Young Writers Society

Sophie felt uncomfortable as she walked back into the speakeasy. Although she didn´t have much contact with Grant, she felt bad, like she was doing something that was forbidden. There was some sort of immorality in it and yet, all the dark thoughts passed away when she heard the music. It seemed like everything was the same as before. There was never a murder. It gave Sophie this feeling, that something was out of place and on the other hand, the worry that a person was worth nothing and could be replaced.

Sophie was eager about getting drunk to at least be in a better mood and ordered a cocktail before sitting down at a lonely table. She tried to think about what she should paint soon and if she should visit the museum in the coming days. But the more she tried to distract herself from the funeral and the whole situation about a murder, the more she was led back to it as if she were running up an escalator.

It was strange to think about it, there was a difference between dying of old age and getting murdered. Sophie had to order a new cocktail to get a new mood. But somehow she got distracted by Hoover.

"Begone!"

She held her bag tightly.

"You don´t get brushes from me."

Sophie tried to get the dog off her somehow, but it didn´t work. With several hisses, she thought she had won, but Hoover snuggled closer to Sophie.

"Help...?"

Her only word was so quiet that no one heard it. Sophie wanted to ask someone to help her, then she got the idea to lock Hoover somewhere in the warehouse. But then she also got the feeling that Hoover wasn´t dangerous. She didn´t notice that he suddenly sniffed her bag.

She stood up quickly, throwing the chair as she did so, to get away from Hoover. Apparently only now did other guests at the next table notice Sophie´s silent fight against Hoover. Embarrassed, she smiled over at the gentlemen.

"I´m allergic to dogs."

They didn´t seem to believe her and red-faced, Sophie made her way back to the bar to get a new drink. Hoover continued to follow her. After ordering another cocktail and finally realising that the alcohol was doing something to her head, she turned to Hoover and barked at him. Only the barman looked at her with a funny face.

"I´m the only one to bring him out of the speakeasy. A bit of help would be great!"

At that moment, Aloysius strolled through the door. After stopping by Raymond's house, Aloysius returned to his apartment. He called his brother, who was currently stationed in Pearl Harbor, at Fort Kamehameha, then worked before heading to the speakeasy. Aloysius thought it would be better to confer with the group about seeing the priest before he did so himself.

Aloysius looked around for any familiar face. He laid eyes on Sophie, who was barking like a dog and ran over to her aid. Aloysius pulled Hoover away and picked him up. Hoover struggled and nipped at Aloysius's arms, only causing Aloysius to hold him farther away from his body.

"Now, how did you get back here?" he mumbled, trying to keep the dog still in his arms. He then turned to Sophie, "Are you okay?"

"Can´t you see I´m fighting the dog?"

Sophie only realised that it was a familiar face that had spoken to her.

"Aloyloy? Was that your name?"

"Aloysius," he replied, "Not. Aloyloy."

Caroline entered the speakeasy just after Aloysius. She'd thought she'd recognized him going in, but hadn't said anything.

After the funeral, she'd eventually found her way back to the boarding house and managed a small serving of sausage and potatoes that they'd served that evening for dinner. She'd changed and gone to the speakeasy. She'd been compelled to because she didn't know what else there was to do. Sit alone. Re-read This Side of Paradise for the countless time. No, something had told her to go to the speakeasy.

When she saw Sophie and Aloysius, she walked in their direction.

"I didn't get a proper chance to say hello earlier," Caroline said. "How are the rest of you holding up?"

"Fine. A little shaken, but I talked to a friend of mine so I'm doing better," Aloysius said, "You?"

"I've been better."

***

Sophie probably only managed to sober up a little because of Aloysius and Caroline. It was hard to look for a glass of water, so Sophie was provisionally given tap water. Together at the table, it was not yet clear to her from the start what had happened. Only when Hoover was being cuddled by Aloysius did it all seem like déjà vu to her. At least when Julian joined them and the quartet was complete.

Sophie listened and at first, it seemed like a crime novel she didn't like. Aloysius told of some points that seemed suspicious to him and also explained a little note from the obituary. For Sophie, it was all too much at first. Probably also because in the first few minutes she was more busy watching Hoover so that he wouldn't start plotting some plot to get the brushes out of his pocket. He even seemed to grin at her sometimes.

When Caroline and Julian agreed to visit the priest with Aloysius, it seemed as if the discussion was coming to an end. It was now as if all eyes were on Sophie. It seemed like a turning point where Sophie had to make a decision. It was as if time stood still and even the music seemed to fall into the back of her head.

That's when the ghost came back into her mind, thinking that Grant probably couldn't rest in peace until they found out who the killer was. And only then would Sophie finally be able to fall asleep again without fear of a ghost visiting her at night.

Sophie agreed.

1000 words

The day carried a chill that foreshadowed the coming autumn. The group met at the pharmacy around ten in the morning. Julian got permission from Doyle to take the morning off, though he didn't tell him where he was going. After spouting something about his mother needing him, he left the pharmacy with the promise that he'd be back in the evening to serenade the Golden Vanderbilt patrons.

They walked to the church. It wasn't a long distance; Julian knew Grant hadn't owned a car at the time of his death, so everywhere he frequently visited had to be within walking distance. They assumed they would find the priest there, even though it wasn't a Sunday. Julian went to knock, but then tested the door and found it was open. He held it open as the rest of the group filed in.

The place was silent. After lingering in the entry room, Julian wandered into the chapel. There was no one there. He shrugged, glancing at the others.

"Perhaps he's not here currently," he suggested.

"Would you be referring to me?" Seemingly out of nowhere, the priest emerged from behind them. When they all jumped, he apologized. "I'd stepped out into our garden. I'm sorry if I startled you. How can I help?"

The four exchanged glances. "We're here about Henry Grant," Julian offered. "We attended the funeral earlier in the week?"

"Ah, yes." The priest nodded. "I remember."

"We were hoping to ask you some questions. About Mr. Grant, that is," Julian continued. The rest of the group nodded in support.

"I see." The priest smiled gently. "I'm not sure we were ever properly introduced. I'm Father Lennard."

They murmured pleasantries and introduced themselves in return.

"Perhaps we can discuss Mr. Grant outside of the church," the priest said, looking around. "Please, allow me to welcome you to my residence."

It was a short walk to the rectory from the church. Once they were all inside, Father Lennard made some tea. The sitting room was nice enough, albeit a little cramped and plain. Julian stayed standing while Aloysius settled in a beige armchair and the two girls sank into a threadbare green sofa. The priest began to speak as he passed out cups and poured the tea.

"Well, I must say I am rather pleased. I know Mr. Grant was a solitary figure, but it warms my heart to know that he had some friends. Or at least close enough acquaintances to be worried about his death," he added. Julian suspected it was because of the face he made on the word friends. He hadn't meant for it to be that pronounced, but he still couldn't get used to the idea of Grant as his friend, especially now that Grant was dead. It felt almost insulting, given how adamant Grant was about how they were decidedly very much not friends.

"I've tried contacting the police, but they're not interested. They suspect it was simply a mistake. Organized crime, you know. It's not worth their resources. It hurts my heart to know that such a devout follower left this world in such a sad way. One can only pray he's in heaven."

"Of course," Julian said. "So do you believe he was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time?"

Father Lennard smiled sadly. "I'm afraid I couldn't say, my child. The only things I knew of Mr. Grant were those which he felt appropriate to confide with me in the house of God. I knew little of his outside life."

"There must be something you can tell us," Julian said. As the priest drew in a breath, they leaned in, eager to hear what he had to say.

Aloysius looked around the room as the Priest was talking. Nothing he was saying was particularly interesting. They knew Grant's death was tragic, they knew he was a Catholic. It was nothing new. As a result, Aloysius found himself looking around the room as the Priest talked.

Behind the green couch Sophie and Caroline sat in, a bookshelf rested against the left side of the wall. A desk was crammed into the right corner. The bookshelf looked like it was overflowing and there were papers strewn all over the desk. A typewriter sat on the desk, as well, and a piece of paper was currently sitting on it. The setup reminded Aloysius of his father's study, but his father's study was much nicer.

