Ophelia grasped the handles of the garden cart, and pushed it around the side of the house to the flower gardens. The new statice had been delivered the day before, and she wanted to get the flowers in before the garden tours. A pile of sandy dirt was in the bottom of the garden cart, fresh and cool. Ophelia marked out the new pattern, and turned the dirt over.

Statice, cyclamen, and purple hyacinth, all chosen to compliment the purple lilacs, were arranged in anItalianate manner. It was common in New England, especially on older properties, to have what was known as a Biddle garden, a formal Italian design with the plantings all done in the crowded English style. Named after Ellen Shipman Biddle, they had been developed almost as a counterpart to the famed English Country Gardens designed by Gertrude Jekyll. Ophelia planned to edge the garden in bricks, pulled up from the cellar. She enjoyed the gardening, it gave her a chance to be outdoors and not feel lazy.

'Excuse me.'

Ophelia turned around. A couple stood at the gate, expensively dressed prep types, cameras in hand. 'May I help you?'

'Your garden is so pretty, we were hoping to get a couple of photos.' The lady adjusted a camera lens.

'Yes of course.' Ophelia said.

'May we get you in the shot? As though you're gardening? We're doing a feature on seacoast gardens, and this one is perfect for a city garden.'

'Thank you. I'm putting flowers in now, if you want to photograph that you may.' Ophelia walked to the gate and opened it.

The couple, it turned out, were a freelance photographer and journalist, by the names of Aaron and Catherine Kimball. They travelled, photographed, and sold over-priced nautical themed jewellery to Nantucket fetishists in Southern California and Asia.

Ophelia posed for them, and they were quite thrilled, until Catherine glanced across to No. One Haymarket Square. 'What's happened there?'

'There was a murder. Tragic, a girl my age, strangled.' Ophelia allowed naiveté.

'That sounds terrible.' Aaron said.

'Yes, you poor poor dear.' Catherine  kibitzed.

'Yes, I know. But I feel safe. I mean, this is a nice neighbourhood, and the police are very good at their jobs. I mean, they wouldn't be police if they weren't. Anyway, I'm sure that they'll find who did it.' Ophelia burbled.

Aaron and Catherine exchanged a glance. Ophelia saw, and bent over the statice to hide a look that was somewhere between a smile and a side-eye, that could be best described as smug.

'Thank you so much for your time, but we really must be going.' The Kimballs hustled away, heads together.

Ophelia watched them go. She knew that an indiscretion would have consequences, but this could a sacrifice worth the light, vague twinge, that thing called a conscience. She picked up the spade, and began to sprinkle soil around the planting, the light sand prettyish and bright against the dark clay. As she worked the two soils together, it occurred to Ophelia that it was like a couple coming together, one and the same yet opposites.

She entertained the thought of herself and Magnus. No, it wouldn't do, he was cold. Attractive but cold. Eli though - Ophelia imagined herself with Eli. He was one of those who made everyone at home, and she could see herself at home with him.

Ophelia tossed the shovel aside and stepped back to survey her work. A charming, formal garden, some exercise, and a seed a doubt to be spread to the general public. She indulged in a fantasy, how the picture would look on the front page of the Portsmouth Herald. She would be in her striped smock and old white painter's jeans, broad straw hat and pretty flowered gloves. The headline, Despite Brutal Murder, Young Local Says Police Presence Comforting.

Magnus sat up in Eli's room. He had been sprawled across the guest bed, and now, he sat up, and spat out bits of fur whilst the Thawne's cat watched from the foot of the trundle. The cat, named Kousei, was black, with white spats and a bib. 'You know it's a bad day when the cat is more dapper than you'll ever be.'

Magnus rolled over into the floor, and Kousei jumped over him and began to knead the hearthrug.  'Lucky Kousei, nothing but kitty treats and sleeps.  Wish I had that.'  He sat up, and glanced out the window. Downstairs, Mrs. Thawne was at the piano, tutoring an early morning student in the intricacies of Mahler.  Magnus traced the pattern in the rug with his finger, a strip of wool tweed interwoven with strips of cream and robins egg wool. 

After some time, Eli rolled over onto his stomach.  'What time is it?'  He rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hand.

'It has been twenty-four hours since the police arrived at the house.'  Magnus crawled over to the window.

'It's not good to count, you bring bad luck.' Eli said from under a pillow.

'You don't believe in luck.'

Eli lifted a hand in assent and let it fall limp over the edge of the bed.  'Help me.'

Magnus pulled on his hand, and Eli tumbled onto the floor.  'I told you it was a bad idea.'

'Old Post Office is never a bad idea.  We got new books.'

'And we got in at three a.m.  You had to go and get a burger, and then we drive to Durham to hang out with Judah.'

'He wanted help with the music for the funeral.' Eli said as he stood up and pulled on a boro jacket.  He tied it at the side, and slipped on a pair of plain cotton slippers.

'That was the last thing I wanted to deal with.'

'Deal with?  You were barely functioning.  I saw, you treated that coffee like it was alcohol and it would help you forget your problems.'

'Well it didn't.'  Magnus sat up, and reached for Kousei.  Kousei allowed himself to be caught, and was pulled up against Magnus's chest.  The cat began to purr a bit, as Magnus buried his face in the fur.

'So apparently, there will not be an inquest.  But there will be paparazzi.'

'Who says that?'

Eli glanced back down at his phone.  'Well, this article an American death investigation says the first, and this article.  Police Presence Comfort, Teen Says About Murder Case.'

'Who said that?'

'Well, it's a girl, she lives close by, and has a massive collection of vintage sundresses.' Eli didn't hide the sarcasm.

'Ophelia?'

'Yeah, didn't the dress B was found in look like one of Ophelia's?'

'Maybe, I don't know.' Magnus stroked Kousei, and rubbed in the hollows behind his ears.  Kousei slowly blinked as he went limp and wriggled and twisted so his belly was exposed.  A small outboard motor replaced his vocal chords.  'Lucky, lucky Kousei.'

'Ophelia will be disappointed there's no inquest.  She has nothing to wear, and wanted to go shopping.'

'How do you know?'

Eli smirked. 'When ever something new or different, Ophelia Angelica Carmichael simple must acquire three new outfits.'

Magnus let Kousei go, and stood up.  'So in the end, she has to go out.'

'Exactly.'

'Which means that we could break in and sneak around?'

Eli repeated himself. 'Exactly.'

'We really need adult supervision.' Magnus said.

'I never said we didn't.'