“Hey, Savio. Do you like being a butler?” I asked, but my question was swallowed by the sound of chairs being pulled next door. The family arrived in the dining room for breakfast. The walls in the kitchen we were in were quite thin.

  Savio brought a hand to his ear. “Huh?”

  “Do you like being a butler?”

  “Oh. My kind of butler or the regular kind?”

  I scratched my cheek. “Hm, I suppose butlers aren’t exactly burying bodies at midnight around the country.”

  “I don’t think so, no.” He chuckled.

  “Fred, I think you should give Savio a raise... Fred?”

  He wasn’t paying attention. Leaning back on his chair, Frederick threw a red apple into the air and caught it as it fell, repeatedly.

  I jumped when he spoke up at last, almost shouting at me. “Hey, Connie, did you notice if we forgot to string up any doors? Like, ANY AT ALL?”

  I never heard him being so loud and obnoxious before.

  “Yeah, the portcullis on the west-facing side of the mansion. Did you forget?” I picked my ringing eardrum. “Also, why so loud? I’m right beside you.”

  “I forgot. We’ll close it up tonight, once Savio brings more thread.”

  Savio leaned closer, an oatmeal bowl in his hand. “Fred, I don’t think we have more thread. Want me to hit the city really quick?”

  Fred lowered his voice to meet Savio’s whispers. “No, it’s okay. Just get me some cigarettes. Take your time.”

  The apple fell again as the door to the kitchen creaked open, but this time Fred caught it with his mouth, eyes locked at the door.

  Edgar came in and grabbed a pair of trails with bread and fruits on them.

  “Excuse me,” he said politely.

  Fred took a single crunchy bite out of the apple, then walked off. “I’m full.”

  “Sorry.” I smiled sheepishly at the butler. “It’s just the morning blues.”

  Well, that was a lie. Fred was always blue.

  Edgar nodded with a smile.

  We were crossing the dining hall when Fred suddenly gave Lord Mulberry a big awkward hug at the head of the long table. The room fell silent as my jaw dropped.

  “I’m sorry for your loss,” he said. “I dedicated a prayer to your brother last night. I’m sure he’s in a better place now.”

  Speechless, Mulberry blinked rapidly at him, his mouth full of jam.

  “Thank you.” He swallowed the piece of toast or whatever the hell he was eating. “Now if you excuse me...”

  Fred patted him on the shoulder, then stood back again, looking unfazed. “Yeah, yeah, of course.”

  I lowered my head and scurried out of there as fast as I could, too ashamed to look anyone in the eye. Savio just smiled awkwardly at them, likely as embarrassed as I was.

  We met Fred again in the entrance hall.

  “Have you noticed anything strange in this place?” he asked, eyes darting around the room.

  “Aside from the obvious? Hm... they don’t seem to be doing that well financially, at least for aristocratic standards.”

  “What?” Savio asked. “I wish I were this poor.”

  “Right.” Fred waved his hand at the tapestries and exotic furniture that cost more than our old carriage. “What’s a few missing chandeliers when you have a whole castle?”

  I slipped my hands inside my pockets, starting to see his point. “I noticed some missing paintings, too. Edgar did mention thieves last night.”

  Savio crossed his arms. “So, what? They’re faking being filthy-rich?”

  “Correct. These places hide bankruptcy quite well. This might be the case here.”

  “Are we at least getting paid?”

  Fred shrugged. “One problem at a time.”

  “Yeah, no.” Savio shook his head. “I don’t have silver chandeliers to sell. Sorry, Fred.”

  “Good.” Fred pulled an iron key from his pocket. “Then go to Mulberry’s room and find out why he’s been selling his.”

  “Did you seriously just pickpocket the lord?”

  “I should’ve known.” I shook my head. “That hug was too good to be true.”

  “Do you want to get paid or not?

  Savio’s face wrinkled. He took the key anyway. “I’ll be right back.”

  I watched him run off in disbelief. I thought he was going to protest at least a little bit harder.

