10.
However, Claire encountered Clive again just a day later.
It was during a lazy hour when the warm sunlight filtered through the clear glass window, and she was taking a sip of tea.
Hearing the bell ring, she rose to greet the customer as usual with a “Welcome,” but stopped when she saw the man stride inside. Her lips parted, but no sound came out.
No way, him again?
She held her tongue, afraid something rude might slip out.
Whether Claire was flustered or not, Clive simply looked down at the display case with a detached gaze.
Clive had been extremely tired these past few days.
The First Security Division was currently investigating a series of murders involving vagrants. The press hadn’t caught wind of it yet, so the public remained unaware.
The first body had been found in the lower reaches of the Freas River, which runs through Shudehill.
That area, far from the city center, had cheap housing, attracting low-income residents. Among them were many vagrants, and it wasn’t uncommon for fights to break out or for women to be harassed.
Clive had ordered regular patrols in the area to maintain order, but a troubling incident had occurred.
The first body showed no visible injuries and had been ruled an accidental death.
But soon after, another body appeared, this one with signs of strangulation but no indication of struggle.
Investigators assumed the victim had been caught off guard by someone familiar.
The team questioned people connected to the victim, but they found no leads. Then, yet another body turned up.
This last one had a caved-in cheekbone and broken ribs—it was grotesque.
It looked like some lunatic was gradually escalating, testing how far he could go.
With the First Division swamped, the case of a boy named Gareth—found near Lake Rota—was assigned to the Second Division.
A park caretaker, thinking the rain would’ve cleared the area, still made rounds just in case.
There he found the small body of a nine-year-old boy. The cause of death was severe blood loss.
There was evidence of a blow to the back of the head with a heavy object, but no blood at the lakeside. He’d been killed elsewhere and then deliberately displayed there.
Clive personally met with the distraught parents.
Nothing could comfort them, but he still offered kind words and asked if anyone came to mind who might have done this.
A cruel but necessary step.
The boy’s mother only sobbed quietly, while the father calmly tried to think but soon shook his head.
Three months ago, their roof had collapsed, and they borrowed money from a coworker to fix it—but they’d repaid that debt last month.
Aside from that, they had no known enemies or unresolved debts.
According to the Second Division’s report, the couple worked as janitors at a department store, were diligent and well-liked, and their son had no issues at Waverly School.
The case of Gemma, daughter of the Rom merchant guild’s deputy chief, was handled by the Third Division—but that investigation had also hit a wall.
Even with the Rom guild’s vast intelligence network, they had turned up nothing.
Would the security forces do any better? Clive and others were skeptical.
A nine-year-old boy. A fifteen-year-old girl. He couldn’t help thinking the two cases might be related.
If so… Gemma might not still be alive.
He didn’t want to be pessimistic, but logically, all possibilities had to be considered.
If it were really a kidnapping for ransom, the demand should’ve come by now—before her disappearance was reported so publicly and witness searches began.
Of course, there was still a chance the ransom demand would come, so security agents had been discreetly stationed near the Rom guild and the deputy chief’s residence.
Something needed to break before the situation became even more grim.
“What would you like?” Claire asked gently, breaking the silence as Clive continued to stare at the display case.
He seemed lost in thought but quickly snapped back, responding as if nothing had happened.
“The tea smells nice. May I have a cup?”
“…Pardon?”
It sounded like a joke, but Clive’s face was serious.
She wanted to say, “This isn’t a tea house,” but the authoritative tone in his voice made her agree without thinking.
She went into the workroom and hurriedly prepared another cup.
Even though his face remained smooth and handsome, there was a trace of fatigue about him. When she handed over the cup, their fingers brushed.
Startled by the unexpected touch, Claire hastily pulled her hand back.
Clive, in contrast, calmly accepted the cup and took a sip.
“It’s very fragrant.”
Claire was similar in age and build to Eleanor.
But unlike Eleanor, who always chattered cheerfully, Claire seemed constantly wary around him.
Maybe it was their first meeting that caused this.
