Sir William Blackwood's mansion shimmered with an eerie stillness as night cloaked the mansion's stately charm. Inside the grand foyer, Lady Edith's lifeless body lay sprawled on the marble floor. A chilling breeze wafted through the open doors, swaying portraits portraying past scents of opulence and secrets. Five guests gathered around, faces pale, exchanging hushed whispers only trembles could carry. Detective Amelia Hart tapped her chin, eyes narrowing, as she circled the scene, pondering over disregarded subtleties. A faint scent of almonds hinted at cyanide's sinister presence, prompting heightened alertness. "Sir Chandler!" she exclaimed, her gaze landing on the elderly count with a gleam. "Your protein shakes, why almond extract?" The stern count's gaze flickered nervously, betraying hidden traces of anxiety. Amelia leaned closer, eyes probing, searching others' faces for tells. "Interesting selection for an evening soirée, isn't it, Mrs. Bombay?" Her voice held a playful tone as she approached the always-distracted socialite. Lost in designs and crossword puzzles, the wife seemed enigmatic, nurturing a tough enigma. "Sir Lord, have you noticed any peculiar occurrences tonight?" The Scottish pipe connoisseur hesitated, fidgeting with his beloved collection. A scarlet glass stood untouched, emptied yet ominous, surrounded by medicine jars. She darted a questioning look towards the terrified butler stuck in a corner. "Just your tea service that deviates from routine, Maestro?" Amelia's demeanor steadied, revealing contemplative focus. Unfazed by others' reactions, she strode forth, determination burning in eyes, secrets of the night masked behind silken charms.