"Aloysius," his father used to say, "always take your work home. A smart man gets work done out of the office."

Franklin Mills' saying resulted in his study becoming a mess. Some of his coworkers were tidier, as Aloysius saw when he visited his father's work, but his father was no such way. Papers were thrown about the desk, books were falling out of the shelf, pens rolled freely off the table onto the floor. Mrs. Mills called him a slob, Mr. Mills only responded with "I have no time for cleaning if we want to keep living the way we do!"

Unfortunately, Aloysius had followed in his father's footsteps. He wasn't as much of a mess, but he routinely took his work home despite not having to. Aloysius had been promoted several times since he joined the company and he attributed his success to working at home. His only qualm was that his work took up almost all his time. He at, worked, went to his ballgames, and worked some more. It sucked the life out of him.

Aloysius's attention returned to the conversation once Julian asked if there was something the Priest could tell them.

"Mr. Grant was not Catholic when he first stepped foot in my parish. His name was not Henry Grant, either," the Priest explained, "His name was Stephanos Kontos and he hailed from an Eastern Orthodox church near his parents' home."

"How do you know this?" Aloysius asked, "No offense, Father, but that isn't something you tell someone you just met."

"I am perfectly aware, my child. We require that information when new worshippers arrive."

"Was it recorded somewhere?"

The Priest set his cup of tea down and stood. He grabbed a book off of the shelf and a piece of paper off the typewriter. He returned to the group and set the paper on the coffee table in front of them. The Priest flipped through the book until he came to a page somewhere in the middle before setting it down.

"The page the book is opened to is the form Mr. Kontos filled out to officially become a member of my parish. The sheet is all the information I have on him. I typed it in case it was needed for a police report, but they have not come to question me."

Aloysius picked up the paper and looked at it.

"Stephanos Kontos / Henry Olivier Grant
Place of Birth: Greece, lived on East Coast from 5-18, then moved to Chicago
Age: 20s (past college)
Religion: converted Roman Catholic from Eastern Orthodox
Parents: Rafail and Alexia Kontos
Siblings: little sister (not of age)"

"His home is five blocks West of here. I omitted it because I thought his employer would provide it."

Aloysius nodded and set the paper back down. The fact that Grant wasn't exactly who he said he was was interesting, sure, but it didn't do anything towards solving the murder. It only made it a little more confusing. Why would Grant change his name if he had nothing to hide?

"Why did he change his name?" someone asked.

"I suppose he wanted a fresh start. He was estranged from his parents," the Priest said as if it was no big deal, "You can not imagine the trouble I went through to find them for the funeral."

Aloysius winced at the word "estranged." Although it was nice to know he finally had something in common with Grant, Aloysius was reminded of his own relationship with his parents. They weren't technically estranged, Aloysius wrote to his parents once every couple of months, but they hadn't seen each other in years.

"You're useless, Aloysius!" his father had reamed, holding up a piece of paper. It was proof that Aloysius owned an apartment in Chicago, proof that he was moving away, "I paid for four years of college, paid for dozens of trips across dozens of countries-"

"I never asked you to!" Aloysius yelled back. He and his parents were in his father's study. Aloysius had telephoned the man who sold him the apartment using the phone in his father's office and had forgotten to take the piece of paper when he left. His father found it not half an hour later and summoned his wife and son into the room. While he had locked the door to the office for some privacy, Aloysius had had no doubt that his younger brother was listening. His sisters probably would have, too, if they hadn't been married and living elsewhere.

"You never asked but you never refused. And what do you do? You show your appreciation by moving in with my no good, piece of scum brother! No wonder you turned out just like him."

"Franklin!" Mrs. Mills exclaimed. The only times she joined in the argument was to say "Aloysius!" or "Franklin!". She was sitting in an armchair and kept looking back and forth between her husband and son. Neither of the men knew whose side she was on.

"Dad, I have done everything you've wanted me to do since I was little. I went into business instead of engineering, got a 'real job' instead of playing baseball. What more do you want?"

Mr. Mills sighed and sat down in the chair behind his desk. He mumbled, "Why can't you just be like your siblings?"

Aloysius broke from his daze. No one had noticed he had zoned out, they were too focused on the documents and the Priest was looking out a window.

"Do you know why they were estranged?"

"No, but I'm very sorry about that my children. It might answer many questions if I knew why."

"Do you at least know where they are?" Aloysius asked.

"Of course." the Priest wandered over to his desk again and scribbled down an address on a piece of paper. He handed it to Aloysius, "That's Mr. Kontos's address. His father said they would clean out his home and I have no doubt they are still there."

1,121 words

It seemed to have been the best thing for Sophie to go along. It was a bit strange listening to the priest at first, but in the end, it also opened her eyes a bit to what exactly had happened and somehow only now did Sophie begin to understand that something was strange. Something about Grant's death was strange. This murder seemed striking and she didn't know why.

She was thinking too much about what the motive could be without listening carefully to what the priest explained about Grant. She thought of a plot and of a double life, but somehow nothing seemed to fit. It was only when the priest revealed that Grant was actually from Greece that Sophie listened and thought about the ancient philosophers and got the thought that he was probably related to Socrates.

Unfortunately, Sophie was a little lost in her own world again when she noticed that the priest revealed Grant's address and it seemed that three out of the four of the group were convinced to turn the place upside down. Sophie wasn't exactly against it, but she felt some remorse at the thought of going into a dead man's flat because it was more or less the last thing left of him here on earth.

***

The flat was not far from the priest's, in a rather secluded area, Sophie noticed. As they entered the street, there was something that Sophie found strange and that was that the street and the houses lacked a certain character. It was the charm that was not present, thus turning the area into a blank sheet. The facades resembled mummies, they all looked the same until they were wrapped apart, the trees looked lifeless and as if they never got past last winter.

There was no paperboy bellowing anywhere, there were uneven pavements and a few dead hedges. The windows of all the passing houses were gloomy and deserted. But it was not as if human life was missing. It was busy, even more than meant to be, and yet it seemed to Sophie as if there was no such homeliness.

It seems so lonely and strange. I didn't know that even in a big city you could have that feeling of abandonment.

The house Grant had lived in was like the one next door. The only difference was that the door was wide open and two children were playing with spinning tops on a dead tree.

"Here it is..." muttered Sophie.

She didn't know if the others had heard her, but they seemed to have a mind of their own and were already going up the steps to the door. Sophie followed them silently as if they were ready for a death watch.

The flat was on the third floor. A somewhat battered carpet lay in front of the door, rough and a little studded with mud stains. Sophie was suddenly more intrigued by Grant's neighbour, a seemingly elderly lady who, with a suspicious look, quickly pulled her head back behind the door and muttered something she didn't understand.

Grant's door was ajar. There were no signs of violence or forceful prying anywhere. Someone already seemed to have the key. Aloysius was the first to enter, politely looking for someone and introducing himself. But there seemed to be no answer.

Sophie followed Julian and Caroline inside and was taken aback by the flat. From what she could see, it was the exact opposite of theirs. Hers was large and empty and Grant's was small and cluttered.

The narrow hallway flowed seamlessly into a kitchen that was neatly tidied. You could barely make out any of the wallpaper, pictures, and photos hung everywhere. In between, there had once been a small shelf where books and belongings were lovelessly placed. A single tulip lived on the kitchen table (for not much longer), its blossoms already scattered. A few cupboards made the passages into what seemed to be the bathroom and bedroom narrower. A shirt lay over a chair.

While the others ventured a little closer into the flat, and now Julian and Caroline also called out a quick "hello" to make their arrival known, Sophie remained in the kitchen. Dust was missing from the shelves, cupboards, and picture frames. It seemed to have been cleaned recently and Sophie reminded herself to clean her flat again sometime.

But that's when she got distracted. Among all the pictures and shelves, there was a newspaper article pinned to the wall there that was somehow completely out of place. It wasn't a full article, but an excerpt from what seemed like three different articles. While Sophie was still pondering what exactly it was all about, she heard a strange woman's voice.

