I led everybody to my family’s dining room, where every nose filled with the fresh fragrance of a recently cleaned room. Its brightness contrasted the darkening outdoors; the golden chandelier glistened and illuminated the dining table. At the center of the table was a shimmering silver pot with steam rising from it.

At the head of the table sat my grandfather, dressed in a striped polo shirt and khakis.

I paced over to my grandfather’s side. “Madame Richmond, I would like to introduce you to my grandfather, Edan Cain.”

Grandpa bowed his head. “A pleasure to meet, Madame.”

“Yes,” Narcissa said, her voice genial, “charmed.”

Vincent trotted over and offered his hand. “It’s a delight to see you again Monsieur Cain!”

“As it is you, Vincent!” Grandpa accepted his handshake. “Cassidy neglected to mention you coming as well.”

“I didn’t neglect,” I said. “I had no inkling.”

“When I learned Narcissa would be visiting,” Vincent said as he plopped into the chair to the right of Grandpa, “I had to tag along. And I’m glad I did, as this looks delectable.”

I elaborated on the dish for the day – crab spaghetti with lemon gremolata and a dash of red pepper flakes – and offered anybody interested in some wine. Narcissa, who seated herself by Vincent’s side, declined the offer. Vincent meanwhile accepted, resulting in Grandpa and him sharing wine.

We carried out basic social niceties with one another, though nothing I care to repeat. It’s banal. It only ceased being banal when I asked Vincent a question.

“There’s something I’ve been wondering: how’d you enter Narcissa’s company? There must be a story if you loaned her Damatessa.”

“There isn’t much to tell,” Narcissa said, twirling her fork around her pasta. She fixated her gaze on the plate, never looking up. “I reached out to him about challenging The Grandmaster and he agreed.”

Vincent belted a two-note laugh. “She presented a compelling case! And her project seemed intriguing. How could I, the owner of a private security company, not support this?”

Why do you feel the need to justify your involvement? I wondered. Grandpa had taught me how the extraneous could indicate guilt. Furthermore, he described it as ‘her’ project. Not theirs. As if they weren’t as united as expected.

“The Grandmaster of Theft is certainly skilled at attracting people,” Grandpa said. “Why, her name even once attracted Cassidy and me to a mystery.”

“A mystery?” Narcissa’s gaze jumped to me. “I’d love to hear more about it.”

“It might not be the most appropriate story for these circumstances,” I said, my voice as composed as ever despite my heart quickening. To punctuate the point, I munched a forkful of noodles. Its zest buzzed in my mouth and distracted me from what Narcissa attempted.

“Madame,” Grandpa said, “are you sure you wish to hear this? The story isn’t a secret, but Cassidy is correct about the timing of the story.”

“Being ‘appropriate’ isn’t how I got to where I am,” Narcissa said.

I wasn’t certain then if Narcissa’s self-awareness made her a better or worse person and I’m not certain now. Either way, I realized I couldn’t elude the tale. “If you’re certain… Grandpa, may I recount the tale?”

“Certainly, kiddo.”

“This mystery occurred last Vinum. The Grandmaster of Theft’s calling card was discovered in the apartment of Ismael Sancho. Mister Sacho’s corpse was likewise discovered. He died of a stab wound to the abdomen. Well, to be precise, a stab wound and blood loss. Regardless, he died and a Grandmaster calling card took credit for the deed.”

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“Why is this the first I’m hearing of this?” Narcissa asked. “I researched as much as I could on The Grandmaster in preparation.”

I shrugged. “I have a theory, but I’ll address it in due time. We must first assess the calling card, as it was unusual. It was found taped against the window, so anybody who entered would see it. To a casual viewer, it looked like a Grandmaster calling card. However, it lacked a key detail, a phrase, which appears on the back of each card.”

Vincent wagged his head. “What a poor attempt at a frame-up. Tell me, does this Ismael even fit The Grandmaster’s victimology?”

“Not at all,” I said. “He was a struggling author of meager stature.”

“He could’ve been an accomplice she was silencing,” Narcissa said.

“Why would The Grandmaster take credit?” I asked. “It would be wiser to remain silent by saying nothing than to draw attention.”

Narcissa began to say, “Maybe she had to prove a point—”

“It’s obvious The Grandmaster wasn’t involved,” Vincent said.

Narcissa clamped onto her fork as her gaze dropped down to her almost bare plate.

“Which begs the question of who was the true killer,” Vincent continued. “Please, go on.”

“Grandpa and I entered this case after they had pursued a couple of theories. The first was that the stabbing occurred before he returned home. However, his day was humdrum. No evidence of a conflict or blood could be discovered anywhere he had visited.”

“So the murder had to have happened in his home,” Vincent said. “I assume the locks were inspected?”

“Correct. Both they and the window, though no evidence of tampering could be found.”

“Could be? So there was evidence of tampering?!”

“Sorry, no. Besides, the bolt was locked and the apartment was on a higher story of the building. The death had to have occurred that night, within that room. Also, they tried to inspect his phone for any data, but it has been wiped clean from a factory reset.”

