The old mansion loomed against the stormy sky as Detective Sarah Chen stepped out of her rain-soaked sedan that evening. She had received the frantic call exactly forty-seven minutes ago about a body discovered in the library by screaming housemaids. Thunder crashed overhead while she approached the grand entrance where the butler stood waiting with an umbrella and grave expression. "Lady Margaret is dead," he announced solemnly, his weathered hands trembling as he gestured toward the dimly lit entrance hall. Sarah followed him through corridors lined with ancestral portraits whose eyes seemed to track her every movement through the shadows. The library doors stood open, revealing scattered books, overturned furniture, and the victim lying motionless near the cold fireplace. Lady Margaret's silk dress was stained crimson, her eyes frozen wide in terror, one pale hand clutching a torn photograph. Six suspects waited in the drawing room next door, each claiming innocence while avoiding eye contact with the stern detective. Sarah knelt beside the body, noting the unusual bruising pattern and the faint scent of bitter almonds lingering nearby. This would be no ordinary case, she realized, as she discovered a cryptic message written in blood beneath the desk.