Charles headed back to the crime scene alone.
Alicia had refused to help at least, that was what she'd said. Still, the thought of standing idle while Derrick sat in a cell made his stomach churn. If no one else was going to clear his friend's name, then he would.
The front of the house was sealed with police tape, yellow bands fluttering faintly in the morning breeze. Charles circled around to the side fence instead, wincing as it creaked under his weight. He paused, scanning the neighboring houses, hoping no curious eyes were watching, then slipped into the yard.
He reached for the back door.
Before his fingers touched the handle, the glass door slid open.
Charles jumped.
Alicia stood there, calm as ever, an apple in her hand. She took a casual bite and chewed thoughtfully.
"Hi," she said.
Charles stared at her. "Mind telling me how you got in here?"
"I used the front door." She shrugged and walked past him into the house.
He blinked, then followed. "I thought you said you weren't coming."
"I changed my mind." She glanced back at him. "You coming or what?"
"Sure. Yeah." He stepped inside and quietly slid the door shut behind him.
The living room greeted them with an unsettling stillness. The pool of dried blood on the floor was impossible to miss, dark and sticky against the tiles.
Charles swallowed hard and turned away, stifling a gag. The metallic smell still lingered in the air, clinging to his throat.
Alicia, on the other hand, crouched beside the bloodstain. Her eyes moved carefully across the floor, the walls, the furniture.
"No sign of a struggle," she murmured.
She stood and walked into the kitchen, resting her hands on the counter as she scanned the area. Her gaze stopped suddenly.
A faint shimmer glinted beneath the dining table.
She stepped closer, bent down, and picked it up.
It was a button.
"What's that?" Charles asked, edging closer.
"A button."
"I know," he said. "I mean, what's it doing here?"
Alicia studied it. "What do you mean?"
"Paul was a jerk, sure," Charles said, "but the man had money and taste. That looks like it came off an old hand-me-down shirt."
Alicia's eyes flicked to him. "Was Derrick wearing a shirt when you saw him?"
"No. Coveralls."
"With buttons?"
"No. Zipper. Why?"
Alicia held the button up between her fingers. "If it doesn't belong to Derrick or Paul, what does that tell you?"
It clicked.
"Someone else was here," Charles said, eyes widening.
Alicia nodded and slipped the button into a small plastic evidence bag she had brought along.
"What was the murder weapon?" she asked.
"I heard it was a knife."
"What do you mean?"
"What do you mean, what do I mean?"
She sighed and pointed to the floor. "Look at the blood. That's where his body was found, right?"
"Yes," Charles said, uncertain.
"Then look again." She gestured slightly upward. "There's another puddle just above that one. That blood came from his head."
Charles frowned.
"This means Paul was struck on the head first," Alicia continued. "Then he was stabbed."
"Holy..."
"Don't you dare sweat in front of the dead," she said, pinching his arm.
"Ow. Sorry." He rubbed his arm. "But I did see a knife when I first came in. I think it was a kitchen knife."
Charles moved into the kitchen and opened drawers, checking carefully. His face paled.
"One of the knives is missing."
"I'm assuming that's the one used on Paul," Alicia said.
"Mmm."
She straightened. "Search the house for anything else unusual. You take upstairs. I'll take downstairs."
"Okay," Charles said, already heading for the stairs.
Alicia paced the living room again. Something felt… staged.
She moved back into the kitchen and peered out the window. From there, she could see straight into Derrick's kitchen. Willow Street houses were packed close together, privacy was more of a suggestion than a reality.
She returned to the living room, scanning everything carefully the sofa, the lampstand, the miniature plants, framed photographs. Everything appeared to be in place.
Too in place.
Her eyes landed on the grandfather clock.
She rolled her eyes.
Lord knows why older folks love those things, she thought.
She checked the sofa for scuff marks or signs of movement. Nothing.
"Nothing upstairs," Charles announced as he walked back in. "You find anything?"
"I'm not even sure what I'm looking for," Alicia admitted. "Paul was murdered."
"That much is clear."
"But not with the knife," she said. "He was hit on the head first. And since there's no sign of a struggle, the attacker must have been someone he knew."
Charles smiled. "I see why Derrick wanted you. I'd never have figured that out."
Alicia cleared her throat and turned away.
"What do you know about Paul?" she asked.
"Well, for starters, he's a man."
She turned sharply. "We all know that."
"Okay, okay. He was in his late forties, maybe early fifties. He lived with his girlfriend Candice."
"He had a girlfriend?" Alicia asked, surprised, quickly masking it.
"Yeah. She's pretty too," Charles added with a shy grin.
Alicia ignored that. "What about his relationship with the neighbors?"
Charles sighed. "That's the problem. Everyone hated Paul."
"What?" Alicia stared at him.
"He was mean to everyone, well, almost everyone. He liked Derrick. Locked out the Eggons, yelled at old man Jones, flicked Caleb, Mrs. Jameson's son, tried making a move on Kitty. The Hentingtons moved away, he hates Angelo, says Angelo stares at his girl too much. You and George weren't around much. And he was cruel to the old folks."
Charles paused to breathe.
That was a lot.
Alicia barely knew half the people he'd mentioned. Aside from Mrs. Henshaw and Derrick, she kept to herself. Charles himself she'd only met him today.
But one detail stood out.
"Why did Paul like Derrick?" she asked.
"Derrick helped him with his lighting."
That's right, Alicia thought. Electrical engineer.
"We'll start from there," she said.
"Derrick?" Charles asked, confused.
"No," Alicia replied, already moving toward the door. "The residents."
She glanced back at him.
"We start with Candice."