Chapter 5

  Stealing a glance at the clock hanging above the bar counter — eleven past six — Ellie stares at the glass of iced water on the table separating her from the detective.

  Detective Rook had ordered himself a Boulevardier.

  At first, Ellie had no idea what the drink was, but now that it is on the table, she recognises the distinct whiskey aroma. It is a whiskey-based cocktail — strong, bitter, serious.

  Detective Rook had suggested they come to this bistro — Bramble & Brass — so they could talk more about the case. Something deeper. Something that might help him uncover the killer.

  Ellie has never visited this neighbourhood before, and certainly never this bistro.

  Shifting uneasily in her seat, she notices most of the tables are still empty. The post-work crowd has not arrived yet. A soft stream of jazz trickles from a hidden speaker, brushing the edges of her thoughts.

  This is the kind of place made for a drink. Or a secret.

  Detective Rook leans back lazily in his chair, sipping from his glass. His eyes remain fixed on her — piercing, steady, unreadable.

  Ellie had refused to order anything.

  Rook ordered her an iced water anyway.

  “So, Ellie,” the detective finally speaks, the drink still in his hand, “how did you know about the murder?”

  A soft gasp escapes Ellie’s lips — she did not know it was a murder. All she had heard was that Mr. Todd had gone missing, and that was only from the schoolgirls’ gossip. She frowns and clears her throat.

  Slowly, she begins recounting what she overheard in the café.

  Detective Rook sets his glass down and crosses his arms over his chest. His brows knit together as he listens intently. Then, without a word, he reaches into his breast pocket and pulls out a notepad, jotting down the main points.

  “How did you know where he lived?” he asks, still writing, not lifting his head to meet Ellie’s startled eyes.

  Ellie opens her mouth. But no words come.

  How did she know about this?

  Her thoughts scatter like papers caught in a gust of wind.

  She knows the answer is there — hidden, tucked away in some corner of her mind.

  She presses her palms against her knees, grounding herself, trying to pull the threads together.

  The detective waits, pen poised, still not looking at her.

  “I…” Ellie begins, her voice barely forming.

  Detective Rook shakes his head and sets the pen down on the table.

  “Never mind. I understand — sometimes a witness wants to protect the source of their information.”

  Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

  He continues speaking as though her confusion does not matter, as if her silence means something else entirely.

  Aren’t detectives supposed to press for details?

  Why did he let it slide so easily?

  But Julian Rook does not give her time to think.

  “Tell me what you know about Mr. Todd.”

  Ellie’s grip on her knees tightens at the question.

  Something flashes across her mind — a flicker of memory — but a voice deep inside warns her not to share it.

  Not because she does not trust the detective, but because revealing it might shift suspicion toward her.

  She cannot afford to mislead him. She cannot afford to be misunderstood.

  “I met him at the café,” Ellie begins, pulling from the most recent memory of Mr. Todd. “He came to the café where I work…”

  “The name of the café, please?” Rook interjects.

  “Third Place.”

  The detective nods, jots it down in his notepad, and gestures for her to continue.

  “He was there to meet a woman. Madam Odette.”

  “Madam Odette…” Rook repeats under his breath, scribbling again.

  “A regular at the café,” Ellie says.

  Julian Rook raises an eyebrow.

  “You know all your customers’ names?”

  Ellie clears her throat. It feels unusually dry.

  Instead of reaching for the iced water in front of her, she pulls her cloudy blue bottle from her backpack and takes a long sip.

  She notices the faint trace of amusement on his face but chooses to ignore it.

  “Some of them,” she replies. Then, softer: “Only her.”

  Rook nods slowly. “That is not uncommon. We, as customers, always feel more welcome when someone remembers our name. And our usual order.”

  His words are calm, agreeable — but Ellie can tell.

  He always has a reason behind what he says.

  Especially when she does not know how to answer.

  “Do you know what they talked about?” he asks, taking another sip of his cocktail — half of it still left in the glass.

  Ellie tenses.

  She had been told to stay away from Madam Odette after the incident.

  She cannot let Detective Rook know about that.

  If he finds out, he might not believe a single word she says.

  She shakes her head.

  “Was that the first time you met Mr. Todd?” Detective Rook clarifies, referring to the day Mr. Todd came to meet Madam Odette at the café.

  No.

  Her mind knows the answer. Clear as day.

  “Yes… I don’t think I’d met him anywhere else before,” Ellie says, her gaze shifting away from the detective.

  “Right…” he murmurs, jotting something down in his notepad.

  “And how did you feel about the meeting with Madam Odette?”

  The image rushes back — Madam Odette wiping away her tears at the café, her face pale, trembling.

  Ellie knows she can tell him this.

  She has to.

  She needs to point him in the right direction — toward Madam Odette.

  Ellie recounts the meeting at the café, studying Detective Rook’s expression as she speaks.

  He leans back casually in his chair and nods.

  “That only proves they met before Mr. Todd was murdered,” he says flatly.

  A flicker of annoyance crosses Ellie’s face.

  “Is that not enough for you to look into her?”

  The gossip between the schoolgirls resurfaces in her mind — vivid now, important.

  Detective Rook doesn’t know what she knows.

  That many men had died after becoming involved with Madam Odette.

  “We need evidence to suspect someone,” Rook replies, waving off her protest.

  “But—”

  “Do you know how Mr. Todd was murdered?”

  His voice drops as he gestures for her to lean closer.

  When she does, he whispers in a harsh tone, “Poison.”

  Ellie’s eyes widen.

  “Am I allowed to know case details?”

  “Well,” the detective says, pressing his lips together, “I decide how much to share — if it gets me the help I need to uncover the truth.”

  Ellie gasps softly and nods, grateful for the trust.

  He needs my help…

  “He was poisoned,” Rook repeats, glancing around to make sure no one is within earshot. “We found traces of a white powder around the beer next to his body.”

  Whatever he says next barely registers.

  White powder.

  Madam Odette.

  “Look!” Ellie blurts out, grabbing his hand. Her sudden movement startles him.

  “I think there’s something you need to know,” she says, voice tight. She swallows.

  “You need to look into Madam Odette…”

  Rook lifts his hand to stop her mid-sentence.

  “I know what happened to the men around Madam Odette,” he says calmly. “But Mr. Todd wasn’t like any of them.”

  Ellie frowns.

  “What do you mean?”

  He meets her eyes, steady and unreadable.

  “Madam Odette… is his sister.”