The bells rang as she pushed the gate open and stepped into the small yard. She stopped for a moment to catch her breath and observed the house. It looked like a relic from a century ago, with wooden windows and wide doors. The paint was fresh and the roof was new, telling enough of a story, that someone did not want to give it up. The flowerbed on the left was perfectly cared for and the bench on the opposite side still had a woollen cover over it, and a tray with a cold cup of tea left behind.

“We’ve already done the routine search,” said Harres, holding the door. “There’s really not much to go on here. The house is spotless. There’s no suicide note or anything of the sort.”

“Anything at all?” Myra returned peeking inside.

“Well, there is one thing. Her suitcase was packed like she was planning a trip.”

“Suitcase?”

“Yes. It’s under the bed,” he stepped in and Myra followed.

It amazed her how tidy the house was. There was not a single thing out of place and the way in which everything was arranged by the very nuance of color, made it clear that perfection mattered more than anything.

Myra went from room to room, opening the drawers and cabinets, careful not to displace a single item. And just as Harres said, she found nothing out of the ordinary.

When she got up to the bedroom, the first thing she noticed was a strong smell of perfume that overwhelmed her with pleasant, citric tones. Several clothes racks stood alongside the wall, made up of fine garments and a tall mirror in the corner made the room appear much more spacious than it could afford.

She shuffled through the shirts and jackets, looking into pockets and finding various receipts, mostly from shops and restaurants near the White Cat. It formed a picture of its own, and Myra wondered just how far it went. She gazed at her own reflection in the perfectly polished mirror until she caught a glimpse of something under the bed.

There was nothing special about it, as there hardly is when it comes to suitcases. The only difference was, they were usually empty.

With great persistence, Myra dragged it all the way to the clearing next to the window and undid all the bindings.

As she knelt on the carpet, she began to tear through the layers of clothing and necessities, tightly packed inside vacuum bags and stacked on top of one another. Everything a person would need was there, but it had none of the lavishness of the clothes in the house. It was simple and practical like the only intention behind it was pure survival.

“Where were you going?” Myra said to herself as she began to put the things back into their place. Looking around she hoped to see another lead, a plane ticket or a reservation to a hotel on the other side of the world, but already knew that there was no such left for her to find.

She sat there, resisting the urge to think back at what Ori had said, and wanted, even for a moment, to believe she could find a rational explanation.

“Have you found anything?” Harres asked once he discovered her contemplating on the floor.

“Nothing. This place is too clean,” she shoved the suitcase back under the bed and pushed herself to get up when her hand fell through the floor and revealed a secret.

“Harres, come here,” she exclaimed and started pulling on the floorboards one by one. They came apart with ease.

“Is that… really gold?” Harres said holding a shiny metal plate in his hand. He looked it over and placed it beside him to grab another.

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

“I knew it was too perfect,” Myra said stacking the loot and checking if there was more. When there was nothing else to find, she took a photograph of the pile and checked the time.

“Bag them. This is evidence. We need to find where they came from.”

“Yes Detective,” returned Harres with a gleam of a child. “Where are you going?” he added as Myra bolted towards the door.

She did not answer.

***

“That’s Alfeen Sarset,” said a young woman at the reception desk, looking at the photograph of a woman Myra was showing her. It was, strangely enough, the only photo of Alfeen she could find in the house.

“She worked here, yes?” Myra insisted.

“Worked?” she stuttered for a moment, but quickly shook it off. “She’s the head of the marketing department.”

“Who can I talk to about her?”

“I’m not sure what you mean. Can I get a name I can relay?”

“Detective Tamon from the Helden police department. Is there someone here I can speak to about Alfeen?”

“Alfeen?” said a voice from the side. “Why are you looking for her?”

Myra turned to find a scrawny young man, carrying a backpack and stack of files that almost prevented him from seeing straight.

“And you are?” she said trying to see his face behind the papers.

“It’s Liser,” he said heading for one of the benches by the wall. He dropped everything he was carrying and turned back. “I work with Alfeen. Did something happen?”

“She’s dead,” Myra returned without hesitation.

Liser’s jaw dropped and he faltered back to the bench. He sat there, motionless for a few minutes, before he was able to look back at Myra.

“How?”

“She killed herself.”

“Wh-why?” his face was now as pale as the wall behind him.

“You tell me. Was she having problems? Financial or otherwise?”

“No… I don’t think so. She is… was not the kind of person to just throw her life away. She wouldn't.”

“How well did you know her?” Myra tried to remain unbothered. Three was no joy in giving bad news but she learned long ago that even the most innocent-looking of things are capable of terrible things.

“We grew up together. We’re both from poor families and we didn’t have the kind of education we wanted, you see. So, when we both started working in a place like this, we thought we made it in the world.”

“But she became a head of marketing and you remained a paper boy. How does that happen?”

“Sh-she was good at her job. Persistent,” he began, but his voice quivered with every word. “You should talk to her boss. I really don’t know much more about it. She had…”

“What?” Myra leaned in, determined to get every last bit of information.

“Changed," he returned. "She was different. Ever since that damn promotion. It’s like she became a whole different person.” His eyes filled with tears and he desperately tried to hide them.

“In what way?”

“Just… hollow.”

“Thank you,” Myra said, tapping his shoulder as her only way of expressing compassion.

He remained on that bench, bent over his knees, with bloodshot eyes looking into nothing.

“I need to speak to the CEO,” Myra told the receptionist with the unwavering confidence of someone who had no time to waste.

This time the woman did not hesitate but picked up the phone in great haste.

“I’m sorry but Mr. Falen isn’t here today. May I schedule a meeting?”

“Tell him I’ll be back tomorrow. And I’ll bring a wizard.”

The woman peered into Myra’s eyes without a clue what she’d just heard.

***

“Is that you Ronns? I can’t hear you properly. Are you eating something?” Myra said as she pressed the elevator button and resisted the urge to lean against the wall.

“No,” Ronns returned. “I’m in the archive. Is that what you think of me?”

“Get to the point.”

The door opened up and the elevator revealed a janitor with the cleaning supply cart, who politely moved his equipment to make more room. She saluted him with a nod before pressing the button to close the door.

“Ah, Ori wanted me to tell you to meet him at the crime scene. He’d already left.”

“Does he really not have a phone? That man is driving me insane. Wait, what are you doing in the archive?”

“The captain wanted me to find some old case. Said it was important, more important than my wellbeing, more likely.”

“There are no jumping spiders in there, I checked. And you know what, keep me posted if it’s something we should know about.”

“Yup.”

The elevator sounded and the door opened to the large lobby. She slid the phone back into her pocket and took a moment to think which way she needed to go. It was then that she caught the reflection of the elevator door closing behind her and no one left inside it.

“Wait,” she raised her eyebrow and quickly turned back, but by that time it had already closed completely. “I must be seeing things,” she mumbled into her chin as she tapped her pockets looking for her sunglasses.

The sound of the street was a comfort she never knew she needed. She could not stop herself from looking over her shoulder on her way to the car, just in case something, anything, decided to follow her there. She held the keys firmly in her hand and took long strides towards the street corner.

Some strange feeling lingered inside her throat as she avoided the eyes of almost everyone she met along the way.