When Roma arrived at the manor, Yvette's body greeted her in a pool of red on the floor.

“Yvette!” Roma bolted to her, got on her knees and held her up. “Yvette, talk to me.”

She rolled her face up and smiled faintly. “Oh, Romaroma... I'm so sorry...”

“Don't apologize, everything's going to be fine.” Roma gripped her shoulder. “Tell me what happened.”

Yvette coughed. “An old man came in, stabbed me with a syringe. Then I started coughing blood.” She wheezed and coughed again. “Then he went down the west hall, touching the grandfather clock on the way, saying 'I will have retribution for Anna.'”

“Is that all?”

“That's... all...”

Roma pinched her chin. A syringe? Some kind of poison? And how did he unlock the door? Who's Anna?

“Romaroma... I've always cherished our time together.” Yvette reached up toward Roma and closed her eyes. “If we meet again... I would love to be your maid... forev-” Her hand fell to the floor.

“No, Yvette! Yvette!” Roma's scream echoed in the foyer. She looked down at the maid with determination. “Don't worry, I'll avenge you.”

She dropped Yvette's body, her head landing with a thud.

“Ow.”

“Oh, sorry Yvette.” Roma stood up and scanned the room. She walked over to the grandfather clock, and saw finger prints in red. Wait, I thought he killed Yvette with a syringe? Maybe he was injured? Maybe it's not blood. Either way, I can't disturb this for now.

She then looked down the hall. Who's down here again? Grenella, Sebastian, Morris, Ledelle. Don't know if any of them know an Anna. A shock went through her. Wait, the dining room is down here too! We just hosted a mini-banquet for Dr. Fennel's retirement. And his granddaughter's name is Anna!

Earlier in the week, Roma had heard from her mother that Anna Fennel was in the hospital. The reason wasn't clear, but early signs pointed to an allergic reaction of some kind. Perhaps food? She paced back and forth in front of the hallway. If it's out fault that Anna's hospitalized, then Dr. Fennel might be the culprit. He would have easy access to several types of poison. It would also explain how he got in – he may have stolen one of the keys when he was here. I'll have to ask around if one went missing.

“Well, well, what have we here?” Roma's eyes shot to the top of the foyer stairs. There was a man in a brown pinstripe suit there, leaning over the railing, gazing at her with a fiendish smirk. His umber hair went down to his shoulders, swept back and partially tied, and his eyes were a blue dark as ink. Above his mouth lay a fluffy gray mustache.

Roma ran over to the center of the room, Yvette moving her arm before it got trampled underfoot.

“You! You must be the culprit!”

“Indeed I am, indeed I am.” He rested his head in his right hand. “And what of it?”

“You're done, fiend. Prepare to meet Roma Farland, and Roma Farland's fists.” She punched her right hand into her left.

“No need for brutality. I'm of a mind to surrender myself... provided, of course, you can answer a few questions about this murder.”

Roma smirked. “Bring it.”

“Let's start simple: what is my name, young lady?”

“Your name is none of than Dr. Tad Fennel! An old friend of my granddad's!” She whipped her hand up at him, finger pointing like a gun.

“Very good! That is, in fact, my name.” He shrugged. “But why am I here? Why would I kill this young maid?”

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“The maid wasn't your target,” she said, crossing her arms. “It was Bentley Woods, our head chef. You blamed him for your granddaughter's condition: hospitalized from food poisoning! You think it came from the banquet we held for your retirement last week. Yvette was just collateral damage. Sorry, Yvette.”

“No offense... taken,” croaked the maid.

“Hm, not bad at all. The murder method?”

“Poison in the syringe you stabbed her with! Don't know what kind but you're a doctor, you can get whatever you need to make someone's organs rupture or whatever.”

“A bit lacking, but it will do I suppose. Now, for the most important question of all.” He slammed both hands down on the railing. “How did I unlock the door to the manor?”

Roma Farland stomped one foot in front of her, shooting her finger up at him again. She was statuesque, justice given form, an arrow pointed at the heart of the devil. After a deep breath, she yelled, “With the key to the house you stole when you were here for your banquet!”

“I'm sorry but that's incorrect.”

“Huh?” Her statuesque face turned to putty, mouth agape and eyes wide.

“There's no record of theft of any manor keys.”

“What?” Roma looked down at Yvette. “Yvette, is this true?”

“Yes... it is...” said Yvette with a sandpaper drawl.

“Maybe he took it without anyone noticing?”

“No... he didn't...”

“Little miss should consider another avenue of inquiry. I will withdraw my offer if you don't figure this out in thirty seconds.”

“Oh no! Damn it, damn it, damn it.” She ground her teeth and stared at the ground, thoughts racing at a mile a second. Lockpick? Had a copy of the key made and returned it? Maybe he-

“Time's up.” The man made a T-shape with his hands. “Game over.”

