Chapter 3: Who-Dun-it

We can be many things. A cat from Mauria, the CEO of Mahayan Industries, a prankster beyond compare... but never a murderer. Well, except for that one time, but that was self-defense, so it doesn’t really count.

Mi Fan and I sat in a rundown village sheriff’s office, the kind of place where hope had retired long ago. The walls were painted a pale green that did little to improve the mood. The room was small, with three chairs and a metal table that looked older than the station itself. I touched the surface, its coldness reminding me of the days when we built trains. We used to make a lot of things out of metal—things that weighed heavy, lasted long... and chilled to the touch.

Mi Fan, meanwhile, was visibly tense. Her ears twitched slightly, and although she maintained her composure, I knew deep down she probably felt like she had failed in her mission to protect me.

“Everything will be fine, little lady,” I said, trying to inject some calm into my voice, though, as usual, I couldn’t resist a touch of humor.

“If you handle the interrogation, nothing will be fine,” Mi Fan replied, giving me a once-over with a mix of reproach and exhaustion.

“Ouch!” I exclaimed, clutching my chest in mock pain. “I’m a good talker!”

She didn’t look convinced, and to be honest, neither was I. But what else could we do at this moment?

“Besides,” I added, sitting up straighter with a confident smile, “we know we didn’t do anything.”

Mi Fan just looked at me for a moment longer before rolling her eyes, the look saying everything: We'll see.

The door creaked open, and in walked a middle-aged man—a bovine, probably a sheep—moving with a deliberate swagger. His brown sheriff’s uniform looked freshly pressed, and his badge gleamed under the dim lights of the room. He wore aviator sunglasses so oversized, they seemed pulled directly from a guide on “how to be a sheriff in an 80s movie.” His whole demeanor screamed power, but not the kind that truly impresses. It was more like the power of someone who feels like a big fish in a tiny pond.

He plopped down in the chair across from us, exuding an arrogance so palpable, I almost yawned. I’d seen it so many times on TV shows that his act bored me a little. But we knew how to play the game, so I smiled. You always have to smile.

“I’m Sheriff Mastiff, and if you ask me, you two should just confess now. The case is pretty cut and dry,” he grumbled, chewing on something—gum, maybe, or tobacco, I couldn’t tell. Whatever it was, the sheriff seemed confident that his job was already done.

I couldn’t help myself. I shot up from my chair with dramatic flair, throwing one hand into the air as if I were on a movie set.

“No! I’m innocent! As innocent as... as Richard Kimble in The Fugitive!” I exclaimed, leaning toward the sheriff with theatrical intensity.

Mi Fan brought her hand to her face, letting out a sigh that sounded like she regretted ever bringing me here.

“Officer, we were in the hotel all night. You can ask the innkeeper,” Mi Fan said, her tone much more professional and steady than mine. Well done, little lady. She was handling the situation calmly.

But the sheriff merely snorted and leaned forward, fixing Mi Fan with a look of indifference and mild contempt.

“She sleeps like a rock. Anyone could’ve snuck out, committed the murder, and come back before dawn.” He shook his head, as if the conversation was already resolved in his mind.

I slumped back in my chair, watching him. I couldn’t resist another comment, this time quieter:

“I think I’ve seen this before... in practically every detective show ever made.” I murmured to Mi Fan, who shot me a quick look—somewhere between annoyed and amused.

“You’re not helping, Mister Ma... Mimic,” she muttered, keeping her eyes on the sheriff.

Sheriff Mastiff looked between the two of us with that peculiar mix of disdain and authority that only someone who has too much power in too small a town can muster.

“We’ve got two suspects... a little girl who thinks she’s grown, and a white cat from Mauria,” he said, letting his words linger in the air, clearly enjoying the weight of his accusation.

I put on my best smile, the one we always practiced. The one that said, nothing to worry about, everything’s under control. But, of course, the situation wasn’t under control.

"The truth is, you're both ridiculous," the sheriff continued, his tone growing more contemptuous by the second. "Two foreigners showing up in a town like this. The esteemed Mauria and... Zhou." He looked us up and down, as if just mentioning where we were from disgusted him. "I've never left my town, let alone the country."

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes, but the tension in the air was already thicker than before. Mi Fan remained silent, but I saw her subtly clench her fists.

"Traveling so far just to murder a respected member of our community..." He paused, then let slip what he was really thinking, barely masking his disdain. "The red threat must still be among us."

Mi Fan kept her composure, but I didn't. My tail bristled instantly. We weren’t going to let that slide.

"That's racist!" I spat, standing up from my chair, eyes locked on the sheriff. I knew staying calm was the best approach, but sometimes you just have to respond. "Zhou has been re-establishing relations with countries across the world for years now."

The sheriff barely blinked, but his disdain was clear. Mi Fan said nothing, though her ears were tense, a subtle sign of how irritated she was. It was clear she wanted to step in, but for the moment, she let me handle it.

"It's not like we're stuck in the 60s anymore. And as for Mauria..." I started, but the sheriff cut me off.

"Silence!" he barked, slamming his palm down on the table. "I don’t need a lesson in geopolitics. That stuff doesn’t matter in Hemlock Ridge. Here, we breathe and love our country—Manipura."

I bit my tongue, but I couldn’t stop the next comment from slipping out.

"Oh, sure, you love it so much that I see Maurian trains and buildings all over this town. Even that dance last night was full of Maurian paraphernalia," I said with a cynical smile—something I didn’t often do, but this was personal.

I should have stayed quiet. I wasn’t gaining anything by provoking the sheriff, but something about the way he looked down on Mi Fan made me snap. I wasn’t going to let him belittle her, not while I was around.

The sheriff glared at me, his hand inching closer to the grip of his gun.

"That attitude..." he said, his voice low and threatening, "is the attitude of a killer. You two are guilty of this murder."

My tail lashed in anger, and I stood up abruptly, slamming my hands down on the table.

"Who do you think we’ve killed?" I demanded, unable to contain myself.

The sheriff leaned forward, his cold smile widening and his eyes locking onto mine. He was enjoying this more than he should have.

But then, a familiar voice cut through the tension.

"Enough, Sheriff... and Mister Mimic."