“Γεια σας?”

791 words

Caroline had spent the day up until now without saying much. She had drifted by the others because, after all they'd been through together, she found comfort in them, or at the very least, in knowing that she wasn't alone. At the priest's home she'd sat in silence while absorbing the information he shared about the man Caroline barely knew.

But she could have known him more if she'd taken him up on his offer to find him before she left the speakeasy that night. She'd realized over the past couple of days that she didn't care if she was a virgin anymore. Three years ago, she still firmly believed that sex was only something that you did with your husband. But that was when she had been young and innocent. Now, at nineteen, she'd loved one boy and had a passing connection with another. She was jaded now, but still untouched. Henry, or Stephanos, or whatever his name was, was someone she could have gotten to know. Maybe all the way. Yet, she'd chosen to reject him, and now, he was dead.

Caroline had also been thinking about the monotony of her daily life, about her visit to the graveyard and the headstones she'd seen, and the cruelty of a young mother and daughter taken from the world for no reason. When life was so short and so fragile, what was she doing at the textile mill, drifting aimlessly long? What did anything that she was taught growing up about how to live a good life matter? Sometimes she thought that she would be better off dead herself, but she always stopped short at making any kind of attempt, because she always thought that she had more to live for. Some dream she could achieve that hadn't yet come to pass. And yet, Caroline didn't know how much longer she could keep holding on, especially when the cruelty of life hit her in the face.

Reflecting on all of these things was why she hadn't spoken almost the entire day. It seemed like a cruel twist of fate that she had to be one of the people who discovered his body. Maybe she could find out who killed him, who'd taken a beautiful man from the world too soon, even he'd kept his real identity a secret.

As for the apartment itself, the only word that Caroline could think to describe it was solemn. It somehow made the boarding house seem like the Drake Hotel. There were secrets hidden in the apartment, that was certain.

Then, there was a noise, and the sound of a voice speaking a foreign language. Greek, undoubtedly. His parents. Caroline felt her heart pound as she waited for them to reveal themselves.

455 words

The first thing Aloysius noticed was the smell. He had expected the apartment to smell horrible. The street outside was bland, if not ugly, so he had expected Grant's apartment to mimic that. Instead, Aloysius was hit with a sweet smell as he walked through the door: flowers, no doubt. The apartment was cluttered but, for the most part, it seemed nice. It was much smaller than Aloysius's apartment, yet it was much homier.

The other members of the group started wandering around and Aloysius introduced himself to no one in particular. Grant's parents were apparently in the apartment and he didn't want to be rude by barging in without telling them.

Aloysius made his way over to the kitchen and pulled out a chair. No one noticed or objected to it, so he sat down. A flower sat on the table (what type, Aloysius did not know) that was too small to produce the sweet smell in the air.

"I wonder who this was for," Aloysius mumbled, picking up one of the petals that had fallen off of the flower and stuffing it into his pocket.

Suddenly, a woman's voice called out in a foreign language. It was Greek and reminded Aloysius of one of the vacations he took to Europe as a kid. The short woman from the funeral appeared from out of the hallway.

Julian gave a halfhearted wave. "Hello," he said courteously. "We're some... acquaintances of Grant's. We saw that the door was open."

"Make yourselves at home," the woman said, seemingly unbothered by her son's death or the group's presence. She turned towards Aloysius, "but I see one of you already has."

Aloysius whispered a quick "sorry" and looked down at his lap. After the woman motioned the group towards the living area, Aloysius moved his chair towards them and sat. The others took the couch while the woman chose an armchair.

"I do not know what I can help you with. I know hardly anything."

"I doubt that Mrs- Kontos, was it?"

The woman nodded.

"Am I correct in saying that you were Mr. Grant's mother?" Aloysius regretted how he phrased his question almost as soon as it was out of his mouth. There was no sympathy or remorse in it at all. He sounded like his father.

"I will always be his mother, whether he is alive or not," the woman said, staring straight into Aloysius's eyes, "He was my little Stephanos. Αγαπημένη, I used to call him. My sweetheart."

"Had you talked to hi-"

"Τι συμβαίνει?!" a voice boomed from the hallway. The man with the beer belly from the funeral walked out of the hallway, arms crossed in front of his chest. His daughter followed, "Αλεξία, ποιοι είναι αυτοί οι άνθρωποι?"

"They were Stephanos' friends," Mrs. Kontos said. Aloysius didn't bother to correct her.

The man grunted, "I find hard to believe Stephanos had friends."

Sophie was astonished that Mr Kontos would say that. She didn´t even think about the fact that she was a bit hasty in exposing the son´s father.

"Why would you say that!? That´s not nice!"

"What father means is that Stephanos was not a nice person," Grant's sister said from her spot behind Mr. Kontos. Someone next to Aloysius mumbled in agreement.

"How do you know?" Aloysius questioned, "You hadn't spoken to him in years!"

"Why do you think we did not speak to him? We did not get along."

"Karisa!" the mom exclaimed.

The girl apologized and sat down on the floor next to her mom. Mr. Kontos stood next to them and leaned against the wall.

"What do you want to know?"

608 Words

The fact that Grant—or rather, Kontos—wasn't beloved to his family either was both surprising and not to Julian. Anyone not getting along with their family was an idea that was foreign to him; on account of his upbringing, he assumed that everyone was blessed with the same loving parents and cute (though exasperating) siblings. But after he remembered that his reality didn't belong to everyone else, it made more sense. A man like Grant was easy to dislike, and that his family wouldn't be exempt from that made sense, Julian supposed.

He studied the family. Out of all of them, the mother seemed to care the most about Grant's death. The father and sister were decidedly less caring, judging from their pointed remarks. So when the father posed an opened ended question, Julian was quick to answer with questions of his own.

"Why was Grant estranged? Or. Uh. Stephanos, I suppose."

The mother—Mrs. Kontos—smiled at him, and the maternal gaze in her eye reminded Julian of his own mother. "My son was so silly to change his name. He used to love to speak Greek with us. But then he became quite... ah, upset? When he was fifteen. He did not like many Greek things after that. Including his name."

"Stephanos was always a strange boy," Mr. Kontos chimed in. "He did not have many friends. Always he wanted to be alone. We had not the best relationship, and so when he was away for college, he sent us a short letter saying that he lived in Chicago now, and that was all we heard from him. There was no... falling out, or argument. He was just not sociable."

Julian hmmed. He could never imagine himself losing contact with his own family, and for a second, allowed himself to be a little sorry for Grant before remembering he brought the isolation upon himself. It did seem slightly odd how nonchalant the father was about the whole ordeal. Being antisocial was hardly a reason for disliking someone, and Julian suspected there was maybe a little more to the story.

"Can you think of any reason why someone would want him dead?" Julian followed up.

"Your guess is as good as ours," the sister said. "Stephanos was his own person. And now all we have left of him is his apartment and the wonderful testaments to his character from people like you, his dearest friends." Her voice dipped into sarcasm at the end.

Julian turned to Mrs. Kontos. "Did anything happen to him around fifteen? You mentioned that around then, he stopped liking Greek."

"I think he aged," she confessed. "He was fifteen. They are all temperamental at that age. Very disloyal to any one emotion. He could have been embarrassed."

"He also starting getting interested in money then, too," the sister offered. "Always cutting pictures of successful people in the newspapers. Always working hard. He did not like how disinterested we were with money."

Interesting. Perhaps Grant had gotten in some sort of scheme for money? If the interest in funds had carried over to adulthood (and what with the accounting, Julian suspected that it did), it didn't seem that unlikely.

"You are welcome to look around the dwelling," Mr. Kontos offered. "There is... not much. Mostly trash."

"Ah, αγάπη μου, be kind." Mrs. Kontos laid a hand on her husband's arm. Turning to the group, she continued. "We will be leaving for Seattle tomorrow. I will leave you with our address, should you have any more questions about Stephanos."

The group murmured their thanks after silently deciding it would be best to wait to search the apartment until after the family had done their rounds.

