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Logico pulled his trench coat around him tighter, audibly shivering (you’d think a place with internet access would have better heating) as he scratched at the scrambled note for the fifth time, short-stemmed pencil in hand. “Beth,” as she called herself, found it underneath a stray log, and it was the most important piece of evidence they had.
AMLDRIA NYVA WAS ENSE WIHT A PICEE OF OODW.
Ms. River tasked him with decoding the message while she trekked through the rest of the snow-capped mountain for more physical clues or codes, which he certainly wasn't going to argue with. What he would argue with was her suggestion of staying in the library and talking to the three suspects of the snowmobile champion's murder.
If there was only one thing in the world he disliked about deductive work, it was interrogation. Conversation was not his forté, small talk was usually Irratino's job. The sociable inspector always had a way with words, a charm that made the suspects almost forget that they were being investigated for a crime. But he was back at home, in the warmth, probably flipping through his Marot cards and chuckling to himself about what a bad job Logico was doing without him.
He grumbled at that thought.
It didn't help that most of his usual wealthier "companions" already despised him for locking a few of them or their dear friends up at the high-end prison. He explained as elegantly as he could that if he was made to stay in a room with Admiral Navy, Mx. Tangerine, and The Duchess of Vermillion for an extended period of time, there would be two murders on her hands.
However, she only offered him an apologetic smile. She was the one with local knowledge, after all. And even he had heard of Elizabeth Fairchild's adventures as a best-selling novelist turned sleuth. She was best suited for the job.
It didn't stop him from rolling his eyes as he watched at least two of the suspects eye him with disdain when he entered the building.
Well, all in the business of a Deductive, Logico assured himself. Besides, it wasn't all bad. The silence of the library allowed him to have a clear head and do what he did best: think logically.
He placed his worn pencil down on the glass table, proudly surveying the now fully readable message in front of him:
ADMIRAL NAVY WAS SEEN WITH A PIECE OF WOOD.
He quickly checked a box on his Deduction Grid, connecting Admiral Navy's blue sailor hat with a piece of bark. He was getting pretty good at this!
…but now he no longer had a reason to stall his interrogations.
The suspects looked just about as thrilled to see him as he was them—whether that was out of guilt or pure disdain, he couldn’t be sure. Admiral Navy stood at attention, stiff and looking straight ahead, but never directly at him. The Duchess of Vermillion leaned on a redwood table with a pipe that looked like it cost a trip to Alaska and back home in one hand, somehow managing to look down her nose at him despite being an inch shorter.
And then there was Mx. Tangerine, still in their collared shirt and overalls, despite it being below freezing outside. They didn’t look guilt-ridden or hateful of him, but they did look bored out of their mind, sitting on a plush orange sofa and staring off into space, twirling their ever-present paintbrush.
Perhaps they would be bored enough to give him a confession?
God, for once, he wished Irratino was here.
“A snowball is a fitting weapon to bring to a place like this, wouldn’t you agree?” He attempted casually, taking a seat directly in front of them.
They didn't even look up at him, unconvinced. “I didn’t do it."
“That’s not what I asked."
“Well, I didn’t bring a snowball, either."
“Any further evidence of that statement…other than your own word, that is? He remarked skeptically.
Tangerine stopped fiddling with their brush to glare at him. “It couldn’t have been me because I saw someone else with the snowball.”
Now we’re getting somewhere. He took his notepad and grid paper out from his large pocket instinctively. “Do tell.”
He suddenly heard a scoff over his shoulder. “We don’t have to tell you anything without a lawyer.” The Duchess said snarkily, taking a huge drag of her expensive pipe and blowing it distastefully in his direction.
“Exactly. Go ask your magic sidekick for his star readings instead.” The Admiral Navy mocked him, but remained stiff and unmoving from his captain—or navy—stance.
The remark angered him illogically more than it should have. “Inspector Irratino is back home, out of the cold, as I should be, but now I am here with you all, on a case you could all be guilty of. And Inspector Irratino is not my sidekick.”
“Yeah, put some respect on his name!” Mx. Tangerine said, “If anything, Logico is his sidekick.”
Logico’s hand clenched around his notepad hard enough to permanently mark the leather-bound cover.
He took a deep breath. So that’s how it was going to be.
Fine.
He unceremoniously dropped his notebook and pencil onto the small glass table, causing the Duchess to jump and the Admiral to be quiet immediately. Mx. Tangerine, however, only looked more amused by the sudden change. He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, and made direct eye contact with the artist, poet, and murder suspect.
“Look, we can either do this the easy way, or–
“The hard way? Now that I can do.” They shifted to match his stance, resting their face in their hands with an absolutely devious smirk. “Are you any good at guessing games, Deductive?”
He almost laughed. Was Deductive Logico, top of his class at Deduction College, conviction skills second to none, good at guessing games?
No. He was the best.
“Try me."
“Well, I can tell you someone who’s been living off fish food their whole life probably won’t be in a market.”
He didn’t need Mx. Tangerine (or Navy’s appalled gasping) to tell him that; it was pure logic after all, but it was good confirmation. He picked up his grid from the now slightly cracked table and marked an X on Navy’s column. “Any information on what is instead of what isn’t?
“Hm, yes, we often ponder on what could’ve been instead of what is. How poetic.” They gave him a knowing, far-away look - as if they knew the depths of his soul. It reminded him of Irratino’s readings, except they didn’t intrigue or comfort him. It made his skin crawl.
“Your point?
“Not everything is as clear-cut as your little grid, Deductive.”
“Is this about your abstract art piece?"
