The old mansion loomed under a stormy, moonless sky, its windows like dark, vacant eyes. Detective Marlowe stepped through the unlocked front door, her footsteps echoing ominously in the cavernous hall. A single, flickering candle cast long, dancing shadows on the peeling wallpaper. She found the body in the library, slumped over the mahogany desk. The victim’s eyes were wide open, staring at nothing in particular. A silver dagger protruded from his chest, its handle glinting in the candlelight. Marlowe noticed a faint, peculiar scent of almonds hanging in the cold air. A half-empty glass of wine sat beside the victim's right hand. She knew this was no simple robbery gone terribly wrong.