I was in my room, in the middle of debating whether chamomile or lavender would be more soothing for a potential murderer’s nerves, when Lucas knocked on my door. I opened it to find that his brow was furrowed, and he had that look in his eyes—the one that said, “I’d rather be chasing suspects through the snow than doing this.” But here he was, determined to leave no stone unturned, even if it meant questioning me.
“Penelope,” he began, and I could almost hear the silent apology in his voice. “I hate to do this, but I need to ask you some questions. It’s important for the investigation.”
“Lucas,” I replied with a half-smile and a lilt that sounded far too cheerful for the conversation at hand. “Please, what happened to calling me Penny? And don’t worry, I understand. This is all a bit like being stuck in one of those murder mystery parties—except, of course, the threat of prison looms over me instead of just bad acting.”
He cracked a reluctant smile, clearly not expecting my quip, but it flickered away as quickly as it came. “Thanks, Penny. I appreciate your cooperation.”
“Of course,” I assured him. I ushered him in and sat at the little table, folding my hands neatly. “Ask away.”
Lucas seemed momentarily taken aback by my eagerness to dive into the gritty details of detective work. He pulled out a chair and sat opposite me, as I mentally prepared myself for a barrage of inquiries, hoping my knack for reading people would prove useful. After all, if there was anything more complex than unraveling the notes in a cup of oolong, it was untangling the threads of human motives.
Lucas leaned forward, the light from his phone casting shadows across his furrowed brow. “I found something you should see,” he said, his voice low and urgent.
“Is it a clue or one of Stefan’s dubious mountaineering selfies?” I asked, trying to maintain a semblance of levity despite the knot forming in my stomach.
He didn’t bite on the humor this time, his thumb swiping deftly over the screen before turning it toward me. “Take a look at this.”
Intrigued, I scooted closer. The photo was clear despite the dim lighting—a balcony covered in fresh snow, untouched except for a set of footprints. Lucas zoomed in on the tracks, and my playful demeanor evaporated as the image sharpened. It was the balcony of the executive suite.
“Those… those aren’t your standard-issue hiking boots, are they?” I murmured, leaning in until my nose was inches from the glowing screen.
“Definitely not.” Lucas’s reply was terse, his eyes searching mine for a reaction.
The footprints were too large, too deliberate. Not the scattered shuffle of a casual visitor, but deep and purposeful impressions that spoke of intent. I felt a shiver dance down my spine, not entirely from the chill in the air.
“Custom-made?” I ventured, even as my brain ticked through the implications. “But who would be gallivanting around Stefan’s balcony? And leaving very obvious footprints for someone to find? And more importantly, why?”
“Exactly.” Lucas tapped the screen, locking the phone with a click that sounded far too final. “That’s what we need to find out.”
A thread of unease wove itself into my thoughts, tangling with the peppery kick of curiosity. The footprints were a tangible piece of the puzzle, a clue that beckoned me deeper into the mystery, all while whispering a silent warning. Someone had been there, someone with a motive much more hidden than the snow tracks they left behind.
Lucas leaned back. “You see, Penny, this footprint,” he said, gesturing to the image on his phone, “it’s significantly larger than your shoe size.”
“Are you insinuating that my feet are dainty or that someone with clown shoes is sneaking around?” I asked, though the gravity of his tone anchored the jest before it could float away. The balcony snow had cradled a giant’s mark, far removed from the delicate prints my own boots would make. Much deeper than I would make. Whoever it was had been big—bigger than me.
He doesn’t think I’m a murderer.
“Someone else was there that night,” Lucas continued, his voice steady and analytical. “And whoever it was, they weren’t worried about leaving a trail.”
My mind revved into overdrive, thoughts spinning like the blades of a blender—minus the lid. Stefan’s murder was already a steep enough hill to climb without adding the possibility of being framed for it. Someone out there was not just content with dirtying their own hands; they seemed intent on staining mine as well.
