After I woke up the next morning and went down for breakfast, I noticed that Ann looked a little worn out, as though she'd aged. After she dropped off my food, she quickly left, and when she returned she looked normal. A little strange, but I figure I was just half-asleep. As I was halfway through my breakfast, an older man walked through the doorway of the inn, which I could see from the dining area. He wore a black top hat, a white jacket with a black shirt, beige pants, and carried a glowing red cane.

I couldn't see his face and body clearly, but upon seeing him Mr Bailey paled as he said, “Hello there, Fogwalker. Strange to see you here. How can I help?”

When I got closer I noticed that he had grey hair, a handlebar mustache, and a gun holstered to his waist. The man had a bit of a potbelly as well. The so-called Fogwalker sighed and said in a gruff voice, “It's Detective, Mr Bailey. Detective Oliver. Please don't use that stupid nickname. I'm here for a certain Mr Werner, I believe.”

Upon hearing my name, I got up and walked over, curious as to why this mysterious man sought me. I raised my hand awkwardly as I approached, and said, “Yes, I'm Mr Werner. How can I help you?”

As a side note, I'll henceforth refer to the man as Fogwalker outside the dialogue, because, well it's a much better title than something as stale as ‘the Detective'.

What're you sighing for? There's nothing childish about it. Hmph.

Anyways, the Fogwalker responded, “I'd like to ask you a few questions about a case. Please come with me.”

I nodded, unsure of what was going on as I walked with him, grabbing my bag on my way out. He had a black carriage waiting outside, and it set off as soon as we got in.

As we drove off, the Fogwalker said, “The case is about a certain body found earlier this morning, that seemed to be killed last night. I believe you met them, a certain Demara Walker.”

I gasped in surprise. I couldn't say I expected him to die, much less be murdered. I then asked, “So are you taking me in as a suspect?”

The older man chuckled in a low voice and said, “I'd say you're pretty low on the suspects list for this one. Rather, I want to seek your help. You see, I suspect Mrs Walker is involved in this, or at least that little group of hers. Problem is, they're fairly influential. The police department here is very small, and a fair number of them are probably in Mrs Walker’s pocket. Plus it's not an easy group to look into. They'll probably clam up before a cop. But you, you can do that more easily.”

I frowned and said, “I could help, but it seems like I'm the one getting the short straw here. I have my own things to do. What exactly will I be getting out of this?”

The Fogwalker smiled and said, “I'll give you information. After all, you're here to do research, and I hear you've been investigating things yourself, even bringing up older cases. If we join hands, we can both gain the information we seek. I'll give you things to work with, while investigating along separate lines. And once we return, I'll ask you for a full report on everything you've experienced since coming here, and I'll share what I have.”

I considered the deal, and then accepted, reaching out for a handshake.

And that of course is what later lead to the report I'm currently giving you, isn't that right, Fogwalker?

Well then, moving on. You then gave me the information on the ‘main cast’, so to speak.

You said, “First is Mr Jim Ensor. He's a paranoid artist with an intense fear of death. He's the one I suspect the least. Still, he could have some useful information. He was close to the victim in a way. Next is Ms Julie Maupin. There's nothing linking her to the victim specifically, but there are suspicious aspects to her. Are you aware of her husband and his death?”

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

I nod and say, “I know some details, but not much.”

You nodded and said, “Alright, I'll just tell you what I can. Back then, according to Ms Maupin, her husband stormed off angrily, claiming he was going to kill ‘him’. Who he was referring to is unknown, but he was seen going in the direction of the watchtower. This seems to indicate that he was angry at Mr Bennet, but strangely he was the only victim. Or rather we only found his body, and never found Mr Bennet or Laura Bennet, nee Walker. She was pregnant back then, but I assume she aborted the birth. There was also a rumor that Ms Maupin had a lover not long ago.”

I considered the information. Effectively speaking, the main possibilities that appeared were that Mr Bennet killed Mr Hofmann in self defense, and then ran away with his wife out of fear. Though come to think of it, why was Ms Maupin addressed as such? Typically they're referred to by their last names of their husbands. When I asked you then, you said, “It's her preference, that's all I can say about that.”

Which I found interesting. Perhaps she did have a lover back then. Maybe said lover was Mr Bennet, or someone else. But I stopped myself, there was no need to get carried away by speculation and end up losing sight of the facts.

You then moved on to the next person of interest, Mr Dent.

“Mr Dent is an interesting individual. He tended to argue quite a bit with the victim. He is also someone who played a major role in the design and construction of the watchtower, and was close to Mr Bennet and his wife. There was a rumor that he was in love with the latter. She was quite an accomplished, well regarded, educated, and good looking woman though, so that trait was common enough.”

I nodded. I didn't consider Mr Dent to have been involved at the time, which I suppose was a foolish assumption.

After I nodded in acknowledgement, you smiled and said, “Good we're almost done then. Last is of course the victim themselves. Demara Walker is Mrs Walker’s grandson. He's a philanderer, with a bit of a reputation, and has never really stuck with a single job. He also has a reputation as a liar, mixing lies with facts to make up stories about himself. He has somehow gotten by over the years, partly due to his grandmother’s support. He was close to Mr Ensor, or at least as close as one can get to that paranoid man. As for the state of his body, it was found in the river. We're still working on the autopsy. Unfortunately the rice is icy cold, particularly at this time of the year, which might obfuscate the time of death.”

You took out a tobacco pipe, and began to skillfully pack it while barely looking at as you asked, “Do you have any questions?”

I didn't have much to ask at the time, or rather there was so much I didn't know I wasn't sure about where to start. Eventually I asked, “You said you suspected Ms Walker was involved, but haven't really said why. In general you seem pretty suspicious of her. Is there a reason for that?”

You lit your pipe and took a deep puff from it. As you slowly released it, you replied, “Well there isn't a very clear answer to that I'm afraid. Let's just say there's some bad blood between us that goes back to a while ago. She's far too sly to give away any clear evidence pointing to her, but every single incident in this town revolves around her, she's effectively the queen of this place. I don't know what exactly her plan is, but I know that I have to take her down.”

After taking another drag of the pipe, you asked, “So, do we have a deal?”

I didn't have to think for long. I would've been investigating things either way, so this wouldn't be changing much for me. I smiled and gave a quick but firm handshake.

As the carriage came to a stop, I took a look around and realized where we were. We were at Mr Ensor’s house. You dropped me off there and said, “This is the best place to start, so I'll let you get to work. I'd advise you to be careful, however. Take all precautions.”

As I picked up my bag, I patted it and said, “You needn't worry, I came to this town prepared.”

As the carriage left, I walked over and knocked on Mr Ensor's door. It was an interesting Victorian gothic house, wrapped in advance garde paintings that were likely drawn by Jim Ensor himself. I am no expert in the field, but there was one clear and unmistakable theme: Death.

Upon hearing my knock, in an uncharacteristically angry voice, Mr Ensor asked, “Who is there?”

In a low voice, I answered, “It's Mr David Werner, here. We met at the tea party, remember? I just heard about the tragic death of Demara Walker and came over to express my condolences and ask about how this could've happened. I heard that you two were close.”

I heard the click of the door, and then he said, “Come in, the door is open.”

I swung it open and stepped in. It was dark, and I didn't see him in front of me as I expected. As my eyes adjusted, I heard the sound of a gun cocking, and before I could turn I felt the cold steel pressed against my head.