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The next fewdays passed in a blur of similarity that both reaffirmed my choice to leave Minerva and reconfirmed my regret at having returned. I told myself it was only temporary, but the town pulled on my bones, as though trying to drain my own progress right out of me. Buy a house, marry a woman, father children, live a respectable, honorable life—that was what all middle-class Minerva men were destined to do. Not leave, travel to the rich and vibrant city of Massalia, study the criminal mind, and begin an investigative agency. Both parents hated my profession and me—they considered me of the same spoiled mind as the men and women I studied.
The Minerva winter days were crisp and bright with weak sunshine, and the nights were long and oppressive. I questioned some of the locals, most of whom didn’t recognize me or didn’t care. Minervians agreed on very little—when to harvest, when to host the annual autumn and spring fayres, where to build the new hotel, to attract tourists that frankly wouldn’t want to visit had the hotel offered rooms for free. But one thing they all did agree on was the terrible death of Jacapo and how suspicious his strange, introverted son was. Nobody outright accused Devere, but it was implied. According to the townsfolk, the motive was simple. Devere would inherit the store, and who wouldn’t want the amazing World of Toys?
But they were wrong. Devere no more wanted the toy store than I wanted to stay in Minerva. And the man who had “never been right” or “always too quiet” hadn’t murdered his father, the single person in this town who had cared for him.
But someone did. Someone who wanted to make a point and had no fear that they’d be discovered carrying a large, deceased man to the town square.
“Small town, small minds,” I mumbled into my drink while seated at the Lost Penny’s bar, reflecting on the day’s events. I was no closer to finding out the truth, just everyone else’s version of it.
“Allow me to buy you another?” Rochefort’s cultured voice announced. The man clearly never went anywhere quietly. He propped himself onto the stool next to mine and waved the barman over, swiftly ordering himself a drink and another for me. He plucked long grey gloves from his hands and flashed me a charming smile. “If I may say, you’re looking rather sour sitting here alone.”
“Just preparing to retire for the evening.”
“But it’s still early. For a young man such as you, without marital ties, the night has only just begun, no?”
I had not considered spending an evening with the lord, a client. Socializing for work required a different mindset, and I was already two tankards down and quite beyond thinking strategically.
“What have you discovered regarding Jacapo?” he asked.
“Nothing suitable for discussion in our present location.” The bar was full of patrons, many of whom strained to hear our conversation. “We’ll meet tomorrow.”
I stood and angled to leave, but Rochefort’s hand came down on mine on the bar top. Warm, and quite firm.
“I insist, Mr. Anzio.” His polite smile suggested there was no refusing him. “It will be my pleasure.”
I could spend an evening with the lord in Minerva. He wouldn’t attempt anything scandalous in public. I might even learn something about the town’s after-dark activities. “Very well.”
“We’ll take my carriage.”
“What?”
“It’s not far.”
“I’m sorry, where are we going?”
“Somewhere more sophisticated.”
“Oh, I see. In that case, shall we walk? A brisk winter stroll, I think.” I grabbed my scarf and gloves and hurried toward the door, leaving him to catch up. A carriage ride with Rochefort in close proximity was definitely not wise. Hopefully, the cold might shock some of the alcohol from my body.
He soon caught up and walked alongside, boots clipping the sidewalk. “You’ve caused quite the stir.” He smirked.
“As you knew hiring an investigator would.”
“Yes, the townsfolk are not used to this sort of scrutiny, although I do believe your being a local has helped a great deal. A true outsider would have no doubt been shut down by now. It certainly helps that you’re rather handsome and approachable, too.”
I looked askance at the man who had hired me. “You always knew I was born here.”
“I did,” he said with a laugh. “I’ve been aware of your work for some time. I apologize for the ruse. I didn’t want you to think I’d brought you here solely for your ties to the area. I admire what you do.”
“Thank you. I appreciate your saying so.”
“It must be fascinating, no? Speaking with degenerates? That is what you do? You’ve studied them in prisons?”
“I have,” I replied carefully. The thought that a person could catch criminality, like one catches a cold, had prevailed for some time, although it was changing with further study.
“Then you’ve spoken to murderers and the like?”
“I have, yes.”
