After spending several minutes searching the mansion, I was soon told by Ambrose that they had gone to the crypt. Great. The crypt.
Ever since I was a child it had given me the creeps. If I could've avoided it, I would've. From the coldness of its insides to the abandoned stature of its out. Overgrown bushes and envy had started ensnaring it, choking it. Growing in the cracks like a disease. I never understood why my father kept it, it seemed to emit dread and fear whenever gazed upon. And whenever entered, you couldn't help but feel like you were being watched.
By the time, I had walked down the rocky path, fought off some flies, and struggled to open the heavy crypt door, it was a surprise their tea hadn't turned cold.
Standing on a stone step to enter the crypt, I awkwardly stood, I didn't want to ruin the crime scene.
"I've read about you two," I muttered, watching them circling the crypt walls. It was like they were doing a strange waltz.
"I hope it was something good," Jamie replied, with a grin, "Sometimes the papers like to lie."
He was only half-listening to the conversation, he was too busy putting his ear up against a crypt wall.
"Oh, definitely. I first read about the werewolf you caught down in Rundleton."
Jamie stopped pacing around and glared back at me. It was obvious I had brought him back into the conversation.
"Oscar?" He asked with a tingle of despair.
"That's the one."
Slowly, Jamie's face melted into depression. He turned away. And solemnly, he stared at the engravings on the crypt wall, dragging his finger across them.
"Poor lad."
There was a long pause.
"The newspaper forgot to honor him."
"What? Wasn't he the killer?"
"Kind of. Yes. He killed his mother because she was trying to summon one of the lords of hell, he only happened to be a werewolf."
I didn't have to see Jamie's face to know he was tearing up.
"Because people are well… people. They were scared of him, he was totally in control when in wolf form but they didn't understand that and in turn, got scared. So they shot him."
The silence in the crypt was so deafening that I had forgotten about my father's body (that currently lay in the center of the room undisturbed). I was too tongue-tied, what could I say in response to that?
"But that was a while ago now," Jamie stated, trying not to shed a tear (he was on duty after all) while taking his mug of tea off me, "sometimes you just get attached to the people you work with. When the good ones die, a part of you dies."
Jamie took a sip of his tea. Instantly his expression changed. A huge smile beamed from cheek to cheek.
"Wow! That's gorgeous!" He exclaimed, proceeding to chug the entire mug of tea.
"I remember reading that you like 8 teaspoons of sugar in your tea, am I correct?"
"Correct?" He began to chuckle. "You are bloody brilliant. James, we need her to help us, do you agree?"
James glanced up from looking underneath a loose stone tile and tilted his head. He was hesitant. Until he happily nodded.
"Brilliant! Alicia- can I call you Alice? I find it easier."
I nodded.
"Alice, come over here."
I stepped further into the crypt and stood next to my father's body. Even though it was my father I wasn't very traumatised or bothered by his body. I didn't know him well enough to care.
"Now," Jamie announced, "What's noticeable about the body?"
"His neck."
"Correct. Judging by the bruising around the neck, he's been strangled to death." Jamie sniffed the corpse's mouth. "Your father was a drinker."
"He loved the odd brandy, yes."
"Was he drinking more than usual yesterday?"
"I didn't notice if he did, why?"
"Just asking."
Jamie continued to examine the body going to the extent of opening up his shirt to reveal that his body was covered in scars.
"Did you know about this?"
I shook my head. My father never mentioned if he had night terrors, he never spoke much about anything, to be honest.
Jamie lifted the corpse's arm and found his right wrist had been deeply pierced, anyone would've looked over it. It was small like a dot of red ink on the skin.
"Strange, wouldn't you agree, James?"
James nodded. He was too intrigued with a little spider spinning a web in the corner, he liked how it danced over the silk.
"What is it?" I asked, staring at the incision.
"I don't know. His body is covered in scratches, I assume self-done by his fingernails as they are surface level, a sign of paranoia perhaps."
"Or he was just hot and sweaty in the middle of the night?"
"In your big, cold mansion, don't be daft."
Jamie got up scratching the back of his head.
"Definitely, a murder. He knew something but what?"
Later that afternoon, The Croft Brothers continued their research and decided to interview all the mansion's guests. First of all, was my stepmother.
"So, you were the one who found the body, Nicole? I can call you Nicole, can't I?" Jamie stated, softly.
