The fog was thick in Oakshott Woods, curling around the trees like ghostly fingers. Everything was quiet, the sounds of rustling leaves and birds hidden by the heavy mist. The woods seemed to hold their breath, as if they knew something was wrong.

And this morning, something was very wrong.

It was another student who found her—at least, that's what people said later. She thought she saw something pale hanging from the branches of an old oak, maybe laundry blown from the line. But when she got closer, she realized the awful truth.

Eleanor Rose Harrington was hanging from the tree by her own scarf. Her face was pale and still, her long hair swaying in the cold breeze. Her shoes, perfectly polished as always, dangled above the ground.

When the teachers came, nobody said the word "murder." Nobody dared. Instead, they started whispering about what had happened. "She must have done it herself," they said. It was easier to believe that, easier to keep everything quiet. Deepdean had already had enough scandals in the past years.

But Daisy Wells, co-president of the Detective Society, couldn't believe it. Standing at the edge of the woods among the other girls, her eyes caught details others seemed to overlook: the peculiar way the scarf was knotted, the scrape of mud on Eleanor's otherwise spotless shoes, the unnatural wrinkles in her clean uniform. And most troubling of all—the absence of footprints beneath the tree.

Something wasn't right. Daisy could feel it. 

Because Eleanor wasn't the type to wander into the woods alone. And Daisy was certain of one thing: Someone had overturned the dirt underneath the body of Eleanor Rose Harrington.