As the parents disappeared back into the apartment, Julian noticed that the sister—Karisa?—lingered behind. He approached her slowly, raising his hand in greeting.

"Hello," he said. "Are you—"

"Even though I did not like my brother that much, and mourning him feels like mourning a stranger, I would like to hear if you find anything. This is my friend's phone number," she said, sliding a piece of paper in his hand. "Please call me if you find out anything."

Julian barely had time to assure her he would before she went back with her parents. Rejoining the group, he made a small remark about the oddness of it, to which they all agreed with him. Being in Grant's apartment without him there felt weird to all of them, especially knowing that Grant would not have allowed any of them in there while he was alive.

As the group exited the apartment, a silence settled over them. Julian was the first to break it.

"Anyone want some lunch?"

The small pub at the end of 5th Avenue was well frequented. It had a strange charm and flair. It was as if the building had been built in a time when an American style had nestled into the consciousness of Chicagoans, separating itself from the old world.

At first the group had wandered the streets somewhat aimlessly, knowing full well that everyone still had some thoughts in their heads about what they had just learned from their parents. It was Sophie who pointed to the small pub at a crossroads and they agreed to go there.

Inside, it was chilly. Sophie felt it was a little too cold and at the same time thought that maybe she could find a popsicle somewhere. She had tried this novelty only the other day and despite an initial freezing of her head, it tasted very delicious.

After the waitress had taken the order and the food and drinks were served, a deeper sense emerged from the initial everyday conversation where they came back to Grant.

Sophie continued to be a little confused about the man and his past, and as it was repeated what they had already learned, she listened and ate her carrots before it went on to some kind of continuation.

They had received their clues and initial information, but to Sophie it seemed as if they were now facing a wall that could not be crossed. There were somehow so many ways to find an answer, but no matter which road you turned down, you found a wall in front of you.

“So what are we going to do now?”

Julian sipped his water. "Well. We could go back to the apartment tomorrow to see what's left. Maybe talk to some more people who knew Grant, however few there may be."

Aloysius nodded in agreement, "There isn't much more we can do today.. what if we meet at the 'pharmacy' tomorrow and see who we can talk to?"

"I'll be there," Julian said. "Of course.”

“I try to be there, too.” Sophie replied, “I didn't know Grant had such a past. It seems so strange when I think about it. I very rarely exchanged a word with him and now he is actually dead.”

Sophie looked at Caroline, hoping she would add something, but it seemed she was lost in her own thoughts. Sophie didn't know if it was because of Grant or something personal. There wasn't much time for that, because it seemed as if the group wanted to split up. Caroline agreed to join them tomorrow as they said goodbye. After the short goodbye, Sophie was alone on the street among all the others.

Only now did she realise what had happened. Someone had died and she was now helping to solve the murder.

Sophie wandered the streets of Chicago to get home, arriving several times at the shore of Lake Michigan, where she noticed the loneliness on the horizon. The waves crashed against the earth and life went on. Fishing boats and men did their work, guided like puppets, and none of them knew that a human life had been buried today. She felt cold as she thought about it longer and tried to focus on something else.

But no matter how long she thought, in the end she came back to Grant and his death. As she stood in front of her flat door, she noticed that a note had been pushed under the door. Strangely, as she felt at first, it was just an advertisement from a dubious used furniture company, which she quickly crumpled up and was about to throw in the bin. In the process, the paper landed next to it and Sophie received a brief inspiration when she saw the deformed artwork in front of her.

It helped her for a brief moment to bring her thoughts to her painting and she immediately began to trace the crumpled paper to have this abstract shape of a rhombicosidodecahedron as a drawing forever.

During her hobby, it not only occurred to her to meet the others tomorrow and see what would happen next, but she also thought about whether Liam might know something about it. Sophie made a mental note to go and see him as soon as she had a little more time, when she could finally meet her sister and find out if she knew anything about Liam. In a certain anticipation that Sophie quickly discarded, she was even hopeful that Liam had something to do with the murder and could thus get rid of him...

765 words

Julian walked to Johnson and Co from the pub. The weather wasn't too bad. It had warmed up from the morning, and Julian had begun to sweat as he approached the pharmacy. Before he could go in, however, he bumped into Hamilton, who emerged from the side of the store, pharmacy packages in tow.

Julian waved. "Hamilton. How've you been?"

Hamilton smiled, nodding in acknowledgement. "I've been fine. Doyle's upset you weren't here earlier. I think he expected you back before lunch."

"Ah well. He'll have to take me now. No use complaining about the past."

Hamilton shifted the packages. "Where were you, anyways?"

Julian hesitated. He wasn't sure if he should tell Hamilton the truth. He couldn't think of a specific reason why he shouldn't, but there was something about taking interest in a death that felt suspicious, like if he told Hamilton he wanted to find Grant's murderer, then Hamilton would think that he committed the crime. There was also the fact that Doyle had made it clear he didn't want any of his employees to linger longer than necessary on the touchy subject. But then another moment passed, and Julian remembered it was Hamilton he was talking to. He could tell him.

"I was... well. You remember how Grant died?" It sounded stupid as soon as it left his mouth. "Well, not how he died. Grant died. And I've... been looking into how it might've happened. It was just..."

"No, yeah. I get it," Hamilton said. "You were the one to find the guy, after all. Do what you gotta do to get over it." He paused. "So did you find anything out?"

"We went and talked to the priest—"

"We? And what priest? Was Grant religious?"

"Oh. Just me and a group of... friends." Though the thing to bring them together was a murder, Julian supposed that Aloysius, Sophie, and Caroline were his friends. It seemed wrong to call them acquaintances, at any rate. "They'll be at the pharmacy tomorrow, by the way. But we knew about the priest from the funeral that Doyle sent me to, and then visited him again. Turns out Grant's name wasn't Grant at all. Was actually Greek. Named Kontos. Stephanos Kontos."

"Wouldn't be the first in America to change their name."

"The priest sent us to the parents, who were clearing out Grant's apartment. Apparently they weren't too fond of Grant either."

Hamilton's eyebrows raised. "Really? His parents, huh?"

Julian nodded. "Yeah. They're leaving tomorrow to go back to Seattle, I think. Though apparently Grant had a sister. She asked me to keep her updated on what I might find out."

Hamilton hmmed. "Interesting. Sounds like you've got your work cut out for you."

"Yeah." Julian moved towards the door, but then Hoover wandered out of the alleyway and plopped right in front of it. Julian let out a small laugh and knelt down to scratch him.

Upon standing up again, he found that Hamilton was still there. "Don't you have errands to run? Doyle doesn't like slacking," he said jokingly.

"Right." Hamilton laughed, but still made no move to leave. Julian studied him. His dark eyes seemed nervous, darting back and forth. Once more, he shifted the packages to the other arm. Since he seemed reluctant to leave but didn't offer anything, Julian figured he'd make some more conversation.

"What were your interactions with Grant like?" Julian said. "Since we seem to be talking about him."

Hamilton shrugged with one arm "Bout the same as most, I'd expect. He wasn't friendly, but he treated me nicer than some folks in the city. Just always a little mysterious. A little aloof. It felt like he didn't want to be known."

Julian mmed in agreement. "I know what you mean. Can you think of any reason why someone would want him dead?"

And there it was. Julian watched Hamilton's eyes hit him straight on, his mouth start to open. And then it closed.

"Do you... know something, Hamilton?" Julian stepped closer to him.

"Well..." Hamilton looked away. "I'm not sure I should say anything."

"Come on," Julian urged.

Hamilton glanced both ways. "This stays between us, Latkowski."

Julian nodded. "Of course."

"I— well. I've been with friends before, and we've been near some pretty shady areas. And I—not often, but still—saw Grant leaving certain... places."

"What sort of places?" Julian's brows furrowed.

"Mob associated places. Mostly other speakeasies. Many that make big bucks in gambling." Hamilton shrugged. "People have been killed over less."

Julian stepped back. "Are you saying that Grant had criminal ties?"

