I found Claire’s Boutique address in her mail thanks to work-related letters. It’s in a quiet street, at least when it isn’t Monday morning...cars and people walking are everywhere, starting their different but similar day.

  I get into the shop, it smells like clean clothes. There’s a nice lady waiting for me at the cashier, already smiling as she sees I go straight to her instead of looking around.

  “Hello! Welcome to our boutique. How may I help you?”

  “Detective D’arbie. I’m a private investigator working for the police. May I ask you some questions?” I show her my badge.

  She widens her eyes and closes her open hands. She also re-adjusts her posture. She’s nervous.

  “Sure! This is about poor Claire, right? The police came already, a couple of weeks ago...do you need anything else?”

  Interesting. They’re investigating this. Good to know.

  But…well, a pair of human ears and human skill won’t hurt a second try.

  “Yes, I’m here to revise everything that’s been said, and I have new questions as well,” I reply, looking around, “I wanted to speak to Claire’s closest coworkers, her manager...anyone who has information about her.”

  “Sure! The manager is in the back, and today...there’s only two girls that share their shifts with Claire, they’re setting up stuff in the storage room.”

  “Good. Would you lead the way?”

  “O-Oh, there’s no need. Just come into the back and do as you please,” she moves aside and points at the open door behind her, “the manager is upstairs right to the left...and the storage room is in front of you when you get in.”

  I sigh through my nose and chuckle, “thank you. Very kind.”

  I nod and go through the door, giving her a last glance.

  She doesn’t handle police pressure well. I understand her. I used to be terrified of cops too when I was young...they just always look like they’re gonna arrest you.

  I immediately find the manager in his office. It’s a fit man in his thirties. Clean haircut, shaved beard. Doesn’t look like the kind of person who would run a fashion boutique...but what do I know?

  “May I help you?” He furrows his brows as soon as I get in with a slight knock.

  “Detective D’arbie. I’m here to ask questions about Claire Eisern.”

  “Oh, again?”

  “Yes, I’m a private human investigator. They want human hands on the case,” I lie, sitting down on a chair of the opposite side.

  “I get it, I get it,” he stes down some papers, “well, I’m the manager...Mr. Hols. What do you need to know, detective?”

  “I’d like to start with Claire’s behavior prior to her death. A month before, to be exact.”

  “I already told the other detective...she has always been quiet and kept to herself. We had no idea she was being stalked. We also didn’t spot anyone stalking her. I would have noticed if my employee was harassed,” he says, sounding irritated, “I took good care of her...and she didn’t deserve to die. Not like that. But what happened, happened outside of here.”

  They didn’t ask them if he knew she was schizophrenic. He apparently doesn’t.

  “I’m not asking you if you noticed she was being followed,” I lean forward, joining my hands together.

  This is the mistake the police is making. Claire’s visions weren’t related to the stalker, if this is what they’re even thinking. They also weren’t the cause of her death.

  This novel's true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.

  They probably were triggered by it. It’s the other way around. Claire’s stalking report to the police about the Outer One girl is a huge red herring.

  I need to think outside of this.

  “I’m asking you if Claire herself said or did anything unusual. Not other things or people around her.”

  “I...I just told you, she was quiet, reserved. She got in, said hello to everyone, and then left. The only instance where she was a bit more open was with Linda, one of her closest friends. She shares a loft of shifts with her.”

  “Where is Linda?” I ask him, standing up.

  He doesn’t know anything. I need to move on.

  “Downstairs in the storage room, you’re lucky...she has a shift this morning,” he replies.

  “Alright. Thank you, Mr. Hols.”

  In the storage room, I see two girls setting up boxes on shelves while chatting happily. As soon as they notice me, they look confused.

  “Excuse me, which one of you is Linda?”

  Linda gives herself away since her eyes widen. I look at her and show my badge, “I’m a private investigator. It’s for Claire Eisern’s murder.”

  “I’m…” she looks at her friend, almost panicking.

  “You’re not in trouble. I just need your help.”

  “S-Sure…” she nods, swallowing her anxiety, “what do I have to do?”

  “Just answer some questions. It won’t take too long,” I say, “in private,” I add, eyeing her friend.

  We go outside the storage room and stand in the hallway, looking at each other. I pull out my notebook and click my pen after asking her my question.

