A scream penetrated the air of the Marrow manor at six in the evening one fateful day, no less than a month after the events of Dancypants’ rave. The sound went largely unheard, except for a group of four in a nearby room, sipping away at tea and discussing the latest workplace politics. When they arrived at the source, they found a distraught Mrs. Marrow next to her dead husband, who had been pierced and displayed on their bedroom wall by a broken spear.

“What’s happened?” one of the four asked the grieving widow.

“George, I think it’s pretty obvious what’s happened. Mr. Marrow has found himself pinned to the wall and murdered.”

“Well, of course I see that, but how did it happen?”

“I doubt if she knows the answer, George.”

Less than fifteen minutes later, everyone on the grounds of the manor had been collected and brought into the spacious living room on the first floor. The cast included many of the family’s business partners, both criminal and not, as well as everyone who worked that day, like the chefs, maids, and the two gardeners, one who had been hired the day prior. A murmur filled the crowd, thick with rumors, assumptions, and accusations, yet not a single person seemed to know the truth.

At last, ten minutes later, a man stepped in through the front door, drenched by the sudden rainstorm that swept across the Carmsborough countryside. He removed his soggy outer layer of clothes, placed them on the back of a chair, and approached the lady of the house, firmly planting a kiss on her hand. The group behind him went silent, accentuating the gentle patter of rain, the crackling of the fire in the fireplace, and the widow’s heartbroken crying.

“Is this everyone?” he asked the room, to which they replied with a consensus of unsure mumbles. “Well then, if I may have your attention: I am Private Investigator Lance Gonzales, the Marrow family’s go-to man for situations like these. If I understand correctly, Mr. Marrow was found murdered this evening in their bedroom?”

“Yes, sir,” someone in the crowd replied.

“I am going to look at the crime scene for myself. Stop anyone who tries to leave the building.”

The man spent a good twenty minutes away, leaving the confused and frustrated bystanders to grow even more so.

“What reason would anyone have to kill Peter Marrow?” one man asked.

“Probably the money,” another responded. “Those two are sitting on a fortune.”

“They would have had to kill Azalea as well. She’d inherit his money.”

“I heard he was part of a crime organization,” one woman said, mixed in somewhere in the middle of the group.

“Peter? There’s no way. He’s the epitome of clean business.”

“I’ve heard that same rumor about Mrs. Azalea, though,” yet another person said. “Some American syndicate with ties here in Carmsborough.”

At long last, Private Investigator Lance Gonzales returned to the group, standing tall above them on a landing overlooking the living room. A deep frown bore into his face, accentuating his semi-formal appearance.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I believe I’ve collected enough information from the scene and am ready to begin a group interview. This appears to be your classic, stereotypical case of whodunit. Except, I have already deduced the ‘who’ aspect of it all.”

“You know who did it?” Azalea Marrow asked between sobs.

“Well, yes and no. With the evidence gathered, we can safely say that the one who committed such a heinous act against an innocent man is none other than the Blood Moon Pirate.”

A murmur filled the room, with concerns ranging from “I thought she only targeted a mafia,” to “that damned child is on a reckless rampage!” Eventually, the PI regathered them and began his monologue.

“Yes, the Blood Moon Pirate has almost certainly made her appearance tonight. It has all the signature traits of her modus operandi. First, we’ll begin with what most likely happened earlier this morning…”

/-----~~~~~-----\

The Blood Moon Pirate stepped into the manor’s front lawn, backpack tight on her arms, uncharacteristically calm. A vast expanse of freshly cut grass was in front of her, prompting a feeling of Zen that carried her to the side window. Mist still covered most of it, lightly dampening her shoes with every stride.

The window, recently renovated from the original that came with the nearly one hundred-year-old building, was cracked open, allowing for the wafting smell of warm bread to fill her lungs.

Of all the things in the world, bread was still a treasure to her. Perhaps that was a relic of a time in her life where it was literally life or death without the risen grain.

“Alondra, will you come help with the turkey?” a loud voice from within the walls of the building asked. “I cannot baste it and tend to the other meats at the same time.”

“Of course, sir,” another voice said, much softer and more feminine. The Blood Moon Pirate stole a peek, confirming her suspicions: a much older-looking man was dictating a woman about her age.

One too many witnesses if she came in through the kitchen. Not to mention, they were both innocent. She wasn’t going to sacrifice innocent lives just to get to her target.

Admittedly, she didn’t know much about who she was after, except for his last name: Marrow. A man with finances. Connections. The kind of person who is the glue binding both sides of the underground operations together. Connecting clients with resources, or, as her informant had let her know, governments with briberies.

She tiptoed to the next window, a much larger one that went from floor to ceiling. It was covered by two tarped blinds, save for a tiny spot in the middle. Her eyes peered in, glimpsing the dining hall. It was illustrious, and completely unearned. Hush money and blood money established the very bones of this house, whether or not the ones who worked in it knew.

Her informant had also told her there would be a large house party that day. It would prove to be a risky operation. Was there a chance of getting Mr. Marrow in privacy, or would she have to execute him with witnesses? Her mission was a gambit founded on luck and a layout.

