Furious with myself, humiliated, I stride back to the house, doing my best to scrub the tears from my face before I run into anyone. Fortunately, I pass unseen by my family or the house staff, and come into the safety of my room without embarrassing myself further.

I don’t want to think of it, all the words I said to Sam earlier. Telling him about my insecurities being raised alongside siblings who don’t resemble me in the least. Why should he have to listen to me cry about something like that? Am I an idiot?

More importantly, I let my feelings get in the way, and I completely missed my opportunity to interrogate Sam about the man he killed the other night.

Never mind, I tell myself, wiping my eyes one last time as I seat myself at my desk. I’ve found enough clues for one day, with my discovery of the tree Ben climbed on the day of Louise’s party. I still have no idea what it means, but I write detailed notes about it just the same.

Finished with that, I rise, weary, feeling gritty after climbing the tree and covered in sap. I make the split decision to take a bath, and walk into the adjoining bathroom to draw one for myself.

I strip out of the mannish clothing I was wearing and toss it all in the hamper, leaving my glasses on the counter. Hopping in the shower first, I wash myself quickly and leave the shower to wrap a towel around my head. Then I turn off the tap to my bath, and sink into the deep tub.

I lean my head back with a sigh, letting the hot water work its magic on my tense muscles. It feels so good, I could cry. And I do. Only a little, only for a minute. I learned long ago there wasn’t much point in crying. It’s not like anyone ever cared if I did, or stopped to soothe me. Even when I was a child, the only one who ever had time for my tears was Grandfather.

“Forget about Sam,” I tell myself. “You were letting yourself get a little too close to him, anyway. It’s not like you to go around, making friends. Imagining yourself in love… After all, who could ever love a… a cowbird…”

I bend forward in the tub, holding myself around the middle, face hovering just over the water so my tears fall straight into the bath.

Like this, I cry with my eyes squeezed shut, my teeth bared in an ugly snarl. It hurts so much. Someone tell me why my heart hurts so much…

I don’t know how much time passes before my tears run out. My bath feels lukewarm, and I splash around a little, rinsing my face of tears, snot and saliva. A little refreshed, I suck a deep breath, pull the plug and rise, going over to the wall where a plush bathrobe is waiting for me.

I stop before the mirror to view my reddened eyes. I look hideous. But that’s nothing new, I think derisively.

I apply a little cream to my face and neck, patting it in. Then I take the towel from my head and shake out my hair, running a brush through it to smooth the tangles. It lays flat against my scalp; so flat it’s almost comical. I’ve never been able to do a thing with my hair. It doesn’t have even the slightest bit of wave, and there’s not been a pin invented yet that will stick in it.

With a forlorn sigh, I leave the mirror and open the door that joins with my bedroom. And I stop short.

There, before the crackling fireplace, kneels a familiar figure.

“Louise?”

She starts at the sound of my voice and rises to face me.

“What are you doing in my room?”

“Is it my fault you don’t lock your door?” she scoffs.

“You were burning something,” I realize, and my eyes travel automatically to my desk. “My notes,” I gasp, looking back to her. Louise sneers at me.

“Were you having fun playing detective, Cowbird? Snooping around in other people’s lives, pretending you were the heroine in your own little paperback novel. You disgust me.”

“What did I write?” I ask her. “What was in those notes that scared you so much you felt you had to burn them?”

Louise goes scarlet with indignation. She sticks out her finger, and her whole body trembles as she shakes it at me in warning.

“Stop poking around about the day of the party. Drop all your investigations. If you don’t,” her eye twitches, “I’ll make you sorry you were ever born.”

Louise leaves me standing alone in my room, staring at the blazing fireplace.

My notes. All the clues I’d gathered, all my thoughts on the investigation. Destroyed.

But not gone, I decide. They still exist in my head.

Without wasting even another moment, I cross the room, bolt my door shut, and go to my desk to pull out fresh sheets of paper. Once again, I scrawl names atop each sheet, writing down every detail of my investigation I can remember. And now, at the bottom of Louise’s page, I pen the following:

Burned my notes, threatened me to drop the investigation or else…

She’s scared, I think, leaning back in my chair. Why? What has Louise got to lose? She’s won the lottery with her good looks and family fortune. She’s scored herself the son of one of the most influential men in the country for her fiancé. Her whole life is like a wonderful rosy painting, with not even a single detail out of place.

So why was she late to Father’s toast? She was so excited about her pre-engagement party party, so insistent every last detail go exactly according to plan—it doesn’t make sense she’d be late to her own toast. Not when she so enjoys being the center of everyone’s attention…

Louise. She burned my notes and threatened me. But, like Ben, she has a lot to learn about her big sister if she thinks something like this is going to keep me from uncovering the truth…

I don’t go to the annex tonight, don’t even leave my room. I have my dinner sent up and go to bed early, exhausted after running on nothing but caffeine and adrenaline for the last few days.

I wake after a solid twelve hours of sleep, feeling refreshed. Dressing myself in a gown of trademark black, I’m just stepping out to head down to breakfast when I spy a dull gleam on the floor across the hall.

A gun?

My heart races as I draw up to it, squatting on the floor beside the weapon.

What’s this doing here? I can’t even begin to imagine…

I sit beside the gun for a long time, hugging my knees, considering the implications. After staring at it for a good five minutes, I finally decide to pick it up gingerly by the handle, pinching it between two fingers as I rise to my full height.

“Miss Frances?”

I yelp, nearly dropping the weapon. Hiding it instinctively in my skirts, I turn to find Susan standing there.

“Is everything alright, Miss?”

“Yes,” I say quickly. “I’ve been a bit on edge recently, forgive me.”

“That’s quite alright. But did you drop something, Miss? If you need help finding it—”

“Just my handkerchief,” I say quickly, awkwardly. I don’t know how to act naturally in this situation, with a gun gripped in my fist.

I suppose this is one incident where I should be glad I’m ordinarily awkward, since it seems my behavior doesn’t rouse her suspicions. She only smiles at me, half nervous, half dismissive, and continues on her way.

She rounds the corner and I heave a sigh of relief. Then I pull the gun out and examine it again.

I know very little about guns. From the revolving chamber, I think this is what they call a revolver, capable of shooting six rounds, but I wouldn’t know the first thing about loading it, or shooting it for that matter.

But there’s one person I can think of that would…

Without stopping to grab a coat, I hurry straight out of the house into the icy morning air. The sky is pale blue, the trees nearly bare and the grass covered in a thin layer of frost as I run across the lawn, straight for the garage.

“Sam!” I burst upon the building, going over to his door to knock. “Sam, wake up!”

His door opens, and I’m greeted by a bleary looking mechanic. His chin is dark with a five o’clock shadow, and his shirt hangs unbuttoned over a thin, off white tank top.

Met with his figure like this, I’m recalled rather abruptly to our visit yesterday, and the melodramatic way in which I ended it. I didn’t give myself a chance to explain my outburst, or to apologize for it. When I think of it, I could die from embarrassment.

“Miss Porter,” he blinks at me. “It’s seven in the morning.”

“Sorry,” I say, shaking myself. “Sorry, but I had to see you. Can I come in?”

Without waiting for his answer, I push past him inside to his little room.