Everyone gathered in the main room of the bakery - the Guard officers, Lysandra, Kevin the fiend baker who insisted on being present, and the two remaining friends. The body had been respectfully moved to another room, and the worker with the high ponytail had ushered all the other customers out. She was now hanging at the edge of the room, her expression gloomy and serious.

As everyone was gathering up, Ethan took one last look at the evidence presented.

"Before I explain," Ethan began, his voice steady, "I need to ask Miss Shatteraxe one more question. The beads in your hair - they represent your marriage to Thorin, correct?"

Khorian touched the golden beads above her left ear self-consciously. "Yes. One for clan Shatteraxe, one for clan Stonefist."

"And you wore them today, knowing you'd be meeting Maerith for the first time since your marriage?"

"I... I always wear them," she said defensively. "I'm proud of my marriage."

"Of course you are," said Ethan softly. "And Maerith knew you would be. She counted on it."

Lieutenant Willowmere leaned forward. "What exactly are you suggesting, detective?"

"I'm suggesting that Maerith planned this entire meeting with one goal in mind: revenge. But not just any revenge - she wanted to frame you two for her murder."

Emilie gasped. "What? But why would she-"

"Because you had everything she thought she'd lost," Ethan explained. "Success, freedom, adventure. And most importantly, you had recently returned from the Flying Desert - the only place where Blightbloom grows. She knew that would make you the perfect suspect. And, of course, "

He walked over to the corner table, now surrounded by evidence markers. "This wasn't a spontaneous meeting. Maerith arrived early to secure this specific table - their old table from Academy days. She chose it because it was tucked away in the corner, where she could carry out her plan without too many prying eyes."

"But the poison was in the sugar cubes," said Constable Mistvale. "We found traces-"

"Yes," Ethan interrupted. "Sugar cubes that Maerith herself kept adding to her drink, a drink she didn’t usually get. Lysandra, you’re very familiar with poisons- does the poison react differently in different drinks?”

“It has a very bitter flavor,” said Lysandra. “It would need to be masked with a lot of the sugar, which it was. The concentration was also extremely high. One could have achieved the desired effect with… far less sugar.”

"Exactly," said Ethan. "She wanted to make sure it worked quickly, and more importantly, she wanted to make sure there would be obvious traces left behind. Traces that would lead back to the Flying Desert."

He turned to Emilie. "When did Maerith first contact you about meeting today?"

"About... about two weeks ago," Emilie said, her voice shaking. "Right after I told her I was back from the Flying Desert."

"And I'm guessing she suggested the time and place? Insisted on it being here?"

Emilie nodded numbly.

“I see. And you both arrived here at the same time, with Maerith already seated. You were both excited to meet your old friend, to catch up, relieved your friend does not hold any grudges against you for being more successful than her, for marrying a man she was once in love with.”

“She was so sincere!” cried Khorian. “She never showed any sign of being upset about it.”

“And yet you’ve not spoken to her in years, Mrs. Shatteraxe. I suppose Maerith hasn't attended your wedding?”

“N-no… she… she was b-busy that weekend…” Khorian’s lower lip trembled dangerously, and she began sobbing again. Kevin handed her another handkerchief.

Ethan nodded. A small voice in his brain was telling him, you’re a fucking fraud. Shadowveil? Shmadowveil. Do you have any idea what it is you’re doing? You’re only been playing detective for a few days, and you spent most of these on vacation reading children’s books! Fraud!

The rest of his brain was buzzing with determination and a strange rush he hasn’t felt in a long, long time as just Ethan Morris.

“You’re saying a lot of things, detective,” said Mistvale. “But, other than gut feeling, what proof do you have?”

“First of all - a complete lack of motive from either of the ladies here. What business do they have, killing their old friend when they themselves are doing so well off for themselves? To throw it all away for someone they haven’t seen or spoken to in years, would be incredibly shortsighted. And lastly, I have two crucial pieces of evidence,” he grabbed the small, shimmering vial through a handkerchief, “starting with this little vial.”

“What is this?” asked Kevin. “Murder weapon?”

“In a way. Mrs Shatteraxe, do you recognize this vial?”

Khorian squinted, looking at the vial from a safe distance. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen it in my life.”

“Are you absolutely certain of that? Please, have a closer look.”

Khorian tentatively stood up, observing the vial.

“I’m sure. It’s regular, cheap glass. No self respecting dwarf uses glass.”

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“Can you tell me why?”

“Pure glass is a fool’s material in our culture,”she explained. “Sure, sometimes some more rebellious kids will use glass as a way to stick it up to their parents, but honestly it’s a short lived rebellion. Glass does not last long in the hands of the dwarf, so we use everything but.”

“And what happens if you receive or purchase something that comes in a glass container?”

“We move it immediately. I know it seems silly, but it’s just safer that way - I haven’t had a glass item that I haven’t broken within hours ever in my life.”

“So why has this vial of poison in your bag, Mrs. Shatteraxe?”

Her eyes grew wide. “What? N-n-no, I never could have, I-I swear…”

“I understand,” said Ethan. “You’ve been framed, Mrs. Shatteraxe. And to prove it, I have another piece of evidence.”

“And that is?”

“Mister Kevin, do you happen to have a Message Stone?” Ethan asked.

