The mansion seemed heavier and darker than ever. The velvet curtains kept the light out, and every board that creaked under the footsteps of their servants seemed to whisper stories that they never wanted to be told again.
Dorella took a seat at the large wooden dining table, spreading papers and notebooks before her. "If we want to find out who did it, we have to talk to everyone. Anyone who had access to the mansion that day is a suspect."
Gabriel stood behind her chair, looking at the servants who had gathered hesitantly. Augustus, old and stooped, seemed to carry the weight of the world. He had served them since Leo was born and loved them all like his own children, just as they loved him. Hercules, younger, stockier, new to the mansion, was sneaking glances at the four friends. Petunia, Gabriel and Leo's aunt, was wearing a mourning veil, but her eyes were free of tears.
Felicia, their neighbor, was standing off to the side. Her lips were pressed into a thin line, and her hands were trembling slightly. Something about her didn't fit.
"Each of us will speak to you separately. One, one, and one person at a time," Lily said decisively.
"Petunia, why don't you come sit with me and I'll ask you some questions?" Peter asked his aunt.
"Okay, okay," she replied.
"Okay, Peter will talk to Auntie, Lily will talk to Felicia, I will talk to August, and Dorella will talk to Hercules," Gabriel said to the other three children.
Dorella went to where Hercules was sitting, asked him something, and then wrote it down in her notebook. Gabriel was watching from a distance. Her gaze was completely focused, her eyebrows slightly furrowed. Despite his sadness, he found himself looking at her more than he should have.
And that was when Peter decided to speak.
"I see, Gabriel, that your attention is not always focused on the answers," he said in an innocent tone, but his eyes were shining with mischief.
Gabriel turned sharply. "What do you mean?"
"Nothing special," Peter replied with a half-smile. "It's just… sometimes you look elsewhere. Not at the papers, not at the suspects, somewhere else…"
Gabriel felt the blood rise to his cheeks. He understood very well who his friend was referring to. He glanced briefly at Dorella—she was bent over her notebook, intent, as if she hadn't heard anything.
But Peter didn't stop there. He leaned toward him and whispered, low enough for only Gabriel to hear:
"It's okay to be interested. As long as it doesn't blind you."
Gabriel didn't answer. But something inside him was stirring. Could it be that he had let his feelings show so easily? He had tried to bury them, to ignore them. But Peter… Peter had seen him.
The interrogation continued. Peter sat with Petunia in the armchairs at one end of the living room. Lily went over to where Felicia was sitting and began asking her questions, and Gabriel sat with August on the couch. Aunt Petunia spoke coldly, saying that she had been out of town that night and her friends could confirm that.
On the other side of the living room was Lily, talking to Felicia. "I was at the pastry shop downtown. I had work," she said when it was time to answer.
The way she said it made Lily shiver. She didn't sound like a neighbor in mourning. It was, well, strange.
Gabriel was a little further away with August, and they were talking calmly. "August, I don't think you did it, but I have to ask you where you were that day, exactly?" Gabriel asked him.
"I was in the kitchen dusting with Miss Dorella, you know her, she wants to help me. After she finished with the chores a little later, you came and took her with Miss Lily and young Mr. Peter. When you left, I continued my work in the kitchen and when I was done, I rested for a while before it was time for the rest of my duties. Then I found Hercules dusting the living room and we went to do some work in the garden." he replied. "Okay. Thank you, August."
August then spoke to him. "Young master, do you really think that someone from here did it?" Gabriel bowed his head and said, "I'm afraid so." "Do you have someone in mind?" August asked with a trace of sadness on his face. "Not yet, but if it really is someone from here, they'll pay for it!"
A little further away was Dorella with Hercules and she didn't let him breathe with her questions.
"Okay, Hercules, tell me everything you know." she told him decisively and angrily.
He replied, "I was here in the living room, sweeping. When I finished sweeping, I dusted until I saw you, Mr. Gabriel, and Miss Lily coming out of the kitchen, and shortly after, Augustus came and we went to do some work in the garden. When you returned from where you had been, you sat down to eat with Augustus, too, but in the kitchen. I don't know anything else."
Dorella looks at him with a look of disapproval, and silence lingers in the air between them for a while until she herself speaks.
"I feel like you're not telling me something. I know you have a secret, but I don't know what it is. Yet." then she approaches him threateningly and looks at him with distrust.
"If you're as smart as you say you are as you play detective, which would also suit you as a job, I think you'll find it." He approaches her too, showing that he's not afraid of her and that he has nothing to hide. Or so he wants her to believe.
"Try not to always think bad things about me, maybe this secret you call it is good," he tells her in a sarcastic but also irritating tone.
Dorella replies that she doesn't trust him and looks him up and down.
Hercules suddenly walks closer and answers her with an arrogant tone, "I didn't ask you. Miss."
When the interrogation was over, the servants and relatives dispersed, leaving the four friends alone in the room. The silence was heavy.
Peter sat back, folding his arms. "Well… maybe we haven't learned much. But surely some people in here are lying. And some people… are looking elsewhere." His gaze fell on Gabriel again, but this time he didn't smile.
Gabriel balled his hands into fists. He didn't answer. But deep down he knew that this day had revealed more than just evidence of the murder. It had revealed something else: that his own feelings weren't as well hidden as he thought and wanted them to be. Who else would find out?