"Nothing that concrete. I'm only telling you what I saw." Hamilton's eyes were wide, in a way that dodged implication at all costs.

Julian stared at the ground. He wouldn't have pegged Grant as the gangster type, but he did work at a speakeasy, so it wasn't as far fetched a conclusion as Julian originally thought it was. And what was it that Grant's sister had said? Interested in money. Cutting pictures of successful people.

"Thanks," Julian finally said. "For the info."

"Of course." At last, Hamilton started down the street, making his way to a bicycle. Julian turned to enter the shop.

"Oh!" Before Julian entered, he turned, waving to get Hamilton's attention. "I've been meaning to ask. Has that officer come back? The one who was interested in Grant's case. Can't remember his name, but he looks a bit like a rat?"

Hamilton shook his head. "My guess is that his superiors declined his request to investigate more. Wrong place, wrong time, they've said." Hamilton swung a leg over the bicycle.

"Well. Hopefully he's out of our hair. I don't think Doyle was much of a fan."

With a final laugh, Hamilton was gone, and Julian ducked inside the pharmacy.

Caroline had been thinking about a lot of things while the four of them were at the pub. The first thing was that was that the interaction with Henry Grant/Stephanos whatever had made her think, for the first time in a long while, about her parents.

Lately, whenever she'd been feeling discouraged, she reminded herself that what was waiting for her at home was much worse. There were aspects of home that she missed. Her sisters, Alice and Grace, hadn't been involved in the fallout between her parents and Julian. There was no way they could have been, because they had been too busy starting their own lives and families by then. Still, she wondered if they ever thought about her, or wondered where she was, because she'd left in the dead of night without so much as a note.

Then, once she'd found her way to the boarding house and a job at the textile mill, she'd met Emma and Rebecca and formed a friendship with the two of them. In spite of this, Caroline had never mentioned the fact that she had sisters. She'd mentioned her mother and father, of course, because having a tense relationship with your parents seemed to be a fashionable thing. But she could never bring herself to mention her sisters. Maybe that was because, if she felt any guilt for abandoning her family, it was because of them.

They all seemed to go their separate ways, and Caroline found herself wandering aimlessly through the streets of Chicago. After a few blocks she realized she was an unfamiliar street. Yet, Caroline pressed on, thinking she could always go back the way she came once she wanted to go back to the boarding house. Caroline realized another thing, too. After all of these months, she never thought of the boarding house as home. A place to sleep. A place where she could feel relatively comfortable, she supposed. The meals were nice. The camaraderie was nice. But it lacked that certain something that a home had, something that she couldn't quite put her finger on.

It was still a warm day outside, and even in her distant haze, Caroline felt herself comforted by the warm breeze against her skin. Still, as nice as it was, it was impossible to be fully appreciate it, considering that in a few short weeks the air would be filled with an autumn chill. She tried to think about that one quote from The Great Gatsby about how life started over in the fall, but she couldn't get behind that at this moment in time. Something was changing within Caroline, and she did not believe it was for the better.

When she'd left Green Bay and come south, she'd done so because she'd believed it would leave her to a better life. She had very truly and genuinely believed then that she'd find what she'd been looking for in the city, and yet, she'd found so many of the same things that she'd tried to leave behind. Lies, selfishness, secrets. On top of all of that, she was once again entangled in a cold blooded, senseless murder.

Caroline wasn't sure how long she walked for, but she soon realized that her feet were starting to get tired. She also had no idea how far away she was from the boarding house. Either way, she'd have to power through, or spend money on a cab. She wasn't sure that she had enough money for the latter, but she did suppose that she would be back at work next week.

... Back at work. She tried not to think too hard or too deeply about that. If she did, she knew it would drive her insane. Caroline saw a nearby bench, and she collapsed into a seated position. It felt good to sit. She'd do so for a moment or two, and then she'd start to head back towards the boarding house. For the first time since she'd left the pub, she really took in her surroundings. The various restaurants. There was a grocer across the street, and a pharmacy-- not Johnson and Co, of course. Caroline's gaze lingered at its windows for a moment, wondering how her life would be different if she'd gotten to know different friends at the boarding house, ones who maybe would have introduced her to a pharmacy that was just a pharmacy. Would they be sitting at a soda fountain with ice cream sundaes? The thought of that sounded simultaneously so childish, and yet so comforting.

Of late, Caroline's life had been filled with so much drama, so much conflict, and she was ready for things to be calm for a change.

Just then, she heard the honking of a car. She looked up, and saw the car had pulled over, and a familiar face poke through the driver's seat. "Caroline?" She looked and saw Emma. In the passenger's seat was a teenage boy who resembled her. "What are you doing here?"

"Just walking," Caroline said.

She gestured to the teenage boy. "This is Fred, my brother. My family's in town. He was just visiting me for dinner so I'm just taking him back to the hotel. Then, I'm headed back. Do you need a ride?"

Caroline nodded her head, and got in the backseat. She took a deep breath. On one hand, she was comforted to see her friend, but on the other, she didn't know what to say. The past few days had caused her to feel like a stranger.

916 words

Since Julian had left a couple moments before him, Aloysius walked back to his car and the speakeasy alone. It wasn't that long of a walk, but it felt like forever. Aloysius hated to be alone with his thoughts and the depressing aura of the area didn't seem to help.

The Priest was tending to the front yard of the Church when Aloysius passed by. Aloysius waved at Fr. Lennard, but walked quickly so he didn't have to make conversation. It may have been mean, but Aloysius wanted to avoid thinking about Grant for the rest of the day.

Aloysius stopped to pet Hoover once he arrived at the Golden Vanderbilt, then hopped in his car and drove home. He briefly talked to Mr. Thompson in the elevator before stepping into his condo. Aloysius took off his jacket and threw it onto the hat stand. He kicked off his shoes, grabbed the newspaper from where he left it, and laid on his couch.

It wasn't long before Aloysius put down his newspaper. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't help but think about Grant. The poor guy- even though Aloysius hardly knew him, and even disliked him a little after talking to people who knew him, he felt bad for Grant. No one deserves to go like that.

Aloysius was broken from his trance by the phone ringing. He reached over and held it to himself.

"Hello?" he mumbled.

"Louis, you sound frightful," Elle's voice said through the phone, "Are you alright?"

Aloysius held the phone away and groaned. He did not feel like talking to Elle right now, "I'm fine, thank you. Work is busy."

There was a brief pause as Elle realized Aloysius wasn't going to ask her how her day was going.

"Well, I'm doing well, too! I saw a film today. The Mysterious Lady with Greta Garbo. Have you seen it?"

"No."

"We should see it together, then, and make a date out of it."

"I think I'll be alright. It was nice talking to you, Elle. I mean it."

"I know," Elle said. Aloysius rolled his eyes, "We'll have dinner some time soon, ok? At my house."

"Sounds wonderful," Aloysius replied, ready to put down the phone, "Goodbye, Elle."

"Bye, Louis!" she exclaimed before Aloysius hung up.

Aloysius groaned and got off the couch. He would have to break the fact that he wasn't interested in her to Elle someday. He just didn't want to hurt her feelings or mess up Mr. Mills and her father's relationship in the process.

Aloysius buried himself in his work for the rest of the night, only taking a break to eat and use the powder room. It distracted him from Grant's death and all the gloominess and frustration that surrounded it. As much as Aloysius wanted to solve the case of Grant's murder, he hated how difficult it was. All Aloysius wanted was the case to be solved and for him to be able to relax once again.

502 Words

Aloysius slept terribly Friday night. He stayed awake until midnight working, reading three different newspapers from the same day, and listening to the radio in the building's lobby. He also called Raymond to update him on the new information they had learned. The Kovars did not have a phone, so Aloysius had to call their neighbor who did, apologize for bothering them, and wait for Raymond to arrive at their house to talk to him. It was a long process, but Raymond had refused when Aloysius offered to buy him a phone, so they were stuck with their routine for the time being.

