8.
Through the pouring rain, one hired carriage passed by, then a carriage from the Rom Merchant Guild, and then another hired carriage.
She could have flagged one down, but everything felt too troublesome while soaked in moisture.
Even though she wore a dress that came down to her knees, the hem had gotten wet, and she bent over to wring it out with her hands.
As she shook her wet hair in irritation, Finlay spoke.
“They say a murder happened at Lake Rota. Did you hear?”
“Lake Rota?”
Wasn’t that where Isabel went on her second date with Russell? It was also a favorite picnic spot for the people of Shudehill.
“I heard it from people who passed by earlier.”
“A murder, huh. That’s scary.”
Finlay, as always, gave no particular response.
“Why would someone kill another person?”
“No idea.”
“Was it some kind of grudge? Did they catch the culprit?”
“Seems like they haven’t caught anyone yet.”
“Then that person could be roaming the streets like nothing happened. That’s terrifying.”
A murder, in such a beautiful place? Though murderers probably didn’t consider the scenery when committing their crimes.
Claire belatedly noticed the dark shadows under Finlay’s eyes. Had he not slept well?
She asked, watching him yawn as though his mouth might split open.
“Did you not sleep last night?”
“I’m just a little tired.”
Whether that meant he hadn’t slept or not, Finlay was always curt like that, but Claire knew well that he was actually a kindhearted friend.
While chatting briefly with Finlay, whom she hadn’t seen in a while, the rain eased up.
“I think the rain’s letting up.”
Finlay held his palm out beyond the awning.
“I should hurry while it’s lighter. See you next time.”
Claire quickly pulled up the hood of her raincoat. The sky was still full of clouds, but time had already slipped by.
Brenda wouldn’t scold her over something like this, but knowing that didn’t stop her from feeling rushed.
Fortunately, the rain lightened more and more along the way until it became a light drizzle.
When Claire arrived at Lemon House, Drew was cleaning the store, and Brenda was placing freshly baked wheat bread next to the muffins she’d just pulled from the oven.
“I’m so late. I’m really sorry.”
Seeing Drew doing the work she was supposed to do, Claire hurriedly took off her raincoat and hung it on a hook in the workroom.
She habitually reached for her apron, but after noticing her soaked dress, she put it back.
“There’s no need to rush on days like this. That just leads to accidents. And if you think it’s dangerous, you don’t have to come in.”
Brenda glanced at the wet street outside the window.
“On a day like today, it’s perfectly fine to come after the rain lets up a bit.”
“Thank you for saying that, ma’am.”
“That’s just common sense. No need to thank me.”
Brenda replied nonchalantly as she slid the cake batter into the oven.
“Sit here, warm up, and dry your clothes.”
She pulled a stool in front of the oven.
Claire sat down, thinking once again what a good workplace this was. The warm air radiating from the oven felt comforting.
As she sipped lemon tea brewed by Brenda, the sound of the rain fell into a cheerful rhythm, tickling her ears. Depending on her mood, even the sound of rain could evoke different feelings.
The smell of the cake baking filled the air.
Feeling oddly peaceful, Claire began to hum. Then Drew, having finished cleaning, came in.
Ah, the cleaning. She was supposed to do that. How could she forget?
Startled, Claire jumped up.
“It’s fine, just sit. You’ve had a rough trip coming in.”
“I’m sorry. Sitting in the warmth made me forget I had to clean.”
“Did you read the newspaper today? They found a body at Lake Rota.”
Drew casually shifted the topic as he checked the cake in the oven.
“I heard about it from Finlay on my way here.”
Drew knew Finlay, who sometimes dropped by Lemon House to buy pudding.
He remembered him as one of the few people Claire seemed comfortable talking to.
Thinking of Finlay—a burly, stoic man known for being a dependable worker—Drew handed Claire today’s newspaper.
Claire took the paper, which had a damp, then dried, corner, marveling at the effort of the delivery worker who’d delivered it in this weather.
“A Young Boy Found at Rota”
To think the victim was a young boy. That ruled out a grudge, perhaps—but then again, someone could have held a grudge against the boy’s parents.
Either way, it was tragic. What could a young boy have done to deserve that?
Claire quickly scanned the article.