“THAT WAS NOT-” They straightened up, looking about ready to fistfight him, but instead took a deep breath. “No, it’s not about that. Deductive, maybe you should focus less on physical objects and more on the relationship between objects."
His brow furrowed. He was always doing that! The relationship between a person and where they were and what they were holding! That was simple enough. Though knowing Mx. Tangerine, that probably wasn't what they were talking about.
Their face dropped in annoyance at his indifference. "…Maybe if you thought about the invisible, connecting line between subjects, the answers will reveal themselves among the mess of foreign sensations in this cold environment." This time, they very pointedly looked in the vague direction of the suspects.
He scrunched his nose in thought…and then shrugged. "Not following."
Mx. Tangerine sighed, exasperated. "Yes, that's my point." They picked up their brush and started fiddling again. "You don't seem very good with feelings, Logico."
The deductive opened up his mouth to make a series of offended sounds, but the artist was already back to twirling their paintbrush and staring off into nothingness.
Feelings…
Okay, maybe he wasn't the best with feelings—especially other people's—but there was another thing he was excellent at: analysis. Empathy didn't come naturally, but observation did. A flick of the eyes, a bite of the cheek, even an out-of-place breath, he learned, meant something.
He studied Mx. Tangerine's features carefully, watching their twitchy movements and long gaze. And the more he looked, the more he realised they weren't staring off into space at all.
They were staring at the suspects.
"Feelings…" He said aloud, mostly to himself, but Tangerine idly nodded their head as they continued, entranced.
With the fervor of serendipity, Logico flipped open the leather notebook and scribbled:
Mx. Tangerine had a crush on the person who brought a regular snowball.
He immediately took that moment to mark it on his grid, confirming that Mx. Tangerine didn't have the snowball…but…
He paused, subtly looking over at the ever-imposing Duchess of Vermillion.
“Aren’t you a bit young for the Duchess, Mx.?” Logico raised a magnificent eyebrow.
They finally seemed startled, a hot flush coming over their freckled face—you didn't need perfect observation skills to see that—before crossing their arms in a defensive stance. Clearly, he hit a sore spot. “Aren’t you a bit old to be in a situationship, Deductive?” They spat back.
Okay, he didn’t know what on God’s green earth a “situationship” was, but it did not sound flattering, especially for a professional Deductive.
He knew logically they were just trying to change the subject by distracting him…and it was working. He would never be in any unsolved “situation,” thank you very much!
He scoffed in indignation. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Ha! Everyone has seen you and your dear Inspector by now, Logico. God, it's hard not to see you two together. Practically attached at the hip."
It was Logico's turn to flush—out of frustration. Obviously. They couldn't possibly be mocking him any louder. It wasn't helped by the chortles he heard from the Admiral, but a quick glare shut that down quickly.
He turned his glare back to orange-overalled menace. "I don't know what you are implying, but Irratino has nothing to do with—"
“Come oooon," They cut him off, stretching their body over the couch and tucking their arms behind their head. "I would’ve thought you’d trust me out of anyone with your little ‘self-discovery’ journey.” They batted their lashes, gesturing to the colourful non-binary pride pin attached to their splattered overalls.
“You’re a murder suspect! I can’t trust you with anything!”
They rolled their eyes to the heavens. “Oh, please. As if that means anything around here.”
His face couldn't be redder, and he told himself logically it was his anger boiling over from the frustrating interrogation and bone-chilling weather. He got up in their face, as he had seen other brilliant detectives do, and spoke sharply.
"Listen here, Tangerine. My job is to make sure murderers like you and your 'object of desire' get the justice against them they deserve, and I don't need you or Irratino's waxing-lyrical 'hints' to do it. So keep your little poems to yourself and only answer when spoken to. Is that clear?"
You could have heard a pin—a tiny but deadly weapon, drop on the hardwood floors. The Duchess watched him with newfound curiosity, the Admiral's gloves scrunched with how hard he clenched his fists in fear, but Mx., the hardest suspect he ever had to the displeasure of being present with, sat still in silent amusement.
They sat like that for what felt like a whole minute before they heard the sound of snow boots pounding on the wooden floors of the library, followed soon by the frost-touched face of Beth Rivers.
"Logico…!" She panted, winded from her long-distance sprint through the deep snow. "Ice pick…in the…" She took one last big breath. "In the Benedict house!"
His eyes lit up, heart pounding with that familiar exhilaration of pieces connecting. He went to take down notes, but thought better of it. Not even in the sense that the murderer was in this room listening, but in the sense of the absolute nuisance of a person in front of him, resting their head on their hand in satisfaction.
"We need to talk." He said, tucking his utensils back in his largest trenchcoat pocket, and walking towards her in determination. He stopped to turn sharply towards the suspects.
"Stay. Put." He pointed to the floor. "Here. All of you." He did his best to sound authoritarian. Almost in sync, they all rolled their eyes but nodded nonetheless.
The two sleuths were halfway out the door before Beth stopped him around a tall bookcase. "Oh, by the way, the librarian says there's a phone call from you. Says it's from a "rather transcendent man" wanting to know how you're doing."
On cue, the sound of a muffled chuckle behind a gloved hand sounded from the Duchess while the artist only sat with a self-righteous, knowing smirk. The jokes wrote themselves.
A rough noise sounded from the back of Logico's throat, making Beth raise her eyebrow. "Uh, did something happen—"
He grabbed her arm and dragged her down the rest of the hardwood floor, only stopping to give the "I've got my eye on you" gesture to Tangerine.
The suspects could still hear a gruff voice mumbling to himself as the library doors swung open.
"Sidekick..."