If I assume that I know nothing and instead begin to tail suspects, then the merchant would be at the top of my list. With ties to the Watsons and possibly Henry, he was the most logical solution at the moment.

The fact that there was a letter waiting for me in the attic meant the killer knew I would come here. Mrs. Watson’s death was premeditated from the beginning. Whether it was because she had failed to pay or simply leaked some sort of information was beyond me at the moment.

Regardless of any of my ideas, approaching the merchant was clearly the best course of action. Before I leave, I poke around looking for a weapon to bring with me. Knowing how readily the murderer was to kill, bringing a weapon along would be safe. Settling on a slightly rusty but still relatively shiny kitchen knife, I exit the room. With luck, it would still be early afternoon and the merchant would still be there.

I reach into my pocket and retrieve my small pocket watch. The thin layer of glass covering the delicate machinery was slightly cracked from my tumble downstairs, but otherwise everything looked in order. The small hands were pointing at 30 minutes, 30 minutes to… 7!? That meant that the market had closed 15 minutes ago, any chance I had of seeing the merchant would have to be now before he left.

I jump up and rush down the stairs, past Mrs. Watson, past the butcher and out the door. I’m sprinting to the merchant district as fast as my legs will carry me. The day is coming to a close and there was no guarantee that the merchant would come back the next day.

I make it there in a matter of minutes and to my dismay find the space barren of any goods. I rack my mind now for anyone who was associated with the merchant. Anyone at all would do. And suddenly I remember her, the woman who was arguing with the killer. She had mentioned that she was a long time customer in her argument.

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Now where would a proper lady be at this time of day. The only option I could think of was the hair salon a scant two streets away. At best it was worth a shot, my reputation was still intact enough for me to be walking around in public.

I can feel scornful stares burning holes into the back of my head as I cross the street, my head lowered. Yet another incentive to solve this case. I arrive at the hair salon only to find a handful of women exiting the shop as the owner closes up behind them. If talking to my lead was out of the question, then talking to her friends would have to suffice.

As I approach them, all but one of them break off after seeing me, their noses wrinkled in distaste. The one that is left looks a little scared but stands her ground nonetheless as I come over. Nervously she gives me a little bow and takes a step back.

“H-how may I help you today sir?”

It was peculiar really the way she looked at me with those eyes. Almost as if she expected to snap and attack her. I’d only been accused this morning and it seemed that the rumour had spread far faster than I would’ve liked it. Alas, letting up this opportunity was not a move I could afford to take, and I would have to squeeze the information out of her one way or another.

Gripping her on the shoulder, I led her to a nearby bench where I sat her down firmly. She really was looking rather pale now, but I had neither the time nor patience to care.

“Answer my questions quickly, woman, I must leave soon. Do you happen to know a short woman, smells rather unclean, nice teeth?”

The woman nodded her head and fidgeted with her fingers staring at something behind me.

“I-I do sir. You must be talking about Margaret. She’s probably at home right now, just the next street over from the Watsons, number 17.”

This was interesting to know. This Margaret, similar to the Watsons, lived in a rather expensive house and had ties to the merchant. Perhaps the merchant was really something more than he seemed.