“You said he was a struggling author?” Narcissa asked, head still down.

I gave a clipped nod.

Her lips curled and her face betrayed a hint of pity. “He killed himself, didn’t he?”

I slowly dipped my head once more.

“How did he dispose of the murder weapon?” Vincent asked, indifferent to what I said.

If I could’ve been somewhere else, I would’ve. The fact he responded in such a cavalier manner to someone ending their own life made me wish desperately for a shower. Nevertheless, I answered.

“We decided to investigate his money trail. Grandpa discovered his last purchase was a cheap drone, which was unaccounted for in his home. We theorized that he rid himself of the knife with it. As for where he hid it, I concluded a river not too far from his home.”

“It’s good I have my police contacts,” Grandpa said. “They wouldn’t have dived in if just anybody suggested it.”

“I doubt they would’ve ever even thought of it,” Vincent said. “Anyway, I assume your theory was correct?”

“Indeed,” I said. “We recovered everything. Furthermore, his corpse was reexamined, and they found hesitation marks around his stab. They closed the case with suicide as the cause. If I had to assume why you hadn’t heard of it, it’s because The Grandmaster had no interest. It seems involving her was simply a bid for attention.”

“Ironic,” Vincent said. “He attempts to use her for attention, yet neither Narcissa nor I heard of him. What a waste. Well, that aside, I’m not surprised you solved the case, Cassidy. Your mind is piqued only by your beauty – which, given your mind, says a lot about said beauty.”

I sipped sweet lemon juice from my glass and washed back the acidic taste speaking with Vincent left in my throat. “Much obliged, though I doubt I’m anywhere as high in intelligence or beauty as you believe me. Let us not forget I was working with my grandfather, an expert investigator.”

“Ahh yes,” Vincent said as he rose his glass, “a toast to Monsieur Cain as well!”

Grandpa’s ears reddened. “Oh no, the accolades belong to Cassidy. Believe me, she’s being far too modest in this case. She solved everything. I simply provided resources.”

“It’s a good thing you were dealing with an author’s scheme and not the actual Grandmaster,” Narcissa said. “I doubt you could handle her.”

I arched a brow. I genuinely had no inkling what she was playing at. “I’m certain I could.”

“What’s stopping you then?” Narcissa asked. “I read up on you, Miss Teen Detective. Why have you never challenged The Grandmaster of Theft? Why haven’t you tried to solve one of her crimes?”

“Solving mysteries is intellectually engaging, but I’m the heiress to Cain International first. My duties as corporate ambassador take precedence.”

“Is the corporate ambassador afraid of The Grandmaster of Theft?”

“I do not fear The Grandmaster of Theft.”

Narcissa revealed a mocking grin. “Prove it. Join me.”

A sharp, audible snort of air rushed through my nose while my mind blanked. Narcissa of all people inviting me was the one possibility I couldn’t foresee. Rapid-fire heartbeats rattled within me, though I smoothly exhaled and maintained a placid expression. “I cannot wait around for The Grandmaster’s next move.”

“Then don’t,” Narcissa said. “You’re supposed to be smart. Come up with something to get the job done.”

“Would I have full freedom to maneuver as I please?” I cast a glance toward Vincent. “Would you support me the same as you support her?”

“I’d support anything you come up with, Cassie,” Vincent said.

I clenched my teeth and restrained myself from telling Vincent to never call me Cassie again. Instead, I upturned the edge of my lips.

“I have one condition,” Narcissa said. “If you join, you must protect The Maker’s Tear.”

I blinked. “You wish to lend me The Maker’s Tear?”

“That’s what I said. If you somehow lose it, you’ll owe me.”

What are you after? I wondered. Was lending it some sort of test? Was she attempting to ensnare me somehow? Could she, say, deliver The Maker’s Tear to me, only to have Ozonnole perform a heist, leaving me accountable for it? The possibilities from her position seemed endless.

“Allow me a day to think this over,” I said.

“I’ll give you a day,” Narcissa said, “and nothing more.”

The luncheon wrapped up not too long after her offer. Vincent debated staying until the rain cleared up, but Narcissa insisted on leaving. She won out in the end.

“That worked better than imagined,” Grandpa said after we escorted them out. “I’ll make sure word of Gale’s investigation doesn’t reach them. Good work shaping yourself to the circumstances, kiddo.”

Grandpa trained me too well to fall prey to such an obvious ploy. He was displaying softer traits to lure me in while Gale applied pressure to push me towards him.

“Thank you, sir,” I said.

I’d remain polite, but I wouldn’t seize the bait. I refused to lower my guard until everything was over.

I retreated to the gym afterward. I often find running on my treadmill a stellar means of thinking.

I can work guarding The Maker’s Tear to my advantage, I reasoned as I jogged. I had no intention of taking it directly, so no harm would come to it. Furthermore, executing a scheme against me to take The Maker’s Tear wouldn’t bolster their position. Instead, it would expose them to whatever counterattack I concocted. The very act of moving can carry mistakes that the opposition can exploit, if competent. And I am competent.

Or at least I felt competent until Wynn returned.

Part 5 End