Chapter 11

  Jasper curses under his breath, grabbing a towel from the kitchen counter and slinging it over his shoulder.

  He turns to Thaddeus and sighs.

  “Alright, alright – I’m coming.”

  Jasper follows Thaddeus down the crooked stone path, barely a few steps from his own porch.

  The two houses sit side by side.

  Thaddeus stumbles ahead, and Jasper grimaces as he follows, the rolled-up towel now clutched tightly in his fist.

  Claribel’s front porch comes into view. The porch light flickers erratically, casting long shadows over the worn wooden steps.

  Ellie trails silently behind them.

  Miya follows too—barefoot and calm—her doll dragging slightly along the path. She says nothing.

  The gate creaks open at Thaddeus’s touch. The hinges scream. The front door stands ajar.

  From her place near the hydrangeas, Ellie sees just beyond the threshold. There’s something at the far end. A shape. Still.

  Jasper stops at the foot of the steps. He mutters something under his breath and climbs them.

  The door swings wider as he steps inside. Ellie slips in behind them, her small body pressed against the frame.

  The hallway smells of iron and something acrid.

  At the end of the corridor, Claribel lies crumpled on the floorboards. One hand rests limply on her chest; the other is stretched out, palm open, fingers curled as if frozen mid-reach.

  Jasper curses sharply at the sight and rushes forward.

  Thaddeus stands at the threshold, breathing hard. But his posture is too composed. His eyes are wide—wet, even—but his hands, stained red and trembling, remain oddly still at his sides.

  Ellie’s ears twitch. There’s something off about the way his gaze hovers over Claribel’s body.

  She shifts closer behind a side table, her nose catching hints of lavender, dust, and something synthetic—cleaner, maybe.

  Thaddeus finally steps in, his shoes creaking across the floorboards.

  “Claribel…” he breathes, voice soft.

  Ellie’s eyes narrow.

  Jasper crouches beside her. He doesn’t touch her, doesn’t check for breath or pulse. His face is pale, jaw clenched tight.

  “Damn it…” he murmurs.

  Behind him, Miya stands in the doorway. She takes a small step forward.

  “I suppose,” she says softly, her voice oddly steady given the gory sight, “this is when we should find the policewoman.”

  Jasper flinches at her words, as if it hadn’t occurred to him. He turns to look at Miya, then at Thaddeus, who still hasn’t moved far from the doorframe.

  Miya’s gaze remains fixed on Claribel, unblinking.

  At her quiet suggestion, the room stills.

  Thaddeus blinks. His bloodied hands twitch slightly at his sides.

  “The… policewoman?” he echoes, voice thin.

  He glances at Jasper, confusion flickering in his eyes—then quickly masks it behind a furrowed brow.

  “I didn’t know we had one in town.”

  “She just moved in,” Jasper says, straightening from Claribel’s side.

  Thaddeus nods slowly, almost absently. His eyes drift back to Claribel’s body, but his expression remains... off. Like someone trying to remember if they’d left the stove on.

  Miya tilts her head, watching him.

  “I’ll go,” she says softly, clutching her doll to her chest. “I know where she lives.”

  Neither man responds.

  Without waiting for permission, Miya turns and walks toward the door. Her bare feet make no sound as she disappears into the night.

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  Ellie waits in the house with the two men. Both remain still, like pieces of furniture in this heavy room.

  The night hangs thick.

  Miya returns not ten minutes later, as if she knew exactly where to look.

  The footsteps return—measured, strong, unfamiliar.

  A figure approaches the house with long strides. A woman in a dark coat. A torch gripped in one hand, a badge glinting faintly in the other.

  Her skin is deep brown, her hair pulled back tightly.

  Behind her, Miya trails like a shadow.

  “You called for help?” the woman says as she reaches the doorstep, her gaze sliding past Thaddeus’s bloodied shirt to Jasper, then to the still body.

  “I’m Officer Salma Ward,” she announces.

  Ellie watches from beneath a bush, her tail low, ears forward.

  When Officer Salma Ward sees the body, she raises an eyebrow, stepping over the threshold with calm authority.

  “Step back, please,” she says, her voice firm. “I need space to assess the scene.”