When Aloysius finally retired to bed, it seemed like everything was going against him. The neighbors above him were hosting some late-night guests and their footsteps echoed through his condo. Someone was screaming across the hall and there was a surprising amount of night life on the streets outside. People's voices filled Aloysius's ears and prevented him from sleeping until the early hours of the morning. When he did fall asleep, he awoke several times to use the bathroom, and to open and shut the windows.

In short, Aloysius was not happy by the time he left for the Golden Vanderbilt.

It started raining sometime while Aloysius made his way to the speakeasy. He had taken the subway instead of driving, again, so it was a rather unpleasant surprise to step above ground only to be hit by rain. Aloysius practically sprinted the distance in between the station and the Golden Vanderbilt. almost slipping several times.

A young girl was behind the front desk in the pharmacy. Her name was Madeleine, or something like that (Aloysius hadn't talked to her much), and she always had a smile on her face.

"Gas, please, for a silver Packard," Aloysius said, taking off his overcoat. Hoover walked out from next to Madeleine and made his way to Aloysius's feet. Aloysius pat him on the head and started rubbing Hoover's belly when the dog rolled over on the ground. Who could refuse?

"Right away, Mr.," Madeleine called Hoover away from Aloysius and started opening the door to the speakeasy.

Aloysius walked through the door she opened and threw his coat on the coat rack next to the door. He made his way to the bar. Hamilton was there cleaning some glasses.

"Hey, Louis," Hamilton said, "The usual?"

"Um, yes, please, if you mean a Manhattan," Aloysius replied and Hamilton started making the drink, "Say, is Julian here? Or a woman named Caroline or Sophie?"

"I don't know about the dames, but Julian's on the piano for the next couple of minutes," Hamilton handed Aloysius his drink.

Aloysius wandered over towards the stage. Julian was playing some vaguely familiar song for the few people in the speakeasy.

As Julian saw Aloysius approach, he gave him a quick smile, but waited until the song was over to engage in conversation. His fingers lingered on the keys, notes slowly dying out, when he greeted him verbally. "Aloysius. I hope you're well."

"I'm as well as I can be given the circumstances. You?"

Julian smiled widely. "When I'm behind the keys, I'm happy." After glancing around furtively for Doyle, he slipped off the bench. "Have you seen Caroline or Sophie yet?"

"Not yet. Do you mind if we sit down?" Aloysius asked, pulling a seat out from the nearest table.

"Not at all, though I hope you'll let me run to the bar first. Playing piano always makes me thirsty." Without waiting for a response, Julian left, but soon came back with an already half-empty cocktail.

That was when Caroline approached them. Her hair was wet. Apparently, she too had gotten caught in the rain. She saw them, waved and approached their table after she'd left her raincoat on the rack, close to the entrance. She seemed a little bit less tired and distant than she had the day before, and flashed them a smile.

"Some weather, huh?"

"It's horrible," Aloysius said in between sips of his drink, "To think it was sunny when I left home."

"Yeah, that's time of year, I guess," Caroline said with a shrug. "I'm going to get a drink, by the way. Be right back."

She approached the bar, and a few moments later had returned with a glass of red wine. "I spend too much money here," she told Aloysuis and Julian as she did.

"Well, as an employee, I feel that I have to thank you," Julian replied, smiling.

Caroline blushed. "My day was so boring. So I used to come here with this friend of mine. And she... I don't know, she's not really interested anymore. Maybe it's for the best."

"Maybe," Aloysius shrugged, "but it's unfortunate nonetheless."

"I bring it up because I spent some time with her yesterday. We live in the same boarding house and that was the first time we'd really talked in the last week." She pursed her lips, saying the next bit as quietly as she could. "I still see Grant's... dead... face in my mind. No matter what I do. And I don't know how to make it go away."

Aloysius cleared his throat. He looked at his watch, to the entrance to the Golden Vanderbilt, and at his watch again, "I wonder when Sophie will be here."

Caroline but her lip, figuring this was Aloysius' way of saying he wanted to wait for Sophie to get here before they spoke any more about Grant. That was fine. The problem was, she couldn't stop thinking about it. She hadn't been able to stop thinking about since they first found him.

***

When Sophie left her flat, it was still pleasant outside. When Sophie stood in front of the pharmacy, it was already cooler and raining. A fresh wind enveloped her in a bitter realisation while the drops dripped out from all sides of her clothes, further watering the already wet asphalt. Her pocket watch showed that she was already too late. Unsure of how this had happened, she thought about the fact that she had taken a diversion and, anyway she had come on foot instead of arriving by rapid transit. After all, she hadn´t expected the grey clouds in the sky to turn to rain.

She shook her head briefly and entered the shop. She tried to make herself a little drier, but without imitating a certain Hoover, it couldn´t work. Madeleine was standing behind the counters cleaning up when Sophie entered. Madeleine eyed Sophie from head to toe.

"Is it raining outside?" she asked kindly.

Sophie took it as a badly made joke and did not answer immediately, but watched the counter. A medicine bottle was open and next to it was a large cap. It looked like she had knocked it over.

"I guess it´s raining here, too."

Sophie smiled, thinking she had a small triumph with that, but at the same time she was now curious to know if all the bottles in the pharmacy really contained medicine, or were just water. After pronouncing the code in a loud manner, she hurriedly made her way inside. Like every time, she was engulfed by a breath of freedom and mist. She stood next to the entrance and tried to find the others over the smoke.

She found them only seconds after she had started the search and hurried past the other filled tables to join them. Just before she reached the table, she turned around and almost swam through the puddles she had left behind to Hamilton at the counter and ordered a cocktail. With a grin from his side as to whether Sophie had gone swimming, she took her cocktail and made her way to the table. While, it seemed, a customer slipped in one of Sophie´s puddles and fell on his back, Sophie had finally arrived where she was going; to the table with Aloysius, Caroline and Julian. They were in the middle of a conversation.

"Hello! I´m sorry I´m only here now. There were traffic problems," she explained as more drops fell on her chair.

"Don't worry about it," Aloysius said, "The rain effected all of us."

Julian gestured to his dry clothes. "Almost all. I've been stuck here, so"—he took a sip—"no rain for me."

Caroline twirled a strand of her still wet hair with her finger. "I walk over here, and yeah, it caught me on the way."

Sophie sat down on the wet chair and took a sip from her cocktail.

"Something new?"

"What do you mean?"

"Anything I missed or overlooked?" Sophie replied.

"I don't think so," Aloysius said, frowning at his now empty glass, "We didn't talk a lot about Grant before you came."

Julian cleared his throat. "Now that we're all here, though, I do have something to say about Grant. I'd been telling Hamilton about the situation, and he mentioned seeing Grant around some gambling houses, though wouldn't swear by anything."

"So, I don't know if this helps anything," Caroline said. She felt a lump in her throat as she prepared to recall her one and only interaction with Grant, but she knew it was neccesary. "I met Grant just once, last Friday. We were both in line for the bathroom and he... propositioned me. I declined." Caroline pursed her lips as she waited for the others to say something.

"That's.. interesting, to say the least," Aloysius said, reaching for his drink and putting it down disappointedly.

"This is nuts," Sophie said loud, shaking her head.

In response, Caroline took another look drink of her wine, unsure of what to say. "I don't know... I wasn't in the mood for it at the time. Maybe if he'd asked me again on Monday my answer would have been different, but I didn't expect him to be... dead. I just hate to think that one of his last memories was the embarassment of getting turned down."

Sophie finished her cocktail in one gulp and thought about what something like that must feel like. One could already feel a little sorry for him. But only a little...

Julian sipped his drink. "I wouldn't feel too bad. I don't think Grant had a right to mind, the amount of times he declined something or other. And if it hadn't been you, I could only imagine it would have been some other girl." Realizing his remarks may have been callous, he added, "Sorry."

"I see..." Caroline said quietly. So she hadn't been special. She'd just been convenient. She downed the rest of her wine, then stared at her empty glass. She wanted to get another one, but she waited, unsure if that she'd be able to afford it.

Eager to move on, Julian addressed the table. "I've been thinking... it might make sense to talk to some people like we did with the priest, just to get a fuller idea of Grant and what reason someone might have had to kill him."

