We returned to the mansion only to find most of the police cars pulling away. Bob was there waiting for us at the door. "They're leaving, but they said you two could still look around if you wanted," he said. "Do you?"

"We wouldn't be back if we didn't," Rich said, not in a rude voice. He walked past Bob into the house.

Bob looked at me, a bemused expression on his face. "He sounded so jovial. Do you think he realizes that most people would think he was rude?"

I shook my head. "I don't think he cares," I said. We followed Rich into the living room, where he proceeded to plop himself down onto the couch. I stared at him, then turned to Bob. "Does this count as tampering with the crime scene?"

Bob shrugged. "I have no idea. I'm pretty sure this is the first murder in the history of Vordrim," he added. "We aren't exactly equipped for solving crimes."

"Great," I said. "No wonder I got arrested."

My attention was distracted by Rich standing up and sitting in the chair. "Bob," he said, "be a good man and stand behind my chair, won't you? And Rose, won't you turn on the lamp for me, please?"

Puzzled, we carried out our commands. I stepped out of his way as Bob stood behind the chair. "Bob," Rich said, "where is the bullet hole on the back of the chair?"

Bob pointed. "Here."

"Where is it in comparison to how I'm sitting?"

I squinted to see. "Here." I touched my lower back to show.

Rich nodded thoughtfully. "Bob, where was she shot?"

"Right through the heart," was Bob's answer.

Rich sat up, slumped down; no matter how he sat, he couldn't get his heart over the bullet hole. He stood up, frowning. "It's as I thought. There's no possible way a bullet could pierce Mrs. Graham's heart where the bullet hole is."

"So where did this hole come from?" I asked.

"And where did she die?" Bob added.

"Those I don't know," Rich answered. "It's all a matter of finding the second bullet."

"Hang on," I interrupted. "The second bullet? What second bullet? When did we get to a second bullet?"

"Since the first bullet couldn't possibly have pierced Mrs. Graham's heart unless she was sitting on the floor," Rich answered. "Bob, was she sitting on the floor?"

"Nope. She was flat on the floor. If she'd been sitting on the floor she wouldn't have fallen so prone," Bob said.

"Indeed. So there must be a second bullet somewhere in here."

"Unless the killer moved the body," I put in.

Rich regarded me with an impressed look on his face. "I hadn't thought of that," he admitted. "Hmm, but I'm almost certain that the body wasn't moved. The blood stain on the carpet proves that. What would you say, Bob?"

"I have no clue," Bob admitted cheerfully. "Your line of reasoning is leaving me way behind."

"That's unfortunate," Rich said. "If I leave you behind with my reasoning, there's no telling what will happen with the less-intellectual officers. I'll have to find simpler evidence. But this is nonetheless interesting. It means that some tampering may have been done with the crime scene, which makes me suspicious. Where was she sitting? Why is there a bullet hole that couldn't possibly have gone through her? It's most puzzling."

"So, if there is a second bullet—the bullet that killed her—why is there one that didn't go through her?" I asked. "And how come the police didn't figure out the bullet didn't go through her?"

"There was blood on the bullet," Bob defended himself. "We haven't done the lab tests yet. They take a while."

"They do," Rich agreed, patting Bob's shoulder soothingly. "Now, may I see Mrs. Graham's bedroom, please?"

Bob led us up the grand stairs and into a huge hallway. We went to the very end and he opened the door to a massive master bedroom. I couldn't help but gape; it wasn't a modern room by any stretch of the imagination, but its antique qualities made it even more impressive. It was like I'd stepped through a portal into the past. "Holy cow," I breathed.

"Yes, yes, very impressive," Rich said dismissively. He went to the ornate bedside table and pointed. "That's her hearing aid?"

"Yup," Bob confirmed.

"Did you dust it for fingerprints?"

"None on it."

Rich stroked his chin, as if he had a full beard as opposed to no beard at all. "Doesn't that strike you as odd?" he asked. "There's no fingerprints on a hearing aid she supposedly removed herself. Also, she had the hearing aid when she spoke to Jeremy after the others left."

"If Jeremy is to be trusted," I put in.

"I think he can be," Rich said. "At least at the moment. But my problem is that all of the staff we've spoken to, their testimonies don't match. Missy says she left at five, but Helena says everyone was leaving at six—and Jeremy was the first to leave. And they all said they were eating at six with the 'rest of the staff'—including, I assume, Missy. So is she lying?"

"Oh, gosh, you don't think Missy did it?" I exclaimed. The idea was preposterous.

Rich shrugged. "I'm trying not to exclude any suspects," he said. "Her seeming innocence could all just be an act. One of them must have killed her, since it wasn't you."

I chewed my fingernail as I thought. Bob was the next person to speak, though. "What if it wasn't one of the staff? It could've been an outsider."

Rich looked around the room and shook his head. "I doubt it was an outsider. Look around; there's tons of jewelry and other expensive things that nobody took. So why leave those? Most of the time outside murders are thieves."

"But why would one of the staff kill her?" I asked. "It seems like everybody loves her."

"It seems so," Rich agreed. "But looks can be deceiving."