Felix, looking like he was on the brink of another detective epiphany, turned toward Isadora with that classic, ever-so-polite-but-somehow-persistent smile plastered on his face.
"Madam Rivet, pardon my intrusion into your personal grief— truly, my condolences— but, uh, would it be entirely inappropriate to ask who killed him? You know, the one you're mourning. A teensy bit of context might do wonders for my investigation."
Isadora, who looked like she had been asked one too many questions on a day when she was just not in the mood, inhaled deeply. Her breath was the kind that screamed, I don't have time for this nonsense, but in a very refined way.
Finally, she spoke, carefully articulating each word as though talking to a particularly slow toddler, "I can tell you, Detective, but I must admit, I'm curious— how exactly do you know he was killed? And don't say it was a lucky guess. I hate lucky guesses."
Felix, so pleased with himself, flashed a grin that he probably thought made him look dashing but instead came off as, 'Look at me, I know things you can't begin to guess'.
"Ah, it's simple," he began, puffing out his chest just slightly for dramatic effect. "When you've got access to the kind of information I do— royally employed detective here, you see— it's not exactly a deep mystery. My knowledge base is, uh, let's just say... vast. Ridiculously vast. Almost annoyingly so, if you ask me."
Isadora gave a very neutral nod, though her gaze flickered— just for a moment— toward her husband's grave. Subtle, yes, but not subtle enough. Felix noticed. (He always notices... well, he is a famous detective, for starts.)
Meanwhile, in Isadora's mind, a grim little slideshow of memories started playing, specifically the one where she buried her husband in that very grave with the same sword that had, well... prematurely ended his adventures.
But Felix wasn't finished basking in his own cleverness. Oh, no. He gestured vaguely, as though conjuring facts from the air itself.
"See, I did my homework," he continued after the brief but useful pause, in the tone of someone who thinks they're the only one in the room with two working brain cells. "Your dearly departed was healthy as a spectral steed, which I know because he's been doing a lot of traveling lately. And let's face it— someone who's constantly on the move doesn't just keel over from natural causes without some... buildup. Like, no sudden trips to the hospital, no prior illnesses for a long while... I will pause there—"
He leaned in slightly, as if delivering a punchline to a joke only he found funny. "Also, his travel history? There have been a lot of unsolved mysteries in many of his visits to places, but not all, obviously. Coincidence? I think not. My professional opinion? He was involved in some seriously dangerous business, and, well, the business bit back."
Isadora, outwardly calm but inwardly groaning, resisted the urge to roll her eyes so hard they'd fall out of her head. Of course, the detective was here for answers about her husband's... deeds.
Of course, he'd figured things out with that trademark mix of arrogance and deduction that almost all novel detectives are capable of. But still! She couldn't help but think, What does this lordly nosy parker actually expect to achieve here? A gold star for effort?
Without a word, she pivoted on her heel and began walking toward the mansion, her movements steady with an unanswered purpose. "I'll keep my promise," she said, her tone clipped but polite. "I'll tell you what you want to know. But not here. Let's go somewhere more... private. There's a pergola behind the house."
She motioned for him to follow, her strides were steady and purposeful, like someone who had absolutely no time for nonsense.
Meanwhile, the assassins she knew were lurking nearby weren't bothering to be subtle— likely because there wasn't a single bit of cover to hide behind. She wondered, briefly, if Felix had noticed them yet while inside the house. Probably not. He has excellent observational capabilities, but the assassins are trained to hide.
Felix, trotting along after her, decided to push his luck a little further, but his voice seemed confident as if he knew the answers. "You don't seem too broken up about your husband's death, if you don't mind me saying so," he remarked, his voice almost playful but with an undertone of accusation.
"In fact, back in the house, I'd almost say those were— what's the word?— fake tears? But now... now I'm sensing something else entirely. A little something I like to call deep, deep hatred."
Isadora stopped abruptly, turning to face him. Her smile was sharp, cold, and entirely unnerving— like a viper sizing up its next meal. Felix, for all his bravado, couldn't help but stiffen slightly as her piercing green eyes locked onto his.
There was a dangerous, predatory glint in them, the kind of look that made you feel like you were two steps away from being eaten alive. "An astute observation, Detective," she said smoothly. "But as I've already told you, you'll get your answers— when we reach the pergola."
Felix frowned, clearly not a fan of delayed gratification, and definitely capable of knowing there was some other agenda behind their visit to the pergola. "Why not just tell me here?"
Isadora's smile widened, though it didn't reach her eyes. "Why? Why, you ask?" She sighed, as though explaining the obvious to someone who really should have figured it out already.
"Let me spell it out for you: there are... pests. Unwanted little bugs buzzing around, keeping tabs on me. They can't hear us here, but they'll to the pergola, no doubt about it. And then, my dear detective, they'll come to silence the both of us after I spill the beans."
Felix raised an eyebrow, considering her words. He paused for a moment, his expression unreadable, before finally responding with a simple, "I see..."
It wasn't much, but it was enough to say, "Oh, this is going to be fun, isn't it?"