The boy, only nine years old, had last been seen watching his parents fall asleep in bed late at night—then disappeared.
The next night, he was found at the edge of Lake Rota. As a corpse.
There were no details about the manner of his death.
The city guard said they were investigating the route the boy had taken and the gap in time before his body was found at the lake. They were fully committed to solving the case and capturing the killer quickly.
Claire turned to the lower part of the page.
There was an article about Gemma, the daughter of Marion, deputy leader of the Rom Guild, who had gone missing after visiting the Rom book salon.
Fifteen-year-old Gemma had been wearing a lavender dress and matching hat that day. The article promised a reward for any useful witness accounts.
In the photo, Gemma stood smiling in front of the Grey Theater. It was a black-and-white photo, so beside it was a description: red hair and blue eyes.
Fifteen—a curious age. Hopefully, this was just a momentary adventure and she would return soon.
After skimming the front page, Claire set the newspaper down and stood, brushing off her now nearly dry skirt.
Brenda returned and took the baked cake sheet from the oven.
“Who would come to buy lemon cake in weather like this? But Lemon House can’t go without lemon cake.”
She left the cake sheet to cool and began preparing lemon curd.
Claire brought the muffins and wheat bread to the store and arranged them in the display. She worried that the freshly baked bread would go soggy in the humid air.
Outside, the occasional carriage passed, and patrolmen in black uniforms and matching raincoats marched by.
Were they investigating the murder?
Claire thought the rain since dawn might have washed away any traces, making their investigation harder.
Even though the rain didn’t stop until the afternoon, more people began to appear in the streets.
Quite a few customers visited Lemon House too, and despite the early hour, there was only one muffin left.
Claire added the last muffin to the bag of a customer buying two slices of lemon cake.
And just like that, it was time to close.
Claire stood in front of Lemon House, staring up at the sky. Her eyes, lost in the falling drizzle, looked unfocused.
Her mind told her to go to the city guard, but her feet refused to move.
All she had to do was tell the truth—so why was she so afraid? Why couldn’t she summon the courage?
Feeling pathetic, she sighed and forced herself to take a step.
She walked briskly through the wet, subdued streets, past the quiet Grey Theater and the usually bustling Rom Guild headquarters.
Finally, she arrived at the city guard headquarters near the Crimone Hotel.
The black panther emblem of the Shudehill City Guard painted on the wall seemed to glare at her, intimidating her. It didn’t even have eyes, just a silhouette—but still.
Swallowing nervously, Claire carefully pushed open the door.
Thrown into a strange place with unfamiliar air and unfamiliar people, she briefly forgot why she’d come.
“The rain last night was heavy. If it was a dirt path, there must’ve been footprints—probably all washed away.”
“What’s going on with the Rom Guild?”
“I heard it’s been about a week since the girl went missing. They tried finding her on their own first, but when that failed, they offered a reward and reported it to us too.”
“Looks like we’ll be busy for a while.”
Claire stood at the entrance, blankly listening to the guards chat. Then a staff member at the reception desk spoke to her.
“What brings you here?”
“Oh, right.”
Rainwater dripped from her raincoat and wet the floor—but the muddy footprints already smeared across it made it hard to tell the difference.
Claire ignored the dripping rain and stepped up to the desk.
“I’m here to see Mr. Ed.”
“Mr. Ed?”
“Yes, I only heard he’s called Ed. I don’t know his surname… He’s supposed to be the captain’s aide.”
“Do you have an appointment?”
“Not exactly… He said he’d contact me, but I came on my own before that.”
The plump man at the desk looked troubled and poked the logbook with his pen.
“Why don’t you come back when he contacts you? I don’t know if you’re aware, but we’re very busy with the murder case. The aide is out right now.”
“Sorry for the trouble. I’ll come again.”
Claire’s face relaxed without her realizing it had tensed. It seemed today just wasn’t her day.
As she turned to go, the staffer called out.
“Shall I let him know you stopped by?”
“No, it’s fine.”
She almost waved it off with a dramatic gesture but decided not to drag things out. Just as she turned to leave—she caught a glimpse of Clive coming down the stairs.
She’d stayed too long. Time to go.
Claire moved faster than ever, exiting the building without issue.
By then, the rain had stopped.