"Yes, yes. I just can't believe-"
She started to choke slightly on her tears.
"Don't rush yourself. I understand that it would be a massive shock to you all."
As she wiped her tears away Jamie subtly stopped James from giving her a lollipop, like a parent stopping their toddler.
"Sorry. Ask your questions," Nicole said, putting away her hanky.
At that moment, I saw the person who was once cruel to me as a child, who used to lock me in a dark cupboard as punishment for a crime she knew I didn't commit, who used to purposely disconnect me from the family because I wasn't her blood.
I saw the person, who sabotaged the beauty of my childhood with bitter cruelty, in a different light that day. She wasn't a witch nor a cartoonishly evil stepmother. She was just a woman. A vulnerable wreck of a woman.
Although she was evil towards me, she loved my father. Watching her bawl her eyes out made me feel a shred of sympathy. A part of me still wishes I had a connection like that with him.
"When exactly did you find the body?" Jamie asked as James stood behind scribbling away on a yellow notepad.
"It was around 7 or 8 in the morning. I don't think anyone else was awake, only Oswin."
"Why did you go to the crypt?"
"Because I was going to get him his morning tea. He would spend odd nights working, tinkering away in there. I have no clue what he was doing."
"Couldn't Oswin be capable of giving him his tea?"
"He was busy."
"I see. So, you opened the crypt and saw his body. Then what?"
"Hm?"
"Well, we weren't called until 9 am which leaves an hour gap. Maybe even 2. What were you doing at that time?"
"Being in shock mainly. I think I sat in the crypt with the body for what seemed like ages."
"And you didn't think to leave?"
"I couldn't, I just…I cried. I couldn't stop, I couldn't move."
"That is all, Nicole."
Sterling was the next person to be interviewed.
"And where were you last night?" Jamie asked, sipping his third cup of tea.
"Not anywhere particularly amazing," Sterling answered bluntly, leaning back in his chair, "I was in my bedroom at around 10 p.m. like everybody else. I didn't leave until…well about the time you arrived."
"Was your father acting strange yesterday?"
"No. Yes. I didn't really care to be honest. Why is she here?"
The 'she' refers to me, who was sitting on a stool far behind Sterling. Out of view and out of mind.
"Because I told her so." Jamie grumbled, "Do you have a problem with that Sterling?"
He angrily stared at Jamie with a pout. Without his mother he couldn't kick me out, he felt powerless.
"Are there any more questions?"
"Just a few more."
"Can we put the gramophone on?"
Jamie found the request odd but continued with it anyway.
"Alice?" Jamie asked, softly.
"On it," I replied, putting a vinyl on.
"What was your relationship with your father like?" Jamie questioned.
"What relationship?" Sterling stated, as music filled the awkward silence, "He was my father by blood but by emotion he was more like a cousin. There were odd times when we talked, but nothing major. He wasn't a very happy man. Not since Alician came along."
"Hey!" I yelled. Sterling turned to give me a devilish smirk.
"And how is your relationship with Ambrose?"
"Ambrose?"
Sterling was taken aback for a second, his mind searched for a response.
"Ambrose is a good brother." he answered, stiffly, "A bit cowardly, a bit annoying like any brother but far better than the wench sitting in the corner."
I had to bite my tongue to stop myself from snapping back. That's what he wanted. He wanted me to get angry and for The Crofts to escort me out for being a nuisance.
"Did you hear anything or see anything that you think would help our research?"
"I see that you're working with a dirty liar," Sterling barked, getting up from his chair. Before he stormed out to go help his mother, who still grieved in her bedroom. He turned back with one final huff, "Good day, Crofts."
The interviews continued with Ambrose, who stumbled in and fell into the chair. He had bags under his eyes and looked as pale as a ghost. He mustn't have slept that previous night.
"Are you okay, Ambrose?" Jamie asked, softly.
Ambrose fidgeted in his chair randomly tapping his foot on the floor or hitting his knee, anyone would think his joints were on fire.
"Yes, I'm fine," he splurted.
"Are you sure?"
Ambrose nodded.
"The news must've hit you hard," said Jamie, not taking his eyes off him. Even I knew he was hiding something.
"Yes. Greatly."
"Was your mother and father close?"
"Complicated."
Ambrose tried his best to avoid Jamie's gaze.
"And what was it like being in the same room with them?"
"I liked it when mommy was alone," Ambrose answered, truthfully, "Father always seemed to make it awkward."