  The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  A finger appeared in front of my chest, startling me.

  “You,” Fred said.

  “Who, me?” I blurted out without thinking.

  “I have a mission for you as well.”

  Clack. I put the painting back on the wall. Nothing behind this one as well.

  There were some false drawers and sketchy-looking panels here and there, but no sign of the ledger.

  “I’m getting out of options.” I held my chin, thinking. “What’s left?”

  Edgar’s room? But I don’t have the key. Maybe I should have given him a hug, too.

  I chuckled at the thought.

  Truly funny was the fact that Fred never gave me a hug.

  I shook my head. “I can’t believe I’m getting jealous of Lord Mulberry. So stupid.”

  Mulberry seemed like a man who enjoyed his liquor.

  I snapped my fingers. “The wine cellar.”

  Fred had better give me a raise at least if I find this thing. I thought as I trotted across the mansion.

  The lights in the cellar were on. I tiptoed down the stairs with a frown. There was someone there already.

  My head tilted at that sight. “Edgar?”

  He turned, fixing his glasses back in place. “Hello, Ms. Concordia.”

  “What are you doing here? I thought you were attending to the family in the dining room.”

  “I fear my duty requires me to split myself into various tasks. And unlike most aristocrats, the Mulberries are used to taking care of themselves.”

  “Hm.” I pointed to the big book on the table in front of him. “What’s that?”

  “This?” He looked down at it. “This is our ledger. Would you like to see it?”

  That caught me by surprise.

  “Sure?” I asked.

  “All yours.” He closed the book and handed it over to me. “Now, if you excuse me, I need to make sure everything is running smoothly in the dining room.”

  “Thanks...”

  “Also, please tell your master I sincerely appreciate what he’s been doing for us,” Edgar said, then left the wine cellar.

  I prefer maker.

  But was Fred mistaken? If the ledger was so important, why would Edgar just let me have it?

  I opened it at the latest records.

  Groceries, firewood, payment to workers, contracts...

  A few items sold here and there, but the price seemed right, and considering what Fred said, that was to be expected.

  The ledger was clean.

  I sighed. “It seems I’m not getting any hug—I mean, raise, any time soon. Damn it.”

  As I turned to leave, I caught a glimpse of a ladder at the end of the room. The unguarded portcullis right above it.

  I hope Fred knows what he’s doing. It’d be quite bad if the werebear escaped on us.

  On my way back to the entrance hall, I came across some of the Mulberries in the hallway; it seemed as if breakfast time had finally ended. Fortunately, Savio had already returned from his ‘mission’.

  “Here.” Savio handed Fred a labeled vial. “Lord Mulberry’s weird cocktail for gout, the room was full of these.”

  Fred took it. “Doesn’t explain the bankruptcy.”

  Savio shrugged. “That’s all I found.”

  “The ledger doesn’t help either.” I handed him the book. “The records are pristine.”

  He began to read. His forehead wrinkled.

  “What?” I asked.

  “Have you ever had to sell something for cash in a pinch?”

  “No.”

  “Ah. That’s the issue.”

  “Issue?!”

  Savio took the book. “He’s right, you know. You can’t pawn items at market price like this. Not how it works.”

  “Exactly. Desperation is costly.”

  I stepped back, flabbergasted. “I’m sorry to be responsible with my finances. Next time I’ll gamble.”

  Savio smiled sheepishly at me.

  Fred frowned, sending a chill down my spine.

  “I’m just joking,” I said.

  “No.” He lifted his hand. “Does anyone else smell barbecue?”

  “Maybe Edgar is roasting something in the kitchen?”

  He froze for a second, then darted off towards the staircase. “It’s coming from upstairs.”

  We ran after him.

  He was right—the smell came from deep within the mansion. A thin line of smoke came into view as we did a U-turn, shoes squeaking against the wooden floor.

  We halted as one of the doors ahead burst open, orange tongues whipping into the hallway.

