Run: 2026-10-08-01M4DA9N8WHP8E5CACCFWDSE6F

Rain had fallen over Ashford Manor since dawn, and nobody in the village dared mention the dead body found upstairs. Detective Inspector Harriet Vance stepped from her battered Morris onto the gravel, pulling her collar tight against the cold wind. Her sergeant, young Tom Pryce, waited beneath the stone portico, clutching a notebook he had already soaked completely through itself. Inside, the house smelled of woodsmoke, wet wool, and something sweeter and far more unsettling that Harriet recognized at once. Lord Edmund Ashford lay slumped across his leather armchair, a silver letter opener jutting obscenely from beneath his left ribs. Every door in Ashford Manor had been locked from the inside, and each guest swore they had heard absolutely nothing.