"So you're not very fond of your father because of awkward conversation?"
"More than that. I believe he hated us with a passion."
"And why is that?"
"Isn't it obvious? Because of all the business trips, all the excuses to not spend time with us. He would give us all gifts and trinkets, even Alician would get a small gift. But he never said he loved us, he never truly showed it. I wish I had a better father."
"I am sorry to hear that."
"Don't be. I think he deserved it, vile old man."
The final people to be interviewed together were Percival and Dorothy.
"I don't understand why we are being questioned," Dorothy stated, with her nose in the air (like usual), "All of last night we were together, we didn't leave our bedroom chamber until just before 9 o'clock. I don't understand how we are suspects."
"Just procedure," Jamie assured, "Why was this tea party even happening anyway?"
"The lord wanted to show us something. I have no clue what, he said it was a secret."
"Did either of you see anything strange that night? Was he acting strange yesterday?"
"I hardly saw him."
"And you, Percival?"
Percival sat slightly stiff like a poorly postured mannequin. Many would see this as a sign he was hiding something but Percival usually sat like that. I don't know if it was how tight his suit was or if he had a spinal problem. But Percival always came across as slightly on edge. Probably marrying Dorothy had something to do with it. It was apparent she wore the pants in the relationship and was a handful (to say the least) to please.
"I think I saw Ambrose go to the crypt last night," Percival claimed, "I was looking out the window in the bedroom chamber with Dorothy when I saw him. It was around 10, 11 maybe. I swear it was Ambrose."
"That's a serious allegation, Percival," Jamie replied, as James furiously scribbled. Little did I know he was too busy drawing a sketch of a rabbit.
"I'm sure of it. I swear I saw somebody go to the crypt last night. A man, it was too dark to tell who."
"Tell me about The Lord of Diddlysquat, was he a good man?"
"He was a strange man, with a strange life, and even stranger obsessions. He and I met at an exhibit for The Biscuit War."
If you don't know about The Great Biscuit War, it was a dreadful excuse for wizards and goblins to use new weaponry, gadgets, and warships on each other. All under the excuse that they were fighting for their preferred biscuit, the Wizards had custard cyclops and the Goblins had chocolate crows (our equivalent is custard cream and chocolate digestives).
"He loved history and was obsessed with The Isle's mythology. That's why I think he bought this island. He could've bought so many nicer islands, but he bought this one in particular. This one was significant and important for some unknown reason."
"Maybe it is," Jamie responded, glancing at James to write it down.
"We can't honestly be talking about mythology," I piped up, "It's in the name. Myth. It's all myth."
"Not in The Isle. Myth can be closely correlated to history. I understand that being cooped up in this mansion, you may not be as open-minded as I am," Jamie responded, "How often did he talk about mythology?"
"All the time. Well to me anyway."
"And did he mention the crypt?"
"I know it wasn't very unusual for him to spend his free time messing around in there."
"This is all poppycock!" Dorothy blurted, "We can't honestly be on about his hobbies, the man's been murdered! Aren't you going to ask for something more productive?"
"Indeed he has been murdered," Jamie agreed, "and possibly he knew something. Bearing some kind of knowledge may have caused his death. Plus, Mrs. Hawthorne, I think it was me asking the questions, not you."
This seemed to shut Dorothy up completely for the rest of the interview. I couldn't help but smile.
Later the three of us assembled in my bedroom, I lay on my bed staring at the ceiling lost in thought while Jamie, in his still somehow polished shoes, paced around the room making his long coat flap with how quickly he stomped about.
"Why?" I asked, "Why are you letting me join in anyway? I thought you'd tell me to stop by now."
"Hmm?" Jamie mumbled, breaking his stride.
"The last I read, detectives are quite private with their information to possible suspects."
"You're not a possible suspect in the slightest."
"Why not? Because I make you cups of tea?"
"Because it's obvious you didn't kill your father." Jamie started pacing around the room again, "Isn't that right, James?"
His older brother, like a child, was too busy squishing one of my old plushies apparently my actual mother had bought them for me before her death. As he tilted his head like a puzzled mutt at the toy, I couldn't help but stare for he was the definition of strange.
