Cara
The shop didn’t feel like my shop anymore.
It looked like it—same shelves, same tables, same worn wood floors—but it was full, almost too full, transformed into something straight out of my dreams. Voices layered over each other, chairs scraping, laughter rising, and catching somewhere up in the rafters.
People I knew. People I didn’t. Familiar faces mixed with new ones, all of them bent over their clue sheets, leaning toward each other in the candlelight.
They were all here for something I’d made.
I stood behind the counter, script in my hand, fingers pressing into the edge of the paper.
Across the room, Lucy caught my eye from her table near the windows and gave me a small nod.
Two tables over, Jasper sat with Nancy and Hannah and Eliza, his chair angled slightly outward, like he’d positioned himself to see more of the room than just his own table.
He wasn’t looking at me. But I had the distinct sense that he knew exactly where I was.
I exhaled once and stepped forward.
“Good evening, detectives.”
The room stilled. Conversations softened mid-sentence. Heads turned. A couple laughs faded into something more focused, and I felt it happen—that subtle pivot from noise to attention—and something in my chest tightened and lifted at the same time.
I lifted the first envelope. “Tonight,” I said, my voice steadying as it carried across the room, “someone in Pine his voice dropped low enough that only I could hear him.
My pulse kicked hard against my ribs. Around us, Mystery Night continued—papers rustling, quiet conversations, someone laughing softly two tables over.
“I’m working,” I said, keeping my voice even.
“I’m in the middle of the final round, Eric. ”
“This isn’t about the game.”
“I know it isn’t.” I looked at him steadily. “Let go of my wrist.”