Lightning flashed as Detective Mira Hill climbed out her car. Rain drenched her coat, plastering it against her shivering body. Ahead, the old mansion loomed, windows dark except for one. Stepping over a fallen branch, she approached the cracked door. Before her finger reached the bell, it creaked open slowly. A somber butler appeared, his face ghostly pale under lights. "Detective, thank heavens you've arrived," he muttered, voice barely audible. "Mr. Harrington was found, this evening, dead in his study." He led her through ornate halls filled with whispering shadows. The air hung heavy with the scent of old books. Finally, they reached the study, the scene carefully undisturbed. An old man lay sprawled across his desk, lifeless, cold. "Poison, it appears," the butler said, pointing to an empty vial. Detective Hill's eyes narrowed, scanning the room for any clues.