The rain begins just as we arrive back on Porter Estate. Sam drives me up to the front door and is quick to come around to my door with an umbrella. I step out beneath it, feeling troubled, uncertain.

“I’m just not sure, Sam,” I confide in front of the house. “Is it normal to suspect my own family members of murder?”

“I don’t know that anything about this particular situation is normal, Miss Porter. But if it will give you peace of mind to look into them…”

“Yes,” I murmur. “Yes, I suppose I must. Though I wonder if I can really pull it off.”

“I’m sure you can pull off anything you put your mind too, Miss Porter,” he answers, and I find myself glancing over at him. His eyes are gray like the storm, but not cloudy. They’re clear, and so direct they make me blush.

“I think I could be brave enough to try, Sam. So long as I knew you had my back.”

“That, you can rely on.”

In contrast to the gloom outside, inside the house is brightly lit with dozens of gas lamps in every room. The marble floor of the main hall sparkles with a fresh coat of wax; even the leaves of the house plants gleam with a fresh shine.

But for all its sparkle and polish, the air in the Porter mansion is fouled by the noise of an argument just behind the drawing room door.

“How many times do I have to say it before you’ll believe me?!”

Father’s voice.

“I tell you there’s never been anything between me and that woman—or any woman!”

“You expect me to buy that even now? What kind of fool do you take me for?”

Mother.

“An over-thinking one,” Father snaps. “This is nothing but a melodrama you’ve created in your own mind. Perhaps if you were sober twice a year you’d realize that.”

“I’ll kill her, Duane! Don’t think I won’t!”

“Will you stop with your hysterics, Woman? I have enough on my plate without all your damned emotionalism!”

He bursts suddenly from the room, slamming the door together with the sound of shattering glass as Mother hurls her drink after him. He winces at the sound, swears. But ultimately, he’s numb to it.

We all are.

“Frances,” I jump a little at the sound of my name and look to Father. “I must speak with you. Come with me.”

I go along mutely, with Mother’s muffled sobs following us both down the hall.

Inside Father’s office is an unusual mess of papers. I know he’s been working more than usual lately, and I guess it shows.

“Please, sit,” he gestures to the seat opposite his desk, and I’m immediately guarded around his pleasant tone, though I do as I’m bidden.

He sits behind his desk and thrusts a few papers to the side, folding his hands atop it. His posture strikes me as sympathetic, inviting, but his blue eyes are ice cold as he smiles at me.

“After we parted last night I gave the events of yesterday afternoon considerable thought. And I think I owe you an apology.”

My eyes widen at his words, but I say nothing.

“You were right, of course. Though admittedly, you’ve always been a little… different, I can’t say I have ever known you to be a liar.”

“Then you believe me? About finding Harrison’s body?”

He hesitates. “I believe you believe you saw something, and that there was no malicious intent behind your claims yesterday.”

“So you think I’m crazy.”

“No, no, of course not.”

“But you just said—”

“Listen, I believe…” he lowers his voice. “I believe there was a body. I’m not claiming it was Harrison Squire’s or anyone else’s. But whoever killed the man also did us the favor of getting rid of him, cleaning up after themselves quite nicely. So let’s leave it at that, hm? Neither Mr. St. James nor I want to see our names in the front page of the Solaria Times beside a tagline as sordid as murder.”

“But aren’t you the least bit concerned that there’s a killer running around out there?”

“No, I am not,” he says firmly. “And I’m sure this is the last we’ll hear of it, so let’s forget the incident. I’ve already spoken with Louise and asked her to be understanding about the way the party broke up yesterday. I trust she won’t make any trouble for you.”

Ha. I should be so lucky.

“In the meantime, I don’t want you running off, chasing down murderers, conducting your own private interviews and stirring up suspicion amongst yesterday’s guests. This is an order,” he says when I start to protest.

I bite my tongue, frustrated but not dissuaded.

“Alright, Father,” I say. “I promise I won’t investigate any of Louise’s guests.”

“There’s a good girl,” he says, leaning back in his chair with a faint smile.

But I will be investigating you, I add mentally. And everyone else in this house I find suspicious. Just until I’m satisfied I’m not sharing a roof with a murderer.

“Was there anything else you needed me for, Father?”

“No, that will be all.”

“Yesterday at the bank I think you mentioned something about my savings?” I remind him.

“Oh. Oh, yes. Well. That discussion can wait another day or two, I think,” he says, smiling again. “For now, just enjoy your evening. Dinner should be ready soon; I asked Mrs. Agate to prepare chicken curry.”

“I love Mrs. Agate’s curry!”

“Yes, and Waldorf pudding for dessert. Your favorite.”

I don’t like it, I think as I leave his office. Father’s being too nice to me. Treating me like one of his investors, trying to sweeten me up.

For what?

Is this just his way of apologizing for yesterday? Or is it about my savings he suddenly seems so interested in? Or is he, perhaps, hiding something more sinister?

I’d like to avoid dinner, eating with the others, especially after yesterday. Honestly, I’d like nothing more than to have it sent up to my room and eat while trying to work out codes written in Ancient Egyptian hieroglyphs. But that’s no way to solve a mystery, I remind myself. I must get closer to the suspects, if I’m to work out their whereabouts yesterday, and any motives they might possibly have for killing Harrison.

Rounding the corner, I’m startled by the sight of Louise kneeling in front of Ben’s door, trying to fit something in his lock. Noticing me watching her she leaps up, shoots me a scathing glare and hurries off to her room, slamming the door behind her.