Clive had considered the possibility of theft, but he never really suspected her.
The necklace had belonged to his grandmother, who had cherished it dearly—she wouldn’t have lost it. And Claire, with her young face and scared eyes, didn’t seem like a thief.
He’d figured she may have simply picked it up after someone else dropped it.
Still, it appeared Claire thought herself a suspect. He knew this but hadn’t felt the need to explain.
Yet, her constant nervousness bothered him.
After seeing her recently at headquarters—where she had bolted upon noticing him—he decided to explain things.
So, after asking Ed, he visited Lemon House, where she worked.
Unlike Eleanor’s soft hands, maintained by doting maids, Claire’s hands were rough. For some reason, that lingered in his thoughts.
She was like Eleanor—but not. Maybe that’s why she stayed in his mind. Like a younger sister, perhaps.
“My mother liked the cake and muffins I said I bought from here yesterday.”
“She orders from us sometimes. I suppose our tastes suit her. Would you like to try some brownies today?”
“Sure.”
“Two again, like last time?”
“No, three—including one for me.”
He didn’t seem like someone who’d enjoy sweets, with that stoic face. Unexpected.
Claire hid her surprise and brought out three brownies.
*
Isabel was exhausted.
She had already told the same story to Marion, the merchant deputy chief, then to a security officer yesterday, and then again to the head of the Third Division who visited hours later.
Today, the head of security himself had come—with an aide.
Of course, she would speak sincerely, but she had already said everything she could. She wasn’t sure what more they expected.
The three of them sat in an old tea house near the Rom Book Salon.
“You must be tired of repeating the same story.”
“A little.”
“Shall we order tea first?”
Isabel and Ed ordered tea, milk, and sugar cubes. Clive asked for lemon tea. The server double-checked their order and left.
“Claire makes good tea,” Clive said suddenly.
“…Pardon?” Isabel asked, surprised. It was true Claire brewed excellent tea, but how did he know?
“I stopped by Lemon House earlier.”
“But that’s a bakery,” Ed said, puzzled.
Clive paused briefly. “The aroma was nice, so I asked for a cup. I suppose that was inappropriate.”
Ed looked stunned. “You asked for tea… at a bakery?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Ed knew Clive to be a reasonable man.
He wasn’t especially warm or kind—blunt, even—but he wasn’t someone who acted irrationally.
“It smelled good. I wanted a cup.”
“When did you become so close with Miss Claire Doherty?”
“Am I close with her?”
“You called her by name.”
Isabel was curious about that too.
After a moment, Clive replied, “She reminds me of Eleanor.”
In what way? Loud and cheerful Eleanor and the quiet, shy Claire?
Sure, they both had two eyes, one nose, and one mouth.
Well, if that’s what the commander thought, so be it. Ed let it go.
Clive offered Isabel the tea the server brought.
“Have some before it gets cold.”
Isabel added milk and two sugar cubes and stirred.
Clive waited for her to take a sip, then spoke.
“You said Miss Gemma was acting normal that day?”
“Yes. She came alone, as usual, and bought a few romance novels. One of them was the same title Lord Norton had purchased.”
Ed nodded. His superior always complained about his clingy sister but took good care of her—including buying her romance novels.
“You remember quite a bit.”
“Gemma often asked my opinion while browsing—whether a book was popular, if I’d read it, and whether I’d recommend it.”
“So you were quite close with Miss Gemma.”
“She was also close to Vera, who works with me.”
“Did she usually come alone?”
“Mostly.”
“So she did come with friends sometimes. Do you remember who?”
“Uh… I think one was named Minette. Not sure, but she had short brown hair.”
Isabel tried to recall.
“She also came with a friend who had orange hair occasionally, but usually it was Minette.”
“Anything else that day? Any other memorable customers or staff?”
They had already gone over what Gemma said and did, not just that day but in previous visits.
But the others who were there…
Isabel absently rubbed the handle of her teacup.
She wished she could remember something useful, but days had passed, and everything had gone blurry.