"But who should we ask now? We have no idea where to start," Sophie interjected.

"That sounds good to me," Aloysius replied, "Should we start with the employees here? Besides you, of course."

Julian smiled. "Of course. And besides Doyle. Or at the very least, leave him to me. He's made it quite clear he doesn't want to hear Grant's name around here anytime soon. It's 'bad for business.' So that leaves Sullivan, Melvin, and Hamilton, if we want to talk to him again. We have a few clerks too, but I could see to those. Not sure if they'd have much exposure to Grant, anyways. Oh, and Madeleine, I suppose." At that moment, he felt something warm find his knee, a telltale snuffling sound coming from under the table. Ducking under, he was soon face to face with Hoover.

"Hoover! How'd you get in here?" he said, patting his head before ushering him out from under the table. Turning to the rest of the group, he returned to the previous topic. "How does that sound?"

"That sounds great. I could maybe interrogate Hoover. This dog hides a lot. Especially that he likes to eat paintbrushes. That must be felony." Sophie said seriously looking at her empty glass.

Julian nodded solemnly. "On your own paintbrushes be it, Miss Cox."

"I can talk to Madeleine," Caroline offered. "Is that the girl who works up front?"

"I believe so, yes," Aloysius said.

"She's probably around my age, yeah? She'd probably be most comfortable with me." Caroline shrugged. "I know I haven't done much yet, but I do want to help. However I can."

"I could talk to Melvin. He seems like the friendliest guy here." Sophie thought. Then I could also ask him to stand for me in a portrait...

"I guess that leaves Sullivan for me," Aloysius added, "Is he here?"

Julian craned his neck to look at the bar. "Seems to be, though I don't like the look of those eyebrows. Seems like the rain got to his mood today." Hoover chose that moment to jump up on his lap and then onto the table. Julian winced in preparation for what was coming.

"Latkowski! Get that dog out of here!" Doyle's voice carried through the speakeasy noise.

"That´s music to my ears." spoke Sophie, grinning at Hoover.

Julian smiled apologetically at Sophie and Aloysius. "That's my cue." Scooping up Hoover, he walked out, keeping a firm grip on the dog no matter how many times he tried to lick his ear.

"So in summary, everyone will now question their person and then? Let´s meet again next week so we can share our findings with each other?" Sophie asked and watched Hoover walking out, "That´s right, begone, Hoover."

"I have a double-header tomorrow, so that would work for me."

Julian then entered, now Hoover-less. "So what's the plan?"

"I will interview Sullvian, Caroline has claimed Madeleine as hers, and I think Sophie is going to talk to Melvin Bouchard and Hoover."

Julian nodded. "Works for me. I have a feeling Doyle will be tougher to get information from, so I'll need all the time I can get."

"You'll have the whole weekend," Aloysius said, "I don't know when we are planning to meet again, though. Does Monday work for everyone or will you need more time?"

"I have this Monday off," Julian said. "How about Tuesday?"

"That should be fine with me. I'll have to make up another excuse for missing work, but I think my coworkers won't care. They usually make plans without me, anyways," Aloysius chuckled at himself, although he was well aware what he said was not funny in the slightest.

Julian gave him a gratuitous smile. "Brilliant."

Caroline and Sophie agreed on the date as well.

Aloysius stood up and pushed in his chair. He bid the women farewell and held out his hand towards Julian, "It was nice talking to you all, even though the topic was not the happiest."

Julian set down his glass to return Aloysius's handshake. "Hear, hear." Then, already starting back towards the piano, he spoke again. "See you all on Tuesday!"

2,521 words

As they all went their separate ways for the evening, Caroline stopped to scratch Hoover behind his ears. He started to lick her hand, and then licked the side of her face. This made her smile and laugh wider than she had the past few weeks. Dogs were too precious. They didn't care about what was going on in your life, they just wanted to be there for you. Humans didn't deserve them. Hoover was no exception.

Caroline thought, as she made her way towards the exit, that she would question Madeline now and just be done with it. She didn't know what Madeline's work schedule would be for the rest of the weekend, and this way, she could stall going back to the boarding house.

Things had been awkward there ever since Emma had picked her up. That evening, Rebecca had announced that she would moving out. She and her boyfriend had just gotten engaged and were going to elope on Saturday. Caroline thought that the idea of an elopement was that that it was unplanned and that you didn't tell anyone, but it wasn't something that she wanted to give too much of her thoughts or her time. She doubted she would ever hear from Rebecca again after Saturday, and it had made Caroline realize what a fair-weather friend she'd been.

That would leave Emma as her only friend at the boarding house. While they had a more solid foundation for their friendship, Emma clearly sensed something was off. Since Caroline didn't have words to talk about what she was going through, it was awkward. Maybe she would eventually. But that would mean telling Emma about her sisters, about Julian, everything. Caroline wasn't ready for that yet. One of the nice things about living in Chicago was that she got to choose who knew about her past.

Caroline ascended the stairs and found herself back in the pharmacy, where Madeleine was, seemingly lost in thought. She took a deep breath before she approached her. Madeleine broke from whatever daydream she was in. Even though she'd passed Madeleine a few separate times, this was the first that Caroline had really noticed her.

Her dark hair fell to halfway down her neck. She must have had a had a shorter cut at one point and was letting it grow out. She was beautiful, but seemed to have a chip on her shoulder. Caroline thought she looked stunningly like Olive Thomas, Jack Pickford's poor wife. Caroline had a child when the news of Olive's untimely death in that awful poisoning accident had broke, but she still remembered it vividly.

"Hello, can I help you?" Madeleine said flatly. She was chewing gum, which seemed to bolster her nonchalant attitude.

"Yes, I think so," Caroline said. She wasn't sure how to do this. She'd never questioned anyone before. She looked to make sure no one else was around before she spoke. "As you know, someone who frequented this place was found murdered last Monday and I was wondering what you might know."

Madeleine paused for a long, awkward beat before she answered. "Are you a cop?"

Caroline considered her words, realizing that she probably did come across suspiciously. "No. I'm not a cop. I was one of the people that found his body and I guess I just know what happened. I'm asking everyone I can."

Madeleine said nothing.

"His name was Henry Grant. Did you know him? See anything suspicious?"

Madeleine scoffed. "Know him? I was his fiancée."

Caroline blinked. Fiancée? Grant had clearly propositioned her. That wasn't a good thing to do if Madeleine was indeed his fiancée. Somehow, Caroline was inclined to believe her, and that would be in line with what the others had told her about Grant earlier in the evening. Still, she wondered why Madeleine hadn't been present at the funeral or the burial, but she decided not to push it. "I'm sorry, this must be difficult for you," Caroline said.

"Yeah..." Madeleine replied vaguely. "Anyway, Monday was just a day like any other." She wiped a tear from her eye. "I'm sorry, I can't talk to you about this anymore. Have a good night."

Caroline took a minute to realize that she was clearly being dismissed. The women exchanged a confused, tired look before she left the pharmacy and headed towards home. She tried not to think about how she would have to go back to work on Monday, or how she would occupy herself until she and the others met again that Tuesday.

747 words

Sophie was unsure how to question Melvin. Her mind was spinning for a very long time. So long that she even slept through the next day and didn't notice how Mr Bartlett had knocked on the door several times to ask how she was and how far she was with new pictures.

After noticing this and making him wait long enough at the door, she spent the rest of the morning with him in front of the paintings, showing that she hadn't painted very much at the moment - but was at least working on something "big" and wanted to stick to finishing the sketches, (which of course she didn't have and therefore couldn't show) before touching the canvas.

Sophie then had the rest of the day to prepare for the evening to talk to Melvin. Somehow she was very nervous about it, almost as if she were giving a lecture at school or going to a complete stranger, yet she knew Melvin at least from the few words they had exchanged.

To distract herself, she went for a walk, but the excitement somehow made its way deeper into her body, as if it were a poison going into every limb, and started running to get rid of that stress. Sophie was putting too much pressure on herself that she didn't even realise why she was putting so much pressure on herself. It wasn't an exam and it wasn't about her having to gather more information somewhere than the others. It was all in the hands of Melvin....

