Chapter 31: The Devil Deals the Cards, Part 11

If her appearance transformed into Rose was like an earthquake, then her declaration caused the aftershocks. Not all the adults were gathered here, but many had already run out of the room. The news would spread soon, and the usual crowd of NPCs would gather to point fingers, whisper, and enjoy another unusual event as if it had nothing to do with them.

Sam wasn't exactly a saint, so he supposed he had no right to judge them. He didn't care that people were bad or selfish. It was the natural state of any living being. What bothered him was hypocrisy. Surely those who acted as mere spectators believed themselves to be good people, victims, just that and nothing more. As if they didn't contribute to the hostile atmosphere that enveloped the mansion all day, every day. As if they couldn't do anything. As if all the victims were nothing more than part of a show.

Of course, the truth was that recent events had nothing to do with the struggle for Blake Wright's inheritance. But as far as they knew, that was exactly what was happening. The hostility was finally exploding, as this was surely the last family conference before Blake chose an heir. Not to take charge of things right away, perhaps, but at least to enter, putting an end to everyone's dreams and hopes except for one.

Anyway, it was a useless reflection. But he felt justified, somehow. Killing these hypocritical parasites couldn't be so bad. In fact, he was doing the world a favor, haha.

Adams took another drag.

"Well? If you're here for that, ghost or whatever you are, say the name."

He didn't seem convinced, even now. He didn't have to be. What the detective believed or thought had ceased to matter. The only thing that counted was the reaction of Rose's killer. He wondered if they were already among the crowd or still had to appear.

"I can't," Sam said. It was strange to hear a woman's voice when he spoke. Uncomfortable. "I wish I could, but I can only give clues."

"Oh, really?"

"The dead... can't interfere so much in the world of the living. This is a special privilege. I don't even have much time."

"Make the most of it, then," Adams said. "I won't complain about receiving divine help or something like that, making my job easier, for a change."

"What madness!"

An adult in the crowd stepped forward.

"As Samuel said, after all, this kid faked her corpse. Enough. This is a damn circus. You're not seriously..."

The man, whose name he didn't know (one of many), looked around as if seeking support. He didn't find it. At least not explicit, verbal. People didn't know what to do, what to say. Sheep waiting for a shepherd to show them the way. Sam had to be the shepherd. Control the narrative, push things in the direction that suited him.

"The same to you," Adams said. "Enough, there's a limit to incredulity. Everyone saw the corpse. I'm telling you it's a corpse, the healer who came also. What more do you need? I don't know exactly what's going on here, but Rose is definitely dead."

The guy found no answer. He retreated to the safety of the crowd, backing down, muttering under his breath, but no more. The gallery of maniacs was irritating, but at least they weren't too loud. They knew their place, with the occasional exception.

"Well, Rose or whatever you are," Adams repeated. "Give me your clues. I'm a pretty smart guy, although it's bad for me to say it. If they're good clues, your murder will be avenged right away and we can all go home."

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Sam let irritation show on his face. The weirdest thing would be not to seem angry after the guy clearly wasn't taking it seriously at all, if he was what he claimed to be.

He didn't have anything concrete about the killer. That's why he was doing this in the first place, but he had certain general assumptions. Something that could work like the fool-proof methods of people who called themselves fortune-tellers. It wouldn't work with Adams, he was no fool, but the killer might feel cornered. Maybe they would feel the need to act somehow, to finish the job, silence her forever.

"It's difficult. I haven't had much time to organize my thoughts, I still haven't processed the fact that I've died, you asshole."

Adam smiled. It was a very bitter smile full of self-contempt.

"It was a woman. We didn't talk, not really. I'm almost sure she killed me out of possessiveness."

"Towards you?" Adams asked. "Another woman and not a man? Well, I guess these things happen."

"Let me finish. Towards Samuel, obviously."

You're a stranger, so I doubt you've noticed, but anyone with half a brain and our age could see the way he looked at me.

Of course, Christina chose that moment to enter. She seemed more angry than surprised or horrified. Speaking of possessiveness and jealousy, huh? It was nice to see. Christina didn't want anyone to come between them. She wanted more than he had given her. But it wasn't the time to think about that. He didn't have to mix business with pleasure.

"I can't believe it," Christina muttered. Violet wasn't far away, of course. The age difference wasn't big, but it was obvious. Even so, more than older sister and younger sister, they looked like twins. Waist to waist, elbow to elbow. Always stuck together.

Adams raised an eyebrow.

"Despite being, or having been, his sister? I guess that happens often too. Maybe one of your sisters felt jealous?"

"No. The one who killed me was an older woman. What better way to climb the social ladder than to let Samuel, the favorite to win the inheritance, put it between your legs?"

A shot in the dark. It was a considerable risk. If he was completely wrong, the mysterious killer wouldn't feel threatened. Worse still, they would know it wasn't Rose, just someone posing as her.

But if he only said things that were too vague, safe, there would be no chance of the plan working at all.

"It seems you don't share the same opinion," Adams said. "You talk as if you hate him. Well, I guess I don't blame you. He never saw you as his family, why would you be fond of him?"

As if his words had been directed at Christina, a knife slid between the girl's ribs and pierced her heart.

If it was a dramatic metaphor, that was because Christina's expression was also extremely dramatic. It didn't suit him for her to start doubting. He believed that love was love, period, but it seemed that not everyone shared the same opinion.

"Of course I hate him, but that happened long before he started showing interest in me."

"Oh really? Well, it's not like I care much. Back to the point, miss, the truth is that your clues are a bit vague. At least you could tell me if your killer is in this room."

"Yes," Sam said without thinking twice, with great naturalness.

It was a safe bet. The killer, and it was probably a female killer, would have been the first to come running as soon as the news spread. If they hadn't been in the room from the beginning, of course.

Anyone would want to make sure that their terrible secret didn't come to light. It could ruin years, maybe decades of effort, after all. It depended on how old the woman was.

If his speculations about the motive were completely wrong, the killer could be a man, for all he knew. This wasn't exactly a great plan. He could admit it. He just hadn't wanted to sit still. Impatience. He would have to work on that in the future. But for now, it didn't matter as long as he got away with it.

He heard a click. Sam looked down and saw that his wrist was handcuffed to the table. It wasn't a real handcuff, or rather, it wasn't made of steel. It seemed to be woven, well, of magical energy.

"What are you doing?"

"You said something about not having much time. Well, I know what happens when time runs out. I don't want you to slip away before that."

He was handcuffed, and the killer hadn't reacted yet. Had he been completely wrong? Had it been a stupid idea from the beginning? Useless questions, it was too late to regret it.

"Let me go," Sam snapped.

"Why such a hurry? You're here to avenge your death, aren't you? And you have me right in front of you, the detective. Where else would you want to go?"

"I said let me go or I'll do it myself."

"Oh. Interesting. You're dead, but you can still use magic, that is, life energy. Right? Because I don't think you're telling me you can break the shackle with your physical strength."

"Release my daughter!"

Mama Wright made her appearance.

The Devil Deals the Cards, Part 11: END