The layout of the main manor house, coerced out of the contractor who last did renovations on the inside. The Marrow bedroom was on the second floor, not far from a balcony overlooking the living room. Getting up there would prove a challenge, especially without a disguise.

\-----_____-----/

“A disguise?” a man in the crowd asked, bewildered. “You think the Blood Moon Pirate is disguised as one of us?”

“Almost certainly.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Well, you’re a sizeable group. I’m willing to bet you don’t all know each other, right?”

“I should think I know everyone in this room right now,” Mrs. Marrow said, raising her voice a little.

“Ah, as they are right now, yes. But did you know your husband was having an affair?”

“What?! How dare you make such an accusation?”

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“Allow for my first piece of evidence: a misplaced lipstick container.” Private Investigator Lance Gonzales revealed the cylinder from his pocket, careful to wear a glove when holding it. “This is not the brand you get, correct?”

“Well, yes, but—”

“Why would the Blood Moon Pirate break her signature ‘kill and leave a mess’ method to intentionally place a tube of lipstick under his pillow? She wanted us to find this clue. Your husband’s mistress was most likely a woman at work that you’ve never met. Was there at any point today where you met a woman who said she was making a quick visit for something work related today?”

Azalea Marrow paused. “There was this one short woman who said she had a list of prospects to deliver to him today.”

/-----~~~~~-----\

The Blood Moon Pirate adjusted the belt of the high-waisted dress pulled from her backpack and threw a white scarf around her neck that tied off on the side. She was Ella Luwnes, the mistress of Mr. Marrow, who kept things “strictly business.” Following a healthy dose of lipstick, she tucked the backpack away in a raised flowerbed and walked clumsily in heels to the front of the manor again.

It was time to introduce herself to the wife of her victim.

\-----_____-----/

“Wait a second,” a second man interrupted. “How was she his mistress? Does she work at the same place he does?”

“Well, I don’t believe she was actually his mistress. All she had to do was have the same name as someone he worked with, which could have gotten her all the way to Mr. Marrow. At that point, once she was alone with him, it wouldn’t have mattered if he recognized her or not.”

“That makes sense, I suppose. Carry on.”

/-----~~~~~-----\

She rapped softly on the door, which was a heavy oak. A few moments later, a man that she assumed was a butler appeared, her first barrier of the day.

“Welcome to the Marrow family household,” the man said. “What is your business here today?”

“Oh, I’ve come to see Mr. Marrow,” the Blood Moon Pirate said in her best southern accent. “I’ve got a list of prospects I reckon he’ll want to see as soon as possible. Lots of value in these here files.”

“Very well. Although, do be careful. Peter is suffering from an awful sickness that has left him bedridden all morning.”

“Well, sorry to hear. I’m sure he’ll be out of bed in no time.”

As she walked into the manor and the living room, a grandfather clock next to a dimly lit fireplace chimed its tune, announcing the arrival of noon.

Midday.

The party would start in three hours.

“Excuse me,” a woman said, freezing the Blood Moon Pirate in her place. “Who are you, and why are you here? If it’s for the party, I’m afraid that’s invitation only.”

“Pardon me, you must be Mrs. Marrow.” Ella Luwnes extended her hand with a warm smile. “Your husband says so much about you. I’m so sorry to hear he’s unwell today.”

“You still haven’t said who you are.”

“Ella Luwnes. I work with your husband at the office, although I’m sure he doesn’t have nearly as much to say about me as he does you. I know today isn’t an opportune day for this, but I have a list of prospects for him that are sure to lighten up whatever funk he’s in. It’s a real solid batch of movers and shakers.”

“You work with Peter?”

“Oh, yes. A darling of a man. I’ve barely moved to this rag-town of a country, but he’s made the transition much easier than it could have been. He’s a keeper, for sure.”

“Well, make it quick. I understand the sentiment, but I cannot have loose threads while preparing for this party.”

“Naturally. I’ll be outta your hair faster than a speeding pony. Do you mind pointing me in the direction of your bedroom?”

\-----_____-----/

“But he was still… I went up to see him before the party started.” Mrs. Marrow had her fingers running through her hair almost obsessively as the PI replayed the scenario. Finding out he was cheating after he died somehow felt worse than if she’d found out before.

“Yes, the how, but not the when… that’s one of the bigger questions, right? Why wait until the party started? She had to wait at least three hours, so how and why did she do it? And the murder weapon: a spear. It doesn’t make sense without one more puzzle piece, does it?”

“Where’s her partner in all of this?” a woman in the crowd asked. “The steambot?”

“And there we are. The cat is that final puzzle piece. She could wait because Mr. Marrow was fast asleep for the time being, hoping to rest up before the party. In the meantime, the cat did the rest.”

/-----~~~~~-----\

Freckles popped out of the backpack placed in the raised flowerbed, ready to assist with part two of the deliciously sneaky plan. On the back side of the house sat a cellar entrance, completely unguarded except by the gardener that would store some of her tools inside. He slinked around to the doors and lifted one up with his metal paw. It loudly clacked against the ground, but by the time anyone close enough to have their suspicions raised came by, he was nowhere to be found. The cat had already made it into the wine cellar.

