Winnifred adamantly shakes her head, “No, you don’t understand, he said my name. He called me Winni. There’s only a few people who call me by that, but the way that he said it, only one person says it like that and I know it had to be him even if it’s impossible.”

I furrow my brow and think about what I’d seen during her death, “Who?”

She inhales sharply, “It had to be my dad’s work partner! His name is Jacob Heins. It had to be him.”

“And how would he have done it?” I ask trying to not sound disbelieving.

She throws her hands up in exasperation, “I don’t know! I’ve had years to think about it.” She begins to pace the room, “Maybe he shape shifted or possessed that innocent man or was mind controlling him or I don’t know! You’re the wizard, you’re supposed to be able to figure it out!”

“I’m not saying that there aren’t artifacts out there that might allow one to do those things, but they’d be near impossible for a human to get their hands on let alone know how to work one.”

“Jacob must have used one of those artifact-thingies to take control of that man and frame him for my murder. That has to be what happened!” She seems so sure of it that I have a hard time trying to argue with her.

“But why would he do something like that?” I point out the flaw in her conclusion, “If he truly is your father’s partner than what possible reason would he have in killing you?”

Winnifred pauses, “Well, I don’t think he actually meant to. I wasn’t supposed to be home. My dad and I were both out at the opera that night, but I began to feel sick so I came home early.” I note her clothing as she says this and realize that’s why her dress is so frilly and 

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overdone. “I walked in on that man breaking into the showroom where dad keeps the valuable pieces of artwork and that’s where he killed me.”

I nod slowly, “And the artwork was never recovered I’m guessing.”

She shrugs, “My dad never got them back that’s for sure. The insurance company had to pay out the money for all of the stolen pieces.”

“So this Jacob person used that man to rob your father and while the murderer is in jail he likely sold the artwork off for money.”

“Yes. And to top it off after I died my father sold some of his shares of the company to Jacob so that Jacob now holds the majority.”

I don’t quite understand what that means, but I figure it has to do with money. “So in all of this Jacob gained the most.”

“He’s a thief and a murderer! I know he is and he’s going to get away with it unless you do something about it.” Winnifred pleads to me.

I rub my jaw in thought. “Raziel might be able to look into this Jacob Heins. He’ll see if there’s been any deals on artifacts lately. These things don’t get tossed around lightly so if someone has been using one it’s bound to have caught the attention of at least a few people.”

Winnifred and I walk back down to the dining room where Raziel and Mr. Hawthorne are still talking. This time about the murderer.

“His name is Marcus Holt. He used to be my landscaper. He always seemed like such a nice guy.” Mr. Hawthorne had at some point dug out newspaper articles and is pointing to them as he talks. “I never would have suspected him capable of murder.”

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I speak up from the doorway, “Winnifred believes that the murder was not intended. The focus was the robbery of your artwork.”

Raziel turns to me, “There you are. I was wondering where you disappeared to.”

Mr. Hawthorne gasps at me, “You’ve spoken to Winni? Is she here now? Can I speak to her?” The desperation in his voice is painfully evident, but I give him a cold look instead.

“May we see the showroom where the crime took place?” I ask in attempt to change the topic.

“Why don’t you tell him I’m here?” Winnifred asks behind me in an equally pained tone. I ignore her as well. In cases like this it’s best that the dead and living have as little contact as possible to break their bond so both parties can move on. Even if it seems cruel.

The showroom is like a miniature gallery that’s currently empty. There are still a few pieces on podiums in the center of the room, but the walls are empty save for the gallery lights that are hanging where presumably the artwork was. I walk around the space and try to imagine the room decorated with expensive art pieces. As I walk though I notice that there is still one painting hanging. A small landscape of a mossy cobble bridge in a green forest setting. The river looks slow flowing with lily pads and flowers lazily floating on the surface while the surface reflects the green foliage.

“That was Winni’s favorite painting.”

Raziel examines it beside me, “It wasn’t stolen like the others?”

“Oh, no, the original was. That’s a reproduction…” I eye Mr. Hawthorne from my peripheral. He looks lost in thought about something.