It was 1:29 PM, and Mr Dunkin, was sitting at his computer, writing a persuasive essay for Mrs. Langbein’s creative writing class, when he heard a knock at the door. He paused for a second, wondering if the clichè he had just heard was real, or just a figment of his imagination. He heard the knocking at the door again. Mr. Dunkin barely had any friends, and most of them lived in Eastern Europe, and he wasn’t expecting anybody, so he was caught quite off guard by this peculiar event. He thought about grabbing his revolver, then decided against it, considering it might cause accidents (plus he had it illegally, so he wouldn’t want to be drowning in lawyers, which could happen, considering he couldn’t swim) He stood up, causing the wooden floor to creak under his weight. He had tried losing weight, but then he discovered venti vanilla bean, extra sugar frappuccinos, which, arguably, ruined his life. He waddled to the door, tried to look through the peephole, which he failed miserably at, considering he was 4 feet tall. He put his ear to the door, wanting to listen to whoever was trying to come in. The knocking came again, but this time more urgent, like the pounding of a fist. This startled Mr. Dunkin, but he opened the door, due to pure curiosity. What he saw was nothing short of petrifying.

“So, what we have is a man, dead in his doorway, beat to death with a plastic spoon, no fingerprints, no suspects, and no motivation?” Detective McDonald asked Detective Wendy.
“Well, yeah that sounds about right actually,” Wendy replied. McDonald sighed.
“What a bizarre case. It’s like we’re in an episode of Law & Order,” he said to nobody in particular. McDonald was a highly respected detective, for he had unmasked mass killers like the Lollipop Laugher, the Snapback Serial Killer, and the White-out Villain, but none of the cases he had dealt with were this strange. His Co-detective, Wendy, had been his assistant for as long as he could remember (He had short term memory loss, so she could have been working with him for years, or for a couple of hours. Actually, come to think of it, how could a detective with memory loss even be a detective. It’s probably best not to think about it)
“We should go check out the crime scene,” Wendy said. McDonald nodded in agreement.

[Transition plays like in Law & Order. Dun-dun.]

As McDonald and Wendy walked inside, they shivered in fright. In the doorway, lay Mr. Dunkin, skull bashed in with a plastic spoon. They avoided the corpse, and walked into the pitch dark living room. The screen of a laptop illuminated the wall with an eerie blue light. Wendy ran over to it, then sighed. Mcdonald put on his plastic gloves while walking towards her.
“Nothing,” Wendy told him. “Just some weird story about a murder case.” McDonald walked over to the kitchen, then nearly fell over with fright. Wendy sprinted over to him, then gasped. What they saw were were thousands, and thousands of donuts.
“So that’s why he’s so fat,” McDonald said. Wendy started rolling her eyes, but stopped midway, when a wallet caught her eye. She checked it, and pulled out a driver’s license and a couple hundred Starbucks receipts. She grabbed the driver’s license and checked the name.
“Dunkin Johnson. But wait, something’s missing,” she said.
“Yeah, a Dave and Buster’s card,” McDonald said.
“Wait… what, no! Money! Money Mcdonald!” she exclaimed.
“Yeah, I guess you’re right. But also a Dave and Buster’s card,” he replied.
“Get ESU in here, we need to check the wallet for fingerprints,” Wendy nearly screamed.

“What did you get Kernel?” Wendy asked the Kernel.
“We got only one match. A man known as the Plastic Spoon Spanker. His MO is  beating people to death with his trusty plastic spoon, and he lives in a run-down shack, known by locals as a run-down shack,” he replied. Wendy and McDonald looked at each other knowing what was coming next.
  
“FFPD!” they yelled through the door. They heard a bit of scurrying, then silence. Wendy stepped back, and with the force of a thousand lions (Or one slightly overweight middle-aged woman) she kicked the door down. They looked around, but it was clear what had happened. The back door was slightly open, so Wendy and McDonald sprinted out. They looked as far as they possibly could, but they could spot no sign of the plastic spoon spanker.
“Damn,” Wendy muttered.
“Language!” McDonald warned. It took all of Wendy’s willpower to not backhand him on the spot.
“Wait, what’s that?” Wendy asked, pointing at a folded up post-it note on the table. McDonald grabbed it, hesitated for a moment, and said, “Oh no” Then he fainted. Wendy was caught completely off guard. She scurried down to look at what the post it note said, only for her to encounter the shock of her life. On that Post-it note, it said;

‘Come and get me    XOXO - McDonald’  She slowly turned around, only to find that McDonald was on his feet, with a blood covered spoon in his hand.

“Hello Wendy”