I held my breath, frozen in place. Letting myself get caught rifling through the servant's things was not ideal; it would put the thief on guard, and make naturally everyone else instantly suspicious and distrusting of me. Which is why I couldn't let it happen.

Unfortunately for me, the footsteps were sharp clicks against the floor, the kind that reminded me of when teachers walked up to the classrooms and I knew instantly to be quiet. The sound was instantly identifiable as high heels, which meant there was a fifty percent chance Claudia could be walking into this room at any minute.

Standing still was no longer an option. I glanced around the room in panic, the only places to hide being the wardrobe and under the bed. I figured the creaking floorboards would make even more noise if I dropped down on them and rolled under the bed, so I hopped into the wardrobe, leaving the door open a tiny crack for visibility and hiding behind the crammed in dresses. Even if someone were to notice the small crack, I doubted I would be visible.

A moment later, I heard the distinct squeak as the doorknob was twisted open, allowing Claudia to enter her room. She slammed the door shut before heading straight for under the bed, making me breath a small sigh of relief for not choosing to hide there.

To my curiosity, she lifted the shoebox out, removing one of the posters I'd found earlier. She spread it out over her bed, stroking the face of Michelle with disturbing tenderness. I wondered if I had two deranged stalkers on my hands, and my suspicions worsened as she began talking.

"Michelle," she crooned softly, her fingers tracing her shape. "I'm so sorry for what happened. I would never have done that to you. I regret it everyday." My amazement grew as Claudia actually began to cry, hot, heavy tears of sorrow. She spent a good ten minutes or so just sitting there sobbing, as I began to feel extremely uncomfortable wedged in amongst all her articles of clothing. Eventually, the tears faded away, and she wiped her eyes, covering them in a fresh layer of make-up that concealed everything that just took place.

But by far the most disturbing part of the proceedings was when she replaced the box to its hiding spot. Her face hardened as she turned to leave, and spat out spitefully, "Don't worry, I'll kill the bitch for you."

I waited until I was positive she'd gone down the staircase before bursting out of the wardrobe, inhaling some clean, fresh air. Her comments made me see the box in a new light - she wasn't just a fan of Michelle like many others could claim to be. She'd promised to kill someone for her.

This case was suddenly a whole lot more interesting than some missing jewellery.

I exited the servant's quarters shortly after, unwilling to spend any longer in the cramped, musty rooms. I made my way back to the bedroom in which I was supposed to have been resting, somewhat gratified to discover it was a large room with a four-poster bed and an ensuite, that continued the silver and green theme. Obviously, the first thing I did was test out the mattress, and I let out a small sigh as I sank down into the fluffy heaven. I would allow Kristen one thing - she certainly made sure her guests were well provided for.

There was a small knock at my door, and adjusting myself into a more presentable position, I shouted, "Come in!" The door turned smoothly open with Reagan on the other side, bearing gifts of green towels and facecloths.

"I brought you some things for the bathroom as Miss McMahon instructed," she explained, leaving the items on my bed, and I wondered if Kristen was really so considerate of my hygiene or if she merely sent Reagan to check I was where I claimed. "If you need anything else, please feel free to ask me or any of the servants. Miss McMahon has retired to bed with an intense headache, so you can have dinner with the servants at six down in the kitchens. In the meantime, she requests that you continue in your work, and inquires as to when your partner shall arrive."

She stood patiently, posture picture perfect, waiting for my reply. "You don't need to use such formal, polite language with me. Honestly, if I had to talk to people the way you do, I would kill myself." I rolled my eyes, but rather than my bluntness reassuring her, she looked frightened, and took a step back.

"Look," I said more kindly, "I don't mean it as a personal insult against you. I don't have any time for crap, you know? So just be straight with me. That's all I ask."

A small smile graces her face. "Okay."

I sighed. "Oh, and spread the word - please call me Amber. I don't go with 'miss', even for Kristen."

She looked troubled by this, just like Claudia had earlier when I dared to reference 'Kristen' in front of her. Where they all desperately afraid of her or something? "Okay, Amber. And your partner?" She prompted.

I still hadn't forgotten my own experience on the train. Not exactly wanting for the same to happen to Brooke, I decided to stick with the original plan of her arriving tomorrow. If her train got trashed tonight, then I could rule out the possibility of someone from the mansion being involved. "She'll be here tomorrow morning, about the same time as I was today."

She appeared satisfied. "Thank you. If you would like to sleep until dinner, I could come up to fetch you."

There was every chance I'd get lost trying to find my way back to the kitchens - which was exactly the excuse I was counting on. Despite Kristen giving me free rein to investigate, I didn't think her servants would be so obliging. "No thanks, I'll set an alarm." Reagan nodded her head at my obvious dismissal before leaving.

