Chapter 4: Of Songs and Townsfolk

Mi Fan started tossing small pebbles at me, trying to get my attention. I knew exactly what she wanted. She wanted to see the body. And for that very reason, I wouldn’t let her.

Of course, my dear friend Tsingtao would have let her, no problem. That tiger never budgedAlways with his “people in my family must be strong” speech, as if strength were the only thing that mattered.

But we play differently.

Right at that moment, Sheriff Mastiff approached with his usual air of small-town superiority. I suppose he was coming to see the body, maybe to take it to the morgue… or the river. In this town, we didn’t know what to expect anymore.

—"Ready to turn yourself in?" —he asked with a twisted smile, glancing at the curious and morbidly fascinated townspeople watching from a distance.

I stood up calmly, taking my time to look him up and down, as if I were assessing the situation.

—"No." —I said, without losing my smile—. This crime was committed by someone well-versed in ancient languages." —I turned to the townspeople, raising my hands as if putting on a live show—. Someone like me.

The sheriff frowned, clearly tired of my remarks. His hand rested dangerously close to his gun.

—"That’s exactly why you did it."

I sighed dramatically, bringing a hand to my forehead in a theatrical gesture.

—"I did not!" —I replied, leaning toward the sheriff with an ironic smile—. If I had, at least the phrases would’ve been written correctly." —I leaned in even further, whispering in his direction—. The accents are important, sheriff.

The townspeople around us didn’t know whether to take it seriously or not, but I saw Mi Fan roll her eyes from her corner, clearly impatient with my performance.

—"Besides, this looks like a ritual." —I said, pointing to the inscriptions around the body—. But a poorly done one. Very poorly done."

The sheriff looked at me for a long second, as if unsure whether to shoot me or laugh. Then, without another word, he spat on the ground, staring at the corpse with a mix of disgust and frustration.

—"Listen, cat..." —he began, his tone hardening—. I don’t care if you know more about this than anyone here. To me, you’re still the prime suspect."

I met his gaze, holding it without losing my composure.

—"Sheriff, you’re still looking for answers where there are none." —I said in a calm voice—. This whole situation is probably much more complex than it seems. The killer Seems to have been grasping at straws and trust me if they were not, , we’d be in much bigger trouble."

The sheriff pressed his lips together, clearly frustrated by the lack of concrete evidence and my relaxed attitude.

—"See you soon, cat." —he said finally, turning and walking away with heavy steps.

As the sheriff approached the body with a black plastic bag, Mi Fan threw one last pebble at me. This time, she hit my arm. I turned toward her with a smile.

—"I don’t know how much longer you can keep playing this game." —she said, unable to hide her concern.

I shrugged and gave her a carefree smile.

—"Don’t worry, little lady." —I said, turning back to the body—

The town’s restaurant was a small place tucked into a corner, giving it the false impression of being bigger than it actually was. There was a large window facing the street, and I couldn’t help but notice its resemblance to that famous painting… what was it called again? the one of the diner without a door. I smiled to myself, almost involuntarily. A few years ago, I tried to get into art, but I never really found the appeal. My family, in their infinite patience, made it a tradition: gifting me paintings in hopes that something would eventually click in my head.

I have to admit, over time, it worked. Now, I had gained an appreciation for art… or so I thought. I even ended up drawing a fan comic, although I’m not sure if that counts as growth or just killing time.

I stopped my daily musings and walked in with the little lady. The ball chained to me dragged behind us, and I had already gotten used to its constant sound, just like the jangle of coins in a pocket,only louder. Mi Fan let go of my hand as soon as we crossed the door, moving forward with determination, inspecting every corner, her sharp eyes scanning for any sign of danger.

Satisfied with her sweep, she returned with that proud expression of having completed her mission. I gave her a thumbs-up for her effort, and she, without changing her serious face, sat beside me.

—