Run: 2026-10-08-01M4DA1YEKHA044B1SW5S9SGQK

The rain had fallen over Ashford Hollow since midnight, washing the cobblestones of Crane Street until they gleamed like bone. Detective Inspector Margaret Lowell stood beneath the flickering streetlamp outside number nine, her breath clouding in the bitter cold air. Behind her, uniformed officers murmured into radios while the ambulance doors stood open, their red lights painting the wet facades. Lowell had seen death in many grim forms, yet nothing had prepared her for the terrible stillness of Edward Harcourt. The old man lay face down on the rug, one hand stretched toward a fallen brandy glass and scattered pearls. Somewhere in the house a clock struck three, and every guest who had sworn silence suddenly turned toward the staircase. Lowell crouched beside the body, pulled on thin gloves, and began reading the room like a page of deliberate lies. Nothing about the scene was as neat as it first appeared, and she fully intended to find out exactly why.