“Bullshit!” she spat out. “How the hell did you get in?”

“The maid let me in.”

“Double bullshit! She said you unlocked it!”

“She lied. In actuality she was expecting me, and knew I was here to kill the chef. She was colluding with me, as Mr. Woods has been sexually abusing her for several months. However, I had to erase any possibility that anyone would find out I was the intruder, and killed her – she was not collateral damage, but one of my two targets, hence a judgment of 'not bad' instead of 'good.' She lied because she couldn't let her name be besmirched as an accomplice to murder, which would cause trouble for her parents and younger siblings.”

Roma stared at him flatly. “That's way too much to figure out, Uncle Genny.”

“And yet, it's the truth behind this sad murder.” Gene Farland tore off his fake mustache and tossed it over the railing. It landed in a flower vase on a table, which Yvette picked up after standing, twisting and cracking her back. Her outfit was stained half red.

“Please don't throw used mustaches in the manor, Lord Gene. I don't like touching these sweaty thing.”

“Sorry there, Yve. Many thanks for the performance.”

“Uh huh. Do you want to clean up the red paint to thank me?”

“Words will suffice I believe.” She stuck her tongue out at him as he walked down the stairs. “As for you Roma, having failed to ascertain the method of entry, the secret relationship between the perpetrator and the victim, as well as forgetting to mention the red thumbprint-”

“I was just about to-”

“-I'm afraid I must give you a four out of ten.”

“Four!?” Roma threw her hands up. “As far as I'm concerned, that was an eight! I got your identity on my first try, that's the most important thing. Everything else is gravy, so just because you didn't get enough gravy for the whole chicken doesn't mean I get a four.”

“The minor details far too often twist the case in an entirely different light. Here, for instance. There was an accomplice right under your nose, and she hid this in spite of being a victim. If you can't even trust the words of the dying, whose words can you trust?”

Gene was in front of Roma now, a head and a half above. She pouted up at him with scrunched eyebrows.

“And the fact that this murder occurred partially due to sexual assault. Had Mr. Woods survived, you would have yet another dilemma: with the victim dead, would he simply go free?”

“Hold that thought Uncle Genny. Yvette? That part was a lie, right? Bentley's not doing anything to you is he?”

“I don't think he swings that way,” she said, mopping up the red paint.

“Wait, seriously? But I've been trying so hard to set him up with Marlene.”

“Which I assure you neither of us appreciate, Lady Farland.” Marlene entered stately from the west hall, carrying a letter.

Roma looked at her sheepishly. “Er, sorry, I'll stop. Got some mail for me? Don't tell me Buckstead's stupid challenge came already.”

Marlene handed over the letter. “I was not aware of any challenge from Lord Buckstead, but I will let you know when it arrives. You may find the sender of this letter to be even less welcome.”

As she ripped open the envelope, Roma barked a laugh. “Yeah right, only person I'd like to get something from even less than Buckstead would be...” Her eyes scanned over the words, her mouth went from agape to a sinister grin. She cackled, nearly tearing the paper.

Yvette inched over to her, holding out her hand. “Lady, er, Farland? Are you quite alright?”

“Oh, oh yes I'm alright. Bright and bulbous like a lampfly. Cheery as a tiger in front of a doe.” She crumpled the letter in her hand. “Our lovely friend Gemini Rosebud has seen fit to challenge me to a game of poker. Poker! Using the funds from our own houses!”

“A low stakes game for us, then, with Rosebud as the opponent.” Gene picked his bowler hat off the rack near the door. “I assume he's using this 'challenge Roma Farland' trend as an excuse to replenish their coffers, given that he might actually win against an inexperienced gambler like you. Still, you're going to want to get my brother's permission first.”

“Don't you worry about that, Uncle Genny. It's Rosebud. Dad'll give me all the money I need, then show up to the game just to rip the clothes off his back when it's all he has left!” Harsh laughter came from Roma Farland. “This is fantastic. I don't even have to wait, I can wipe out two of these assholes in the span of a week! Can't wait to see the look on the Cowled Court's faces.”

“Lady Farland, none other than the King know the identities of the Cowled Court.”

“Whatever Marlene, it was a metaphor.” Roma hopped in place and shadowboxed. “Time to get studying history, 'cause that's all Buckstead knows and he's too much of a wuss to contest me to anything else.”

“Best of luck, Roma,” said Gene Farland as he strolled out the door. “Just keep in mind what I said. The unspoken truth is often more important than the obvious one.”

“Uh huh, sure thing Uncle Genny. Think up a less annoying case next time.” Roma ran up the stairs toward the manor library. “Time to crack open some books so I can crack open some skulls.”