Roger Brooks. I have slipped out of the ball, hopefully without anyone noticing, and I have made my way to the manor that until his death belonged to the Baron of Thornford.
As I approach the door, I hear the faint whisper of fabric against fabric. I whirl around and lower my hand as I realize my departure had not gone undetected after all.
“Flora, I doubt highly that this is the sort of scene that a lady should see.”
“I might be a lady, but I am a wolf as well, and I have killed before.”
“Animals only, yes?” I ask the question lightly, but I am not so taken with her as not to be wary of her presence.
Her nostrils flare slightly as she sniffs, turning her head this way and that.
“Human blood sees differently from any other blood,” she murmurs.
“Indeed,” I say grimly. “This sight…”
“I am not just any lady,” she insists, and she brushes past me and reaches for the doorknob of the house. It turns easily beneath her palm, and she enters the house.
I trail behind her. The stench of the blood has us walking unerringly into the room with the body without failing. The sight is horrific, and my stomach churns. Although I would rather look elsewhere, I do not.
This was no simple knife attack. Those wounds to the baron’s body and face could only have been made by claws.
Once this knowledge has sunk in, I move over to the window. It is locked.
Moving more quickly now, I go from room to room, but the result is always the same. Each and every window in the entire manor is locked. None of the windows had been broken, and there is no sign of forced entry by either door.
No animal could have done this. No animal could have entered the house, killed the baron, and then leave without making a mess or breaking anything.
I exit the manor and walk about it. The baron lived alone. His wife had died giving birth to a daughter who did not survive infancy. Ever since, as far as I know, the baron kept to himself.
And now, he is dead as well, died in a horrific manner.
“Your Grace,” a familiar male voice calls.
I turn about and nod solemnly to the constable. Seth Boyle is dressed smartly, but his scowl is as dark as the night.
“I did not mean to disturb anything,” I say. “I learned about the baron’s passing at a ball, and I… Perhaps I should not have come.”
“Bah.” Seth waves his hand.
He is a human, but he does his best. He had an instance where he had been called on to determine whether or not a merchant was stealing a farmer’s crops. I hoped he proved that the merchant was indeed guilty. I highly suspect it is only because of my assisting with that case that Seth allows me to be here and not think suspiciously about it.
“What is going on?” I asked. “What have you determined?”
“I do not know what to make of it,” Seth admits. “I am actually friends with Roger. He is a good one. Was.” The constable scowls and hangs his head. “Was a good one.”
“Who discovered him?”
“I did,” Seth utters. “Silas, for some time now, has been trying to convince Roger to start attending balls again. He came around with his carriage to try to get Roger to dress up and come out. He notified me, and Silas, I take it he made his way from here to the ball.” The constable shakes his head bitterly. “I would have rather no one else know about this, but… When Silas came, the front door was locked. He banged and banged on the door and then went around to the side of the house.”
“Wait,” I interrupt. “Where were Roger’s servants?”
“He has not had any servants in years,” Seth says. “It has been him and only him ever since his daughter…” He clears his throat. “Where was I? Through the window, Silas saw Roger in his bed. He banged on the window to try to rouse him until he saw the blood. That is when he came to see me. I had to pick the lock to the front door to get inside, but the body… Have you been in to see it?”
I nod.
“I need to examine the body again,” Seth says. “Do you want to come with me?”
I nod again and follow him back inside. Seth trembles as we enter the room with the body.
“An animal attack?” I ask, gesturing to the wounds. There is no point in trying to pass this off as a knife attack.
“I do not see how,” Seth mumbles. “The windows are all locked, and there is no sign of forced entry… How could an animal have come inside and locked up behind it? And there is no mess. Nothing has been taken as far as I can tell. It makes no sense at all. Unless…”
I eye him sharply. “Unless?” I prompt.
But the constable merely shakes his head.
When Seth moves to stand over by the window, I approach the body once more. After a moment, I risk leaning over him and inhale deeply. The scent of his blood nearly overwhelms me to the point that smelling anything else is almost impossible, but then I catch a whiff beneath it all.
A familiar whiff.
I know who did it.
I know who killed Roger.