“Deliberately trying to frame me,” I mumbled, half to myself, half hoping Lucas would dispel the notion with a hearty laugh and an “of course not.” But the detective in him just raised an eyebrow, the corners of his mouth tight, his silence an unwelcome confirmation. Maybe I was being paranoid—I hadn’t even checked my tea supplies to see if the more dangerous elements had been tampered with.
“Seems like someone’s playing a very dangerous game,” I added.
“Indeed,” Lucas agreed, pocketing his phone. “But don’t worry, we’ll find them. We always do.”
“That would be reassuring except that ‘we’ includes ‘me’ as the prime suspect.” I tried to smile, but it was like convincing a cat to enjoy a bath. Impossible and slightly terrifying.
“Your innocence isn’t in question, Penny. Not by me,” Lucas assured, his gaze locking onto mine, a silent promise hovering between us. “But we do need to take steps to clear you.”
“Thanks,” I said, tucking my hands into my pockets, seeking warmth and finding only a crumpled tissue from yesterday’s emotional rollercoaster. I nibbled on the corner of my lip, a habit born out of contemplation and an aversion to biting my nails.
“Think harder, Penny,” Lucas urged, his tone gentle yet insistent. “You’re a stranger here, but anyone who might hold a grudge, perhaps envious of your recent success?”
“Envy is usually reserved for those who covet what others have,” I mused aloud, tapping a finger against my chin. “But to frame for murder? That’s extreme even for the bitterest of rivals.”
“Sometimes success brews resentment,” Lucas pointed out, crossing his arms as he watched me closely, like he might catch a telltale flicker of realization across my face.
“True, but my competition is more likely to assault me with a nasty Yelp review than…this.” I gestured vaguely toward the chilling footprint photo still seared in my mind. “The tea world is cutthroat in its own way, but we’re artisans, not assassins.”
“Can’t rule it out, though,” Lucas said, pushing off from the railing. “Someone might think the best way to get rid of competition is by steeping up the stakes.”
“By framing me for murder?” I scoffed, though a part of me couldn’t help but admire his dedication to the tea puns. It was almost endearing.
“Exactly,” he replied, his eyes narrowing slightly as if trying to read the tea leaves of my soul.
“Lucas, my biggest worry last month was whether to introduce a new chai blend. The idea of someone from my quaint little world being involved in something so dark is…it’s hard to fathom.”
“Dark deeds happen in the lightest of places,” he said, a hint of philosophy lacing his words. “Look, Penny,” he said. “I need you to know that I don’t think you’re guilty.” His gaze held mine, clear and unwavering.
“Even though you don’t even know me?” I couldn’t help the skepticism in my voice, nor the little flutter in my chest. “Even with all the… circumstantial evidence?”
“Especially with all the circumstantial evidence,” he replied, crossing his arms—a barrier against false accusations, perhaps. “It’s too convenient, too neat. Real crimes are messy.”
“That’s reassuring, Detective Bennett. Because I’ve got about as much experience with murder as I do with skiing down the Matterhorn—none, in case that wasn’t clear.”
“Crystal,” he said, the hint of a smile playing at the edges of his mouth. “But I am serious about finding out who’s trying to set you up.”
“Thank you,” I said, the words warming me more than my double-breasted pea coat ever could. “It means a lot, coming from a detective with your… what’s the word? Gravitas?”
“Gravitas?” He looked amused. “Let’s not get carried away. I’ve tripped over my own shoelaces more times than I care to admit.”
“Tripping toward the truth is still moving forward,” I joked, buoyed by this unexpected ally in a world where everyone else seemed to be eyeing me as if I were a mystery ingredient in their soup.
“Exactly. And I plan to keep on tripping until we figure this out.” Lucas’s tone was light, but there was a steely determination in his eyes that told me he was committed to this.
I extended my hand, and after a moment’s hesitation, Lucas took it, his grip firm and reassuring. “It’s good to have someone on my side.”
“Partners then?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. “You know, unofficial, because you have to lay low.”
“Partners,” I confirmed, feeling the knot of worry in my stomach loosen ever so slightly. With Lucas believing in me, maybe, just maybe, I had a fighting chance at untangling this whole sordid affair.