  “Claire and I were friends, yes. But not that close...we usually ate lunch and chatted about common topics.”

  “So you never were part of her private life?”

  “Not really, no. She invited me to her home once, but that’s it. I kind of feel bad now because...I’m sure she wanted to be my friend, but I kept pushing her away. She acted weird sometimes, and I didn’t really think we were going anywhere, even if she was friendly.”

  “I see,” I nod.

  Linda suddenly seems lost in thought. She’s withholding something. She bites her lip and looks down...and she also hugs herself.

  Before I can even begin to make her talk, she breaks.

  “I saw her...in the bathroom. She took Haloperidol,” she shakes her head, “I’m so sorry...I should have told someone.”

  “I knew that already, the police do too. Don’t worry, her schizophrenia wasn’t the cause of her death,” I reassure her with a gentle, “but, now that we’re on the same page...I want to ask you something else.”

  “Yes?”

  “Did you see Claire interact with or just look at a certain customer in the shop? Maybe just a window shopper? The manager said you and Claire shared several shifts together, right? So try to think about it.”

  “I don’t know, really...we get a lot of window shoppers every day, especially during weekends.”

  “Claire is someone who keeps to herself, right? Someone so isolated and quiet would minimize interactions a lot. Can’t you pinpoint an event where this wasn’t the case?”

  “Hm…”

  Her blonde hair, tied into a ponytail twirled around her fingers due to nervousness. Her blue eyes look around her mindspace while she thinks.

  “I’m sorry...I don’t know anything. Claire was a mystery to everyone here.”

  Shit. I’m not getting anywhere with this.

  Did Claire’s killer really go unnoticed? Maybe I’m thinking too hard about it...maybe this serial killer chose her at random the day before her death...maybe her visions don’t matter after all.

  I rub my chin. Linda looks at me with a look that pleads me to let her go.

  I need to think, though. I can’t leave like this, I need to be sure I squeezed this shop dry.

  “Wait…” I mutter, “Claire invited you to her house, right?”

  “Yes. Once.”

  “Tell me about that, please.”

  “She simply suggested we drank a cup of tea together at her place. She wanted to be my friend, as I've said. I accepted that one single time, and then I just made up excuses,” she admits, looking rather remorseful.

  “When did this occur?”

  “About a few days before she died.”

  “A few days? Why did she wait this long to show you her house? How long has she been trying to be your friend?”

  “Same thing...she approached me shortly before she was killed...why?”

  I furrow my brows.

  Claire began befriending this girl after she started seeing the Outer One ghost...and she invited her to her house days before she called me and died. Was it a way to...feel safer?

  “Did you...notice anything weird during that visit?”

  Linda’s face gets a bit darker, “well, yes...everything was weird about that. Reason why I didn't like her after all.”

  “Please, tell me everything.”

  Linda sighs, crossing her arms, “she was very...distant. We talked about this novel...something like...black theatre? She was gushing over it and telling me I should read it, many times. Many...many times. After that, I managed to steer the conversation away from the book itself, and we started talking about literature in general. The weird part isn’t her extreme fixation on making me read the book, though. What made me feel very uncomfortable was that she kept looking at the window outside, from her seat. She stared outside, at nothing. I turned around a couple of times, subtly, but nothing was there.”

  She was looking at the ghost, then.

  “Did she look scared?”

  “No...not at all. She was relaxed, I’m positive. Whoever or whatever she was seeing...it wasn’t real or a threat. I immediately thought it simply was her illness acting up...since I knew she took haloperidol. After a while of that, I simply was fed up and invented some lame excuse to leave.”

  I close my eyes after writing everything down.

  “Anyways...this is all. I was creeped out very fast by her illness, I didn't stick around...and I tried to cut ties with her," she says, looking down with regret, "and now...she's dead."

  Linda doesn’t realize it, but she helped me a lot.

  Something doesn’t feel right about Claire’s behavior. I need to get to the office and call Errilk...I need to get my hands on Claire’s case, which is now not under my wing.

  “Thank you, Linda. You’re free to go. You helped me a lot, actually.”

  “Will you find who killed her?”

  I stay silent for a few seconds, then I nod, “I’ll try.”