Run: 2026-07-25-01KYCRHXHJBPS64B5Q389XBSVJ

Rain hammered the greenhouse roof like impatient fingers on glass. Inspector Naomi Vale stopped just inside the fogged glass door. The air smelled of wet soil, crushed orchids, and copper. Beneath the tallest fern lay Hollis Grange, quite thoroughly dead. His left hand still gripped a pair of pruning shears. His right hand held nothing, which struck her as odd. Someone had arranged white roses carefully across his open eyes. Naomi crouched, avoiding the dark pool spreading toward her boots. Behind her, the young constable made a small wounded noise. Breathe through your mouth, she said, and do not vomit. Outside, six houseguests waited in a warm, brightly lit parlor. One of them had walked through this rain quite recently. Muddy footprints led from the door and back out again. Naomi stood, straightened her coat, and went to ask questions.