  “That’s Lady Mulberry’s chambers,” I muttered, covering my face from the smoke.

  A ball of fire rolled out of the room.

  “Oh snap!” I rushed in to help.

  Someone grabbed my arm and yanked me back.

  “Not you,” Fred said, pulling out his coat. “Get us water!”

  He and Savio darted towards the fire, coats in hand. I burst into the room next door, looking for a bathtub.

  In the heat of the moment, I’d forgotten—I’m quite flammable.

  A doctor was called. She was alive, gravely wounded, but still. The wig was gone, though. Apparently, that was the main culprit behind the fire.

  What was Lady Mulberry doing? Was this an accident, or premeditated?

  The room was charcoal black, the woman herself too shocked to speak. I stood at the door as Fred rummaged through the wreckage on his own, careful not to damage the infrastructure any further.

  Noticing something, he stopped. There was a fireplace barely visible behind collapsed beams.

  “Need a hand?” I asked.

  “No.” He slipped between the beams with his long arms.

  Well, next time I won’t ask. I grimaced at him behind his back. Probably.

  He came back with something between his fingers—a tiny piece of paper, black and crumbling at the edge. “It seems Lady Mulberry likes burning her letters as much as she likes writing them.”

  “Getting rid of evidence?”

  Why now, though? We didn’t even have her locked in as a suspect.

  Fred made his way back through the wreckage in silence.

  I swallowed dry when I realized we were sharing a small doorframe. His vest got frayed on the chest, likely from scratching against the beams. Maybe I could—

  Savio approached us like an icy bath on my head, wiping the sweat off his forehead with his cap. “Do you still want me to hit the city, Fred?”

  “Yeah. Take your time.”

  “See you tonight then.”

  The two butlers nodded respectfully at each other as Edgar made way in the hallway for Savio to pass.

  I felt a tickle in my spine as one of the threads connected to me vibrated.

  “There’s someone at the front,” I said.

  Fred peeked out of the room. “Better get that doctor inside. Nothing else for us to do until she can speak again.”

  I nodded.

  We climbed down the stairs and crossed the entrance hall.

  There was a silhouette at the door, as I suspected, a bowler hat peeking through the glass.

  Fred opened the door.

  “Greetings, I’m Dr. Wickham,” the man said, a suitcase in his hand. His eyebrow arched at the strange threads between us. “I came as fast as I could.”

  “Right. Connie, help me untangle the threads, quick.”

  We moved them out of the way enough for us to crawl outside.

  Fred patted Wickham on the shoulder. “I’m afraid you’ll have to do some gymnastics here, Dr.”

  He smiled sheepishly at Fred, then leaned to go in when a distant, sorrowful wail cut through the silence. That voice was familiar, even though the tone was not.

  I frowned. “Is that Lord Mulberry?”

  We rushed into the garden, searching for him.

  Nothing.

  That wail again.

  “What the—”

  Fred halted, his head pulled all the way back, and for the first time, I saw a semblance of worry in his eyes. They were looking at the roof.

  I gulped when I saw that Lord Mulberry had climbed the mansion and stood there perched like a rooster, a distressed look on his face.

  Fred walked slowly towards him, palms raised.

  “I killed my brother!” Mulberry blurted out. “I didn’t want to. I don’t remember doing it. But I know it was me!”

  “Accidents happen. Just come down and we can—”

  “No!” Mulberry shook his head, red-faced. “It’s too late. I thought you could figure things out, but that doesn’t change what I am.”

  “This is unecessa—”

  Fred froze; his eyes widened. I took a step forward by instinct, as if that would’ve changed anything.

  Mulberry jumped.

  Crack.

  Seeing that, Dr. Wickham rushed in and threw himself on the grass beside the lord, checking his pulse.

  I couldn’t believe my eyes, but he turned his face slowly, pale like paper, and shook his head at us.

  Mulberry was dead.

  Footsteps behind us. Fred glanced over his shoulder as the family began to pour outside.

  “Well, shit.”