Message Stones were all the rage in Arcalis right now - they allowed you to send short voice messages to other people in possession of a Message Stone. They were small marvels of arcane arts, and already there was an industry around customizing them and enchanting them to have custom alert tone. Ethan considered getting one, but he was kind of enjoying not having a phone, so he opted for what was essentially a pager instead.

“No, I do not,” grumbled Kevin. “I don’t like ‘em.”

“I have one,” said High Ponytail.

“Young lady!” boomed Kevin. “I thought I said I prohibited you from getting one?”

“Oh relax, dad,” Ponytail rolled her eyes. “It’s just for… school. Yeah. Anyway, here’s a Message Stone, detective,” she handed him a small, bright pink stone with a little fluffy dangly keychain.

“Thank you. Now, I do not have a phone number for Foxglove Publishing, but I have the stone code to the best bookstore in town.”

He dialed up the bookstore’s code. The Messaging Stones were not like phones in his realm; they were more like leaving voice messages on WhatsApp.

“Hi, do you have any new releases from Foxglove Publishing?” he asked.

There was a short, awkward silence as he waited for a message back.

“We do not,” answered a voice after a minute. “Foxglove closed earlier this month. Can I recommend something else?”

“That will be all, thank you,” said Ethan, who would have felt really bad not answering. “I was thinking during this whole investigation - I’ve spent the past week pretty much living in a bookstore, and I haven’t seen a single Foxglove title in any category. Maerith did not get a promotion, because she was actually unemployed.”

The other two women sat there in silence, stunned. Lysandra gave him a faint smile. Good one, Gilbert. You’re doing better, she said to him telepathically. He smiled and nodded.

“That’s… quite a deduction,” said Constable Mistvale. “Thank you, detective.”

“We’re going to have to officially finish our investigation, but you’ve essentially done our job for us,” Willowmere patted him on the back. “I hope we can work together again in the future.”

“Hopefully not in here,” said Ethan. “Now if you’ll excuse me, gentlemen - this is technically my day off.”

He gave his final condolences to the two women, and then to Kevin; he did not take his cafe becoming a murder scene well at all.

“I’ll be back tomorrow for my usual,” he reassured, and Kevin gave him a weak smile. “Nobody makes bagels quite like you in all of Arcalis.”

He left the bakery via the back exit, as a small crowd of onlookers was gathering in the front.

Maybe, just maybe, he could do this after all. Maybe he could really be Gilbert Shadowveil, detective extraordinaire.

Or maybe you just lucked out, fraud, said the mean little voice in his head.

Oh shut up, answered Ethan.

----------------------------------------

“I urge you to reconsider,” said a monotone voice.

“Reconsider? Recon-fucking-sider? That motherfucker threw salt in my eye!”

“Eyes. Both of them.” Corrected a similarly monotone, but slightly deeper voice.

“Well thank you very fucking much, that just makes me feel a thousand times better. Eyes! Did not cast a single spell the whole fucking time! Salt in my fucking eyes!”

“You might have mentioned that,” said the first monotone voice.

“Once,” chimed in the deeper voice.

“Or twice,”

“An hour,”

“For the past week.”

“Well I am sorry my feelings are such an inconvenience to you!” yelled the man.

They were all in a large, sparsely decorated room. The furniture was austere and made out of the kind of wood that creaks if one as much as looks at it wrong. There was a large incense holder, roughly the size of a small bucket, which filled the air with the scent of patchouli and augurblossom.

The raging man sported long, red hair, and a heart full of spite. There was a paper article on the table, STAR DETECTIVES SAVE THE DAY ONCE AGAIN! EXCLUSIVE SCOOP ABOUT THE MUSEUM MURDER! A dagger was stabbed through the picture of Gilbert Shadowveil.

“We simply think there are better ways for you to spend your time,” added the first voice. Both of the other people present had the same long, silver robes, and large hoods covering their faces.

“Like what?”

“Perhaps doing your actual job.”

The man stopped in the middle of the room.

“No!” he threw his hands in the air. “Not after everything this worm took away from me! My life is ruined, and now, that bitch Shadowveil must pay.”

“And how will you accomplish that?” asked the second voice.

“Will you put pepper in his eyes?” asked the first voice.

“Or should we send one of our assassins to finish the job?”

“Wearing goggles.”

“Naturally, goggles.”

“I was mistaken. My misery does not bother you, it amuses you,” growled the man.

“We just think you’ve been focusing on all the wrong things.”

“But please, do tell us your plan.”

The man grabbed the dagger that had pierced the newspaper. He twirled it around in his hand a few times.

“I was thinking about this a lot in the past week,” he said. “I could just kill him. I could wipe that annoying smirk off his face, forever, and then bury his body in a salt mine. But then, Gilbert Shadowveil will be memorialized forever. He will eternally be the greatest detective in all of Arcalis, and in a few years, they’ll be writing plays and books about his deeds, and his filthy apartment will become a museum dedicated to him.”

“Very likely,” said the first voice.

“Very perceptive of you, master,” said the second voice.

“I won’t kill him. Oh no. I will make sure not a single hair falls off his head,” for the first time, the man’s voice became cold, calculating. The two robed figures shifted uncomfortably in their seats. “I will pull every string, and I will call in every favor, and when I’m done, Gilbert Shadowveil will be ruined. People will riot and take to the streets to demand his death. Gilbert Shadowveil will hang in the gallows with the worst of them, and he will regret the day he crossed the High Priest of Arcalis.”