2)

An Oscar statuette gleamed on the mantel, surrounded by photographs of a smiling Ella at various premieres. “Where’s the other glove?” she asked, her voice low but authoritative. “Not a clue,” one of the officers replied, scratching his head.

“Just this.” He gestured to the single velvet glove lying near Ella’s body, its deep burgundy color contrasting sharply with the cold marble. Ava crouched down to examine it. The glove looked expensive, the kind of accessory that screamed exclusivity.

Yet, as she turned it over, she noticed something odd: a faint trace of glitter on the inner lining.“Who found her?” she asked, standing up and brushing off her knees.