Of course, I didn't sleep. Instead, I turned to my mobile, intent on doing some more snooping. I would much rather have had my laptop or iPad, which would have larger screens, but I would have to make do with what little resources remained. Despite the fact this place was run like a nineteenth century manor, I sincerely doubted that Kristen would live somewhere without WiFi - she was, after all, a socialite, and in this day and age a lot of things were communicated via Internet. I didn't have the password, and I couldn't be bothered to try and search the mansion for the box, but luckily some of my 4g was preserved and despite the location there was a decent strength.

I quickly went back onto Gibson's Facebook profile, the one stupidly accessible to absolutely everyone. This time, I took more notice of the girl beside him in his most recent photos, whose name turned out to be Angela. Fortunately for me, her profile was public.

Like her appearance suggested, she wasn't exactly your average girl. From the pictures on her profile, I gathered that she played drums in a rock group that hoped to make it big. Her first photo with Gibson was caption as, "Me with my biggest fan." Curiously, I checked her relationship status - single. Yet Gibson's read 'in a relationship' and called her his loving girlfriend in many of his posts.

I headed towards Angela's Facebook wall, which was plagued with messages from Gibson. I scrolled down the dozens of comments, all based along the similar lines of I love you, why are you ignoring me? I searched until I found a reply from Angela - "Gibson, I broke up with you. You came on far too strong, and now you're making me scared. Please stop trying to get my attention - I don't want to talk to you. And please stop coming to my concerts, I don't want to see you there."

As much as I hated to be like one of those cliché amateur detectives on a stupid TV show, there was so much to think about that I just had to start piecing things together, and the clearest way to do that was on the wall. I didn't plan on allowing anyone else into the room, so I figured it was safe enough to do so, and I could take it down after. Besides, I had supplies, by means of a notebook I'd never used (seriously, who writes stuff down when they own a seriously cool Apple Mac) still lying in the back pouch of my suitcase with a matching pen, and some blue tack because it was literally an essential. It was useful in so many situations, especially as a detective.

I ripped pages unceremoniously from the notebook, scribbling my thoughts down as I went and sticking them to the wall. I decided to leave out the Kristen and her father stuff for the moment, instead focusing on what I'd learnt since entering the mansion. Eventually, the wall was transformed into a series of headings with names written on them in capital letters, with every shred of useful information I could think of flowing out around it. Things were, quite literally, a lot clearer.

First there was Ben, whose diagram was relatively simple, with only two major points. One - Kristen trusted him, which automatically made him a top priority in my book. Two - his eerily deserted room. He was hiding something, I knew that, but he was doing a good job of it. Too good a job. I would bet my life savings that he was professionally trained in the business of secrets, legal or illegal. I didn't actually have much life savings to bet, but I was completely sure he was highly trained - but for the side of stopping crime or committing it, I had no idea.

Number two was Claudia. The way she spoke of Kristen was completely different to all the others - there was no fear or respect in her voice, merely anger. I had pinned up what she'd said to me earlier - "None of us ever leave the mansion, unless Miss McMahon offers us to one of her rich friends for a party. Then we have to go help." Plus, she tried to poison me with raw fish. Not only did I nearly die of disgust, it also proved she too was annoyed by my presence. Could that possibly have something to do with the fact she'd vowed to kill someone? Having a homicide detective living with her might make that difficult.

That whole thing with Michelle was just another category of crazy. Her devotion to her, her commitment to avenging her, it was pretty weird, especially if I factored in Michelle's more than unusual death at Kristen's party. Her party... I glanced back at Claudia's words. If Kristen really did make Claudia cook at all the parties, then it was logical to assume that she also was at Michelle's party the night she died, only furthering my suspicions that something had happened that night.

I moved on to Reagan. Really, there wasn't much evidence stacked against her, other than the fact everyone acknowledged she was meek and rabbity. She wasn't considered to be a threat; she was far too weak and jumpy for that. But things were never as they appeared, and I was the most intrigued by the girl who had no real purpose by staying here, nothing to gain by being Kristen's maid. She too had secrets, and they made her twitchy. Reagan might be the thief - as much as the others were suspicious as hell, they didn't seem like thieves. Murderers and stalkers, sure, but it didn't appear they had a great interest in jewellery. Really, Reagan was the most likely culprit, yet my gut told me otherwise.

Finally, there was Gibson. There was something to be gained in the fact most of his cards were out on the table. The Angela business was bad, but I had it mostly figured out. He was a fan that got the golden opportunity to date the one they worshipped, and when it didn't work out, he'd got a little... obsessive. I felt slightly relieved by the fact he would be an easy one to stop - if he decided to try hurting Angela, Brooke and I would be on it immediately. The likes of Penelope would be trickier, as I had no idea what 'bitch' she had it out for.

And in the centre of it all was the word Kristen. It all traced back to her somehow. I would figure it out, but for now, I just needed to do some more detecting.

I needed to go to dinner and speak to all the servants myself.

_____________

I am SUPER excited for the next couple of chapters, things will begin heating up shortly. Part One is almost over; then the real fun begins. I hope you enjoyed this chapter, please vote and comment if you liked it!