Leroy’s gaze shifted from Jasper to Max and then back to Ariel. “Say, is that chicken I smell?” he suddenly asked, his eyes locking with his partner’s.

“Chicken?” Miss Marlowe repeated, a hint of confusion in her voice.

“Chicken?” Ariel’s smile faltered, her confusion evident.

“Yes, chicken,” Leroy affirmed, emphasizing their code word. “Do you smell it?”

“It’s possible one of the food vendors is cooking already,” Miss Marlowe replied, missing the fact that the question had been directed at Ariel.

Ariel struggled to suppress a frown. What is Leroy thinking? We can’t be compromised already… “I don’t smell anything,” Ariel said pointedly, trying to convey the urgency of their situation.

Leroy’s brow furrowed in response. Crossing his arms, he strained his eyes towards Max without shifting his head. “Are you sure?”

“Of course she’s sure,” Taylor interjected, her tone sharp. “You’re just smelling things. I always knew it would only be a matter of time before your stomach won out over your head.”

Leroy’s eyes narrowed at the priestess, but before he could retort, Jasper took charge. “Let’s move on with the investigation. There will be time to eat later.”

Ariel stared determinedly at the stone beneath her feet, deliberately avoiding her partner’s concerned look and her boss’s cold gaze. A shadow passed by, and a quick squeeze on her shoulder indicated their exit. Moments later, two sets of heels moved past her line of sight and disappeared into the house. Ariel found herself alone—with Max.

Swallowing, Ariel looked up, squinting into the sun as she glanced at the Chinese man. Max stepped forward, blocking the blinding rays with his tall figure, casting a shadow over Ariel.

Chicken.

“Are we ready?” Max’s voice broke the silence.

Ariel nodded and accepted the thermometer he extended to her. Silently, his expression impassive, Max led the way into Miss Marlowe’s home.

As Ariel stepped through the door, she found herself in a large, open room that seemed to be at odds with itself. At first glance, the serenity of the outside appeared to be carefully mirrored inside, with sliding panel walls and clean tatami mats stretching across the floor. Yet, something shiny and unmistakably modern caught Ariel’s attention.

She blinked, pausing in the middle of the room as her eyes fixed on the black screen of a television. Aside from the computers they were using for the investigation, Ariel had not encountered a single piece of technology since arriving in the old-time village of Magnolia Midlands.

“A television?” she murmured to herself.

“Is that strange?” Max’s voice came a moment later, as he passed her into the house, barely glancing at the expensive furnishings. Uninterested in a response, he continued on. Ariel followed, reflecting that it was indeed strange—at least for Magnolia Midlands.

Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

Moments later, they entered a dim hallway, devoid of the others. Ariel marveled at the size of the Marlowe home, struggling to keep up with Max’s large strides and the swirling questions in her mind. As they turned another corner in almost complete silence, Ariel decided to break it.

“Did Miss Marlowe inherit this house from her father?” Her voice, suddenly loud in the quiet of their soft footsteps, made her frown.

“Miss Marlowe hasn’t shared her life story with me, but I would guess so,” Max replied, his tone suggesting a disinterest in the details.

Ariel’s frown deepened as silence enveloped them once more. Thanks for that stimulating conversation…

Ariel stole a glance behind them as they walked, seeing nothing but the endless hallway and the numerous doors they passed. It reminded her of the theater’s labyrinthine corridors, and she hoped they would soon reach the back of the house.

It’s so quiet...

She strained to catch any distant sounds of Leroy and Taylor’s bickering, Jasper’s terse commands, or the clinking of coffee cups, but all she could hear was her own breathing.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity of walking in ghostly silence, Max slowed his pace and stopped outside a wooden door. “Miss Marlowe has reported seeing a ghostly figure in this room,” the Chinese man said, his voice blending seamlessly with the quiet.

Ariel glanced from him to the door they stood outside. “Is it a guest room?” she asked, her voice distant as a troubling thought grew in the back of her mind.

“Not at all,” Max replied, “This room used to belong to her parents.”

The thought surged forward triumphantly, leaving Ariel with a sense of dread. Mr. Marlowe’s room...

“Is something the matter?” Max asked, his dark eyes scrutinizing her closely.

Recalling the dark look he had given her earlier, Ariel attempted to shrug off his gaze and reached to open the door with a smile. Sliding the wood panel aside, she stood in the open doorway. The alarms in her head were blaring, and the urge to shout chicken! (as if Leroy could even hear her) was strong, but she was unexpectedly calm. She moved forward slowly, feeling the same strange sense of peace as she had in the front garden.

This peace…

But her serenity was short-lived. Ariel could feel Max’s intense gaze boring into her from behind, though she found herself oddly rejuvenated. At least enough to face him.

“We need base readings,” Max explained as he stepped into the room, glancing briefly at the chart in his hand. “Brown-san was unable to finish with what happened at the theater.”

Ariel nodded silently, unable to trust her voice just yet. All around her were reminders of who once occupied this room. The walls were adorned with as many frames as the theater’s hall of pictures. The faces within them smiled out from their glass confines, forever capturing the youthful Mr. Marlowe.

As the thermometer’s readings fluctuated, Ariel was drawn to the images of Mr. Marlowe’s vibrant past. The ghost of Mr. Marlowe seemed a mere shadow of the lively man he once was. Max shifted his position, moving toward the draped window, his unyielding gaze never leaving Ariel. Forcing herself to focus on the digital numbers, Ariel called out the base reading of the room in the most unaffected voice she could manage.

“It looks like... 73.7.”

The scratching of a pen against paper followed as Max recorded the results. Ariel’s eyes wandered back to the walls, scanning the framed playbooks, drafts, and programs that shared space with the many photos. Suddenly, she inhaled sharply. The scratching of the pen paused, and Ariel winced—the slightest noise in the silence was amplified.

“What is it?” Max asked, his voice cutting through the quiet.

Ariel swallowed and turned quickly from the wall, clutching her foot. “It’s so dark in here. I kicked the bedpost,” she said hurriedly, making a show of painful expressions.

Max lowered his chart and regarded her critically. His eyes drifted to a spot just past her shoulder. “What’s that?”

Ariel tightened her grip on her foot, her knuckles going white. Chicken! Leroy, do you hear me? Chicken!