As Jake had promised, the snowshoe trail started right behind the hotel. Purple-painted, wooden stakes marked a track ascending into the forest.

Carefully, Art set a snowshoe-shod foot on the snow-covered path and put his weight on it. Nothing untoward happened. The shoe sat in the snow—it didn't sink in much, nor did it spontaneously combust into flames.

Encouraged, he took a second step, using his poles to keep his balance.

"It's easy, isn't it?" Adriana had already followed Jake into the forest, and the two were now watching his first, tentative moves on snowy territory.

"Yeah. It's like walking." Art grinned and took some more steps.

He heard Rashid and the Meiers follow behind him.

The walking was easy enough, and he quickly gained the confidence to move his eyes away from his shoes and to study the scenery.

He was striding into a fairytale forest. The firs carried fat wads of snow, and the ground between them was an untouched, white duvet that glittered where the sun caressed it.

And there he was, gliding through this magic kingdom.

Walking on water, like Jesus.

With a grin, Art departed from the trodden trail. He set a shoe on a myriad of pristine snowflakes that were promising to support it in their soft embrace.

But they utterly failed to deliver on that promise.

His leg sank in, up to its knee. Losing his balance, he brought both his poles forward, stabbing the snow with them. They sank in, too, but then struck something harder, finding the resistance to keep him upright, or at least at an angle that wasn't horizontal.

"Haha, that can happen when you leave the trail." Rashid reached out to offer a hand, and Art was happy to take it.

"If the snow hasn't settled, it may not carry your weight." Rashid pulled him back onto the path.

From that point on, Art made sure to step into the footprints of those before him.

After rescuing Art from sinking to the ground of the frozen ocean surrounding them, Rashid walked beside him. Soon, the man was panting heavily. "Snowshoeing,", he said, between breaths, "that's one of the few sports I actually practice... But only once or twice a year. Not enough to keep me fit."

"We should go jogging sometime." Art wondered if Rashid would make it up to Utopoint.

"Sure, I'd like that."

For a couple of steps, they walked on in silence.

"You're a foreigner here, just like me." Rashid gave Art a brief glance. "So there's one thing I probably should tell you, something these Tavetians are particular about. Took me some time to learn it."

The man's hushed tone of voice made Art curious. "Yes?"

"The Tavetians..." Rashid took a breath. "You see, they usually don't talk about money. They have it, yes, but they don't mention it."

Art nodded—Sven, his Swedish colleague, had already told him about this. "But you understand why I asked Jake where he got the money for buying and renovating that hotel?"

"Of course. And it was interesting to watch his face." Rashid smiled. "He didn't look too happy. But, as we've heard, the man is supposed to have a solid alibi. I guess he was up here the weekend she was murdered. Last Friday at the party, he said he spends most weekends in Oberippenberg."

Art was not convinced. "Maybe we should tell the police about this... about Jake's investments here, and about the rumors that Knooch had a secret fortune hidden away somewhere... to make them have another look at this."

"Wouldn't they already know about the money?" Rashid asked. "They should have checked her bank accounts and tax declaration."

"Maybe it was black money... money she hasn't declared to the authorities? Ferreted away to some secret bank account."

Rashid frowned his bushy brows. "Knooch? Are you serious? She's not the type, is she?"

Art shrugged. Some ferreting may not have been beyond that woman. Or some turtling, at least, withdrawing into that shell of hers, hiding away with the money.

"You're not convinced, are you?" Rashid prodded Art with his elbow. "This is a puzzle for you, and you're trying to apply a mathematician's logic to it. Right?"

"Maybe."

A logic puzzle.

Lewis Carrol, author of "Alice in Wonderland", had been among the first to discuss logic puzzles. And he had been a mathematician, too.

Art remembered having read the man's book "The Game of Logic" as a student, right after having finished Alice. He had enjoyed Alice more that the Game, but he did remember an example from the latter. Given the information "All teetotalers like sugar" and "No nightingale drinks wine", what conclusion can you draw? All nightingales like sugar? Maybe, but not necessarily. Yet that was much easier than what life was throwing at him now.

What information did he have to solve this puzzle?

Mrs. Knooch, an old lady, strangled in her apartment. A grumpy woman sneaking through the house to make sure her neighbors did their duties. Having spent years in Latin America, with her husband, a mining specialist. Returned to Tavetia when he died. Rumored to own a fortune, a rumor corroborated by her supporting Jake in his project.

Jake, her nephew. Her heir? An obvious candidate for the post of murderer provided that he was aware of her fortune—and he must be aware of it because she has given him some for his hotel. And there's Jake's ex-wife, who now has withdrawn from the project and wants her cash back. So the man needs more money. But he has an alibi, at least the police seem to think so. Probably he has spent the night of the murder here at Oberippenberg.

Monica, the police's primary suspect. Dimples and a sweet smile, but short-tempered. Also has spent some years in Latin America, interestingly. Had a shouting match with Knooch, the day before the woman was killed. About that broken egg in the staircase. Says she didn't do it—neither the egg nor the killing. I believe her, right? But her DNA was all over the dead woman's body. And the police found the disposable gloves in her attic, the same type that Knooch's killer was wearing.

Adriana, another sweet neighbor. Rashid, the gossip, overheard her having an agitated discussion with Knooch about cleaning the laundry dryer's fluff filter, some weeks ago. But no one would kill for that, would they? But didn't she, jokingly, confess to being the killer, that night over Roiboos... to having killed her for that show of reality radio? Though the show has never been aired, has it? But she has pestered me with questions about what I told the police at my interview... a radio person's curiosity?

Ralph, having lived under the same roof with Knooch since childhood. Knooch slapped him once, when he was a kid, for bringing that toad into the house. For how long can you hold a grudge? But being Ralph is definitely not easy, with that mother, his perfect surgeon brother, and him nothing but a low-echelon bank employee. It would be interesting to know how Knooch has treated someone like him—not with the outmost respect, probably.

Agatha, Ralph's mother. In her eyes, Knooch must have been the perfect tenant, with her sense of duty, so why should the janitor want to kill her? Well, Knooch had terrorized her son, but that was years ago... or have there been more recent incidents? And Agatha is another person who has quizzed me about what I told the police.

Rashid, puffing behind me now. Could he harbor any evil motives at all? Well, he was the first one Knooch suspected of egg dropping, and that was because of his 'foreign cooking'. And Rashid is all too aware of being a foreigner here, emphasizing it whenever he can. That wouldn't have made Knooch and Rashid natural friends, would it?

And what else is there?

Odds and ends. Ralph's perfect surgeon brother. A maraca of unknown origin found in my attic compartment. A broken egg, heroically cleaned up by yours truly. A smell of mothballs from a blouse lost or hidden behind the washing machine. Knooch's putative paper trackers left on a landing to monitor my sweeping. Monica's bull of a father, and her addiction to her smartphone. A list of the laundry days hanging on the wall behind the washing machine. No one else having a key to the house except those living in it now, and the owner. Who is that owner, anyway?

Lots of information, yet not enough to solve the riddle. Or had he missed a clue?

He had to prod his neighbors some more. He needed further facts.