"You hardly knew him," Jamie said, beginning his rant, "You were a bit shaken by the killing but not like everyone else. And when you were with the body it was like a stranger had died not your own father. At first, I thought it was a sign of a psychopath or sociopath. Perhaps the reason you kept an eye on the interviews was to make sure we didn't get too close to the truth. But I was wrong. You're the black sheep of the family to put it kindly. Do you lock yourself in this room often?"
"How do you-"
"New lock, old door. Simple deduction. The door paint is slightly chipped next to the lock suggesting constant use or poor installation. But having the lock polished with dragon blood, very snazzy by the way, definitely tells me you have the money for professional installation. And the way your brothers and others treat you is also a big red flag. You could argue you snapped and killed your father in a fit of rage but for starters, it would be your stepmother you'd kill, I saw the way you looked at her as she walked into her interview. And secondly, your father's killer had gone to the crypt with the intent to kill because of the small stab wound on his wrist, it was calculated. Usually, murder through anger is a temporary burst, a spur-of-the-moment thing - especially for someone of your age. Plus… I just like your grim outlook on things."
"Has anyone ever told you that whenever you do that you sound like a smart-ass?"
Jamie smiled and turned to my large wall full of books.
"Takes one to know one, especially with all these books you've read," Jamie replied, picking one from the many shelves. He glanced at the worn and battered cover, a lot of the books I had were either old or well-used, I had read all of them at least once. Mainly out of boredom and the feeling of escape they brought.
"The World of Dragon Taming," said Jamie, reading the spine, "A classic but full of technical language, I could never."
Suddenly, Oswin burst into the room.
Oswin, our robot servant, was the only one who never got questioned. Mainly because he spent most of his time in the mansion and wasn't really designed to go outside, plus, he was still unclogging the toilet at the time. Wearing a tattered brown suit and dirty shoes, it was like he had robbed a Grandpa's clothes from a thrift shop.
"I have some information for you, sir," Oswin buzzed.
He stiffly stepped further into the room, upright as usual. I always found it strange and a little unnerving how his arms and legs swayed after sudden jolts of movement.
"I heard something the other day between Percival and our Lord of Diddly. I believe it could help your investigation immensely. I have it recorded in my databanks if you wish to hear?"
"I never knew you could record things?" I uttered.
"Only in audio, mistress. I apologise for the poor quality. If I hadn't seen them in the hall together, I wouldn't recognise the voices at all."
Oswin was right. After a click of a button, we were blessed with the most horrid audio. The static background noise and the sound of his pistons hissing would sometimes overpower the conversation.
"We need to tell them," my father's voice echoed from the dusty speakers, you could tell he was talking to Percival because a small, snorty, sarcastic laugh accompanied my father's talk.
"You really think they will accept it? Do you really think our careers will be safe if this gets out?"
The two voices were hard to hear, probably because Oswin had been hiding around a corner quite a distance away.
"It's already getting out, Percy. And the guilt is killing me."
Suddenly, the audio began to fizz and grind to a halt like an old used tape.
"Apparently, they were going to announce it today," Oswin added, "announce the bitter after the sweet was the lord's exact words. I cannot express how sorry I am for my old circuitry. I believe if I had the capability to record more it would've helped even more so."
"You've done brilliantly, Oswin," Jamie said, cheerily, "thanks for your service."
"A pleasure sir."
Oswin bowed and then stomped back out of the room to attend his daily dusting routine.
We must've been in my room for a while conjuring theories. Easily for an hour. Each theory was more ridiculous than the last.
"I say it's Dorothy, she's hiding something. For all that we know she could be remotely controlling Oswin."
The two sat on either side of me both nodding their heads like mindless dogs wanting a treat. I could tell Jamie's mind was elsewhere, thinking about mythology.
The Andrina Isle is drenched with the stuff, far too much to go over here. There are endless tales of heroes and villains, monsters and creatures that lurk in the darkest of caves, Gods, Demi-Gods, Demons, and Demon Lords. It's a lot to explain so I'll leave that for another time.
"What's up with the black lips?" Jamie asked.
I forgot to mention my coal-coloured lips. Many take notice of my unusual qualities like my overwhelming amount of stubbornness, and my lack of sympathy for many, but often it's my black lips that get the odd look. A birth defect. According to my father, it was a Lionstring trait although the rest of my siblings didn't seem to share it.
"Birth defect."
"A very odd defect indeed."
Suddenly a blood-curdling scream erupted from a different room, making me jump. The brothers leaped to their feet and bolted out of the room almost toppling over each other as I swiftly followed.