On either side of the wine cellar stood two golden suits of armor, a classy display of the Marrow family’s absurd wealth. All four held a similarly golden spear, nearly as tall as they were, and much too tall for a cat to carry in its mouth.

It was a good thing his teeth were made of sharp metal. He pressed down on the golden rods, snapping the malleable material in half. The two pieces clattered to the concrete floor, and he stuffed the pointed half in his mouth like a dog with a stick.

Then, a set of footsteps started descending the stairs, sending a jolt of what could be considered panic to his mechanical brain. He wasn’t quite ready for the next step of his plan, but he made a running leap for it, anyway.

He scooped the other piece of spear in his mouth and collided with a vent at floor-level, caving the protective vent in a little. He gave it a few more tries, forcing it to give right as the footsteps reached the bottom. His own footsteps were loud in the vent, so he froze where he could, although it was too late.

The person bent over to peek inside the vent and was met with the glowing yellow eyes of the cat. Heart-pumping eye contact was held for way too long, but was broken when the aide quietly walked past.

“‘Alondra, go get some more condensed milk from the cellar,’” the person mimicked. “You didn’t tell me there were going to be rats the size of chupacabras in the vents. That will forever haunt my dreams. No, thank you. I just want condensed milk.”

The kitchen aide grabbed something off a shelf and quickly left for the stairs. The cat stood still for a bit longer, then continued deeper into the ventilation system.

\-----_____-----/

“I’m very confused,” someone said. “The cat crawled through the vents to get to the room? How come nobody heard it?”

“It had three hours to make it two hundred feet. It most likely took about a step a minute to avoid being heard.”

“Where’s the vent it came out of?”

“Underneath the king-sized bed. It’s also where I found the bottom half of the spear. Both had small marks where the cat had bitten down. From there, everything fell into place. As soon as Mrs. Marrow left the room, they revealed themselves to Mr. Marrow, and the Blood Moon Pirate speared him against the wall.”

“How did they escape?”

“The window. There were spatters of blood on the latch, and a hefty pile of soft loam directly underneath the windowsill. It was pure luck that they had an exit that easy, since all attention was now focused on the party. The last aspect of it all is the ‘why.’”

“Why would she kill my husband? Why did it have to be him?” Mrs. Marrow was in tears again, completely distraught by the loss of the love of her life, even if he was having an affair.

“I think, to put it simply, it was a gap in information,” Lance Gonzales said. “I think she was really here for you.”

The room erupted with noise. It took serious yelling by the PI to get everyone to loop back in and listen. “Ladies and gentlemen, one thing we know about the Blood Moon Pirate is that she has a strict moral code. It is perverted and sick, but strict, nonetheless. She does not directly kill innocent people, and she has a vendetta against a certain crime organization with some roots here in Carmsborough. It is true, one of the members of the Marrow family is within the ranks of that organization. But it was not Peter Marrow.”

Azalea Marrow stood up in her chair and looked at the PI. “Why are you doing this?”

“I am doing my job. We now have all the information. The who, what, where, when, and why. When she found out that Marrow was working for the Bijabers crime conglomerate, she did not know which Marrow and assumed it was your late husband. Once she realized this was not the case, she stayed on the grounds of the manor, likely taking up another disguise. And now she counts herself as one of you.”

The women in the room were immediately ostracized and brought forward, but the PI waved his hand. “I know which one of you it is. It fit perfectly. You were already dirty from the loam soil you landed in, so you felt it best to take up the role of gardener. In fact, that was always your backup role. The sloppiest detail is that you started your job yesterday. Ladies and gentlemen, your newest hire, Alexa, is the Blood Moon Pirate.”

The crowd, now in a frenzy, pushed the gardener forward. She seemed to fit the description perfectly: short, capable, and unknown. Confusion and fear warped her face, and the weight of the mob was ready to beat her down.

“You almost had it,” Luna said, her voice piercing the tense air in the living room of the Marrow manor. All attention turned to the crescent moon-wearing vigilante leaning against the balcony railing above them. “And while I have no problem letting someone else take the credit, I don’t think you want to be involved in arresting or murdering an innocent girl yourself.”

“What?” the PI said, now as confused as the gardener. “Where were you? How did you hide?”

“Well, like you implied, I knew the layout of this place. And I knew of the secret room behind the bookcase in their bedroom. It was honestly so easy. And this will be, too.”

She flashed two pistols, aiming both for the PI and Mrs. Marrow. The crowd couldn’t unglue their eyes from the scene that would shake them for the rest of their preppy, wealthy lives.

Luna sat at the restaurant table, placing the cloth napkin on her legs in case of spilling. The person opposite her did the same, before taking a small drink of the complimentary water.

“I’ll have some of the risotto tonight, I think,” Luna said to their waiter, who nodded.

“And for you?”

“Oh, the same. Can’t go wrong with cheese and rice.”

The waiter took their menus, bowed, and walked away, leaving the two to sit in silence. It was a comfortable silence, but still silent.

“So, Alondra, huh? I like it. Short and beautiful. Well, Alondra, I have a business prospect for you.”