Lalo lined up the clipboard, pencil, and magnifying glass on his desk top. “Too bad,” he sighed, fastening his Detective badge onto his shirt, “If only I could find a small trench coat…” That morning Lalo had received this text from Iris: “I wrote this poem, Lalo. Do you know what kind it is?”

One shiny apple
hanging on a leafless branch
The wind warns of snow

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