Nearly three hours passed before we reached the crime scene, traffic choking the roads as people filtered home from work. By the time we arrived, dusk had settled in fully, the sky bruised purple and blue. Flashlights cut through the darkness, illuminating patches of dirt and pavement as the crew continued their search. The scene was still very alive.

After checking in with the officer at the barricade, Avery and I ducked under the tape and stepped inside the perimeter. Michael noticed us almost immediately. His face lit up, and he crossed the distance with long strides, clapping a firm hand on each of our shoulders before letting out a deep, booming chuckle.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” he drawled. “Bout time y’all showed up. Thought traffic had swallowed you whole.” He tilted his head toward me. “Alright, lemme give y’all the rundown before my voice gives out.”

He shifted his weight, hands settling on his hips. “Victim’s name is Alonzo Bloodworth. Twenty-seven. Took a single gunshot straight to the chest, real clean, from what we can tell. Time of death’s sittin’ somewhere in the last six hours.” His tone darkened slightly. “Locals say he owned this shop. Real quiet fella. Kept to himself. But apparently, past month, he’d been actin’ off. Openin’ late, closin’ early. Wouldn’t talk to anyone unless it was to ring ‘em up. Like he didn’t want to be seen.”

Avery and I nodded, both of us scanning the area as Michael spoke. Outside, the scene appeared mostly untouched, with no signs of a struggle. Just shards of glass scattered across the ground near the front entrance, glittering faintly beneath the floodlights from the broken window in the door.

Michael glanced toward the shop and jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “Oh—and one of y’all’s detectives is inside already. Fella’s nose-deep in the victim’s things.”

I thanked him, and Avery and I headed for the shop.

The bell above the door rang sharply as we stepped inside. I pushed the mosquito curtain aside; the faint buzz of it brushing my arm as we entered fully. Shelves packed with art supplies, ranging from cheap sketch pads to finely sculpted figures, filled the cluttered but charming shop. The smell of blood mixed faintly with the old paper. Dim overhead lights cast a soft glow, catching dust motes as they drifted lazily through the air.

Eric looked up as we approached, straightening from behind the counter.

“Hey,” he whispered. “Sorry to pull you in on your day off. Hope the drive wasn’t completely miserable.”

I shook my head as Avery and I moved closer. The counter came into full view… and so did the blood. 

A thick pool. Fine splatters behind the counter. Lying flat at the center of it all was a picture book, opened deliberately to the middle. Red letters stained one page.

My breath caught.

“That’s not…” I swallowed. “That’s not written in blood, is it?”

Eric stepped aside, his expression grim. “Pretty sure it is. Looks rushed. Sloppy. We don’t know what it’s supposed to mean yet, but it’s written over an image of a merry-go-round.”

“A merry-go-round?” My head tilted as I leaned closer. 

The book itself was spotless, no blood anywhere else. Just the message.

Did you forget?

The room tilted.

A rush of heat surged through me, my head spinning as dread crawled up my spine. My gloved hand shot out, gripping the counter to steady myself. Avery reacted instantly, his hand closing around my arm.

“Sel— Hey. You good?” His voice dropped, tight with concern.

I forced myself to breathe. My hand shook as I reached into my pocket, pulling out the folded orange note. I reached across the counter and pressed it into Eric’s palm.

His brow furrowed as he unfolded it. Then his jaw tightened.

“Where did you get this?”

Eric's eyes darted between the note and the book as if trying to make sure he was seeing things right. His eyes widened, just barely, before he looked straight at me.

“Well,” I said carefully, “when we were on our way over here, there was a guy who bumped into me. My purse fell, and he helped gather my things, but when he left, I noticed this note. By the time I read it, he was already gone, and we were kind of in a rush...”

“Dammit,” Avery lightly punched the counter. “Had I known this would’ve happened, I would’ve chased him down.”

“There’s no use in dwelling on it now,” I sighed heavily. “We were heading to another crime scene. Another death. How would we have known this was going to happen?”

My eyes drifted back to the bloody words in the book.

“But now…” my voice softened. “There’s no way this is a coincidence. None.” A chill crept over me. 

Avery pulled me to his side, his hand giving my back a steady, grounding pat.

Eric cleared his throat. “Do either of you remember what the person looked like?” His gaze moved between us, sharp and assessing.

Avery rubbed the back of his neck, frustrated. “Not really.”

I shook my head. “Black hoodie. Black mask. Male. Tall. That’s it.” I hesitated. “But… if someone’s doing this on purpose… if they’re trying to mess with me… how would they even know I’d be in a tiny town halfway across the state?”

Eric exhaled slowly. “That’s a piece of this puzzle that we must find. Given the timing, the message, and now this?” He shook his head, his jaw tightening. “This just solidifies my theory that they are targeting you. But how Alonzo ties into it or why they’re even targeting you…” He paused for a moment. “Well, it adds even more questions to the mountain we already have.”

He straightened. “The photos should be ready, so let’s head back to the office. Michael can handle things here. We’ll start tying this together with what we’ve got so far.”

I nodded.

Eric, who had been dropped off by Jack, hitched a ride with us. The shop and its message left behind, but far from forgotten.

----------------------------------------------------

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Art: Petra Eggert