***

Sophie had made her way to the bar without diversions, watching Melvin from a safe distance. At least the safe distance was a wide piece of polished wood that was hard to jump over. (She had only waved briefly at Julian as he was making music, but wasn't sure if he had noticed her.) She tried at first to simply approach Melvin and get some words in, but falteringly always found that her small talk skills were very limited.

For the first time, she was glad that Hoover suddenly appeared to keep her company. She continued to glower at him, holding her bag tightly so that he wouldn't start gnawing on something somewhere and be off with it.

"How are you?" Sophie murmured blithely, watching his every move and brief sniff very closely from the side.

It seemed as if he answered with a squeak, which was stifled when Melvin returned and realised Sophie was talking to someone.

"Who are you talking to?"

"Hoover," Sophie replied.

"The dog needs to go out," Melvin returned, "Some guests don't want animals in our establishment."

"Then I need to talk to you."

Melvin raised an eyebrow while Hoover briefly tried to bark but was stifled by the music in the background and volunteered to leave.

"So, anything else to drink, Miss Cox?"

"Yes, please."

As Melvin turned his back to Sophie, Sophie began to speak.

"What was Grant like?"

"Who, oh, Mr Grant, the accountant."

He turned back around and gave Sophie another drink.

"A terrible thing, a murder like that and on our doorstep too. That's when I was really glad we were free of any gang wars and didn't belong to any gangs and yet it happened. It hit us all hard to hear about it."

"Really?" Sophie asked with a raised eyebrow.

"It really took a toll on some of us to hear about it. It's bad for business when something like this happens. Jobs are at stake and we have to be careful that the police don't find out about our actual acquisition."

"Hmm..."

Sophie took a sip of her drink.

"Did you have anything to do with him too?" Melvin asked thoughtfully.

"Not really. I've had a word or two with him a few times, but it really wasn't much."

Sophie didn't want to reveal that Grant was actually of Greek descent, nor did she try to hint that she seemed to know more.

"What was he like? Did Liam have much to do with him?"

Melvin smiled sheepishly.

"Liam and you don't get on so well, do you? Because of your sister."

"How do you know? It doesn't matter! Liam's going to be dead in Lake Michigan with his runaways one of these days."

Melvin laughed, suddenly seeming amused at Sophie.

"He can seem a little semi-strong, but I'm convinced his heart is in the right place,” He spoke quietly, "To Grant. Well, I would describe him as the typical working man. He did everything without many words, talked to the boss more often about the numbers, but never stayed for a drink or anything else. I get the impression he has a very stoic approach to his work here and tries to keep his private life as far away from it as possible."

"What do you know about his private life?"

"Is this an interrogation, Miss Cox?"
Sophie chuckled and took another sip of her drink, which was suddenly empty.

"No, I'm just interested. Um, this death has woken me up a bit. I don't know anything about him. It's different when someone gets shot on the other side of town that you've never heard of than when you've seen someone before. You worry about it, you know?"

Melvin nodded, but was stopped short by another customer ordering new drinks. Meanwhile, Sophie, was looking for Hoover. Possibly he was still hiding somewhere, but she couldn't find him. Luckily. Just then Melvin came back.

"Where were we?" He thought for a moment, "Another drink?"

"Yes, please."

"So," Melvin continued, "I have no idea about Grant's personal life. As I said, I always thought he tried to keep this as far away from his workplace as possible - quite unlike Liam, to protect his family."

"His family?"

"I think he's married? I don't know, he certainly seems like a father figure,” Explained Melvin, "At least I got the impression he might have a daughter."

"Hm..." made Sophie, looking at her third drink, which doubled for a moment, "But no one knows anything about it?"

Melvin shook his head.

"Apart from Liam, no one here is up to bragging about where they work, simply out of caution about having a snitch here."

"I see," Sophie replied, "Maybe... just maybe Liam has something to do with this..."

"Hahaha. Surely this murder has nothing to do with us here? It'll have been some altercation between two feuding gangs where Grant was in the wrong place at the wrong time."

Sophie looked at him more closely. Melvin didn't seem like a liar, but he didn't seem like a good witness either. She was sure she had reached a dead end here and there was no way on. Thoughtfully, she tried to convince Melvin a little more that Liam or even Hoover might have something to do with it, but apart from a few laughs, there was nothing more from Melvin. After that, the place got crowded and Melvin no longer had time to be there just for Sophie, so Sophie finished her drink, paid and walked out of the speakeasy.

1185 words

Julian interrogated the clerks on Saturday, but there wasn't much they could tell him, other than that they'd seen him once or twice. Grant's aloofness was coming back to bite him.

He had waited until the last possible moment to bring it up with Doyle. He liked to convince himself that it was because he hadn't found the right moment, but he'd been intentionally putting it off. He got the sense that Grant's death had shaken Doyle pretty badly for some reason, and, after the row they'd had about it, Julian was fairly certain his job was hanging by a thread. He didn't want to do anything to cause it to snap. But still, he'd promised the others he'd talk to Doyle, and he'd rather give whatever ended up happening a day to sink in, so it had to be Sunday.

Julian finally caught sight of Doyle at the bar. He held a half-finished drink in his hand, and a few empty glasses littered the counter beside him. Julian sighed. He wasn't sure whether Doyle being drunk would help or not; either it would loosen his lips, or it would inflame his temper at the mere mention of Grant's name.

He approached him like he was a live bomb, stepping precariously, trying to make it seem like an accident that he happened to choose to be near him at that moment.

"Latkowski."

Julian breathed in relief. He'd been hoping Doyle would initiate. "Yes, sir."

"Have you played yet tonight?"

"No, sir." Doyle didn't sound that drunk. "I've been letting people in the Vanderbilt. I've only just been relieved."

"You should. Play some Gershwin. He's popular."

"Of course." Julian tapped the counter, making eye contact with Melvin. Melvin raised his eyebrows and nodded, busying himself with making Julian's drink. "Though, sir..."

Doyle turned to him sharply. "What is it?"

"I was talking to Sullivan, and..." Julian didn't want to throw Sullivan under the bus, but he was the person he felt the least bad name-dropping. "He only wonders when we're next getting paid."

"He couldn't ask me himself?" Doyle didn't wait for a response before continuing. "As soon as I find the time."

"I only wondered, because... well. Never mind. I suppose we've gotten used to being paid late."

"What's that supposed to mean, Latkowski?" Doyle's eyes flashed.

"Nothing, sir. Only that Grant was in the habit of some slight tardiness in our wages, that's all." Julian held his breath, waiting to gauge Doyle's reaction at the mention of Grant.

Doyle's face remained impassive, until eventually, he hmmphed. "I suppose you're right. Guess I'll have to do better in finding the next one, eh?"

Julian nodded. Should he bring up the days before Grant's death? On the one hand, he risked Doyle finding out about their investigation, but on the other, he was curious, and if successful, it could prove to be useful information. He opened his mouth to speak, but Doyle continued before he could.

"I remember being cross with him the week before he died about wages. He seemed like he had a lot on his mind."

Julian grinned slightly. Doyle brought it up before he could. That was good. "Do you have any idea what was on his mind, sir?"

Doyle shook his head, staring mournfully at his drink. "None at all."

"Well, thank you," Julian said, gleeful. It had gone way better than he'd ever anticipated. With any luck, Doyle wouldn't remember the conversation come morning. "If you can excuse me, I'll go play the Gershwin you wanted to hear."

Doyle waved him away. "Go on, Latkowski."

Julian turned on his heel, but turned back at the last second. "Oh, sir? I wondered if I could maybe take a look at the books. Just to see my wages, you know. I could even help out. I'm not the worst at sums."

"As long as you don't mess with anything," Doyle said. Immediately after, he threw back the rest of his drink and walked away.

As Julian sat down at the piano bench, a wide smile was plastered on his face. He couldn't believe his luck.

690 words