  Jasper moves first, instinctively retreating to the far side of the room. Thaddeus hesitates, his feet rooted near the doorway, but Officer Ward casts him a look, and he takes a reluctant step back.

  “Thank you,” she nods, already kneeling beside Claribel’s body.

  Her gloved hands move with practiced precision—checking for signs of life, though it’s clear there are none. She lifts Claribel’s arm gently, studying the blood pattern.

  She doesn’t speak as she works. The room is silent, save for the rustle of her coat and the faint scribble of notes she makes in a small black pad.

  After a moment, she glances up briefly. “Who found her?”

  “I did,” Thaddeus answers quickly. “I came in and saw her like this.”

  Officer Ward’s eyes linger on him for a beat too long before returning to the body.

  “I’ll need full statements from both of you shortly,” she says, then resumes her examination.

  She leans closer to the body, tilting her head as she examines the skin around the wound. Her expression tightens.

  “Strange placement,” she murmurs.

  Blood has pooled heavily beneath Claribel, but as Officer Ward moves around the body, her frown deepens.

  “There’s something off about the blood pattern,” she says more clearly now, gesturing to a smear trailing toward the hallway. “There’s drag here… but no defensive wounds on her arms.”

  She straightens, eyes sweeping the floorboards. Then she lifts the corner of a rug awkwardly tucked near Claribel’s feet. Beneath it, a thin, curved streak of dried blood snakes toward the wall.

  She lets the rug fall.

  “This room was staged.”

  She turns to face Thaddeus and Jasper, gaze sharp. “Someone moved her. Someone tried to make this look cleaner than it was.”

  Neither man responds. Jasper’s gaze flicks toward Thaddeus.

  Officer Ward doesn’t accuse. Not yet.

  But the implication lingers.

  Moments later, blue and red lights flicker through the window. A white, unmarked van pulls up outside the front porch.

  “The coroner’s here,” Officer Ward says, not looking up from her notepad.

  She moves to the door just as two men arrive with a stretcher and a zipped black bag. They lift Claribel’s body with practiced care.

  Ellie watches from beneath the table, her ears pinned low as the zipper draws shut over Claribel’s face.

  Officer Ward turns back to Thaddeus, whose eyes remain fixed on the black bag.

  “I’d like to ask you a few more questions,” she says, stepping closer. “From the beginning—you said you found her. How exactly did that happen?”

  Thaddeus shifts his weight, hands clasped tightly before him. “I came over to bring her some leftover soup… I do that sometimes. We look out for each other—Claribel and I. But when I walked in, I found her… like that.” He gestures vaguely to the floor where her body had been.

  “You didn’t call for help right away?” she asks.

  “I—I panicked,” he stammers. “I ran to Jasper’s. I didn’t know what to do.”

  “And the door was unlocked?”

  “Yes.”

  “Had you seen her earlier today?”

  Thaddeus hesitates. “No… not since yesterday.”

  “Did she mention anything strange? Anyone bothering her recently?”

  He shakes his head. “No, nothing. She seemed fine…”

  Officer Ward narrows her eyes, this time not writing. “Did she ever say she felt unsafe?”

  “No,” he replies, voice fading. “Claribel… was very private. She didn’t talk about things like that.”

  Ward nods slowly. “Alright. I’ll come by tomorrow to take a formal statement.”

  Thaddeus opens his mouth, like he wants to protest, but something in her gaze stops him.

  Behind her, the stretcher wheels creak as the men roll it toward the front door. The body is gone now.

  Jasper stands off to the side, arms folded tight across his chest.

  Ellie notices something else: Thaddeus keeps glancing toward the kitchen.

  Her attention drifts from Officer Ward’s conversation with Jasper. Silently, she follows Thaddeus’s gaze and pads into the kitchen.

  A sharp, acrid scent grows stronger the closer she gets—chemical and bitter.

  There. In the bin.

  A plastic bottle of cleaner, cap missing.

  The bottle is smeared faintly with red. Blood.

  Someone used it to wipe something down. Someone who knew exactly where to dispose of it.

  Ellie’s tail twitches.

  She turns—

  Thaddeus is standing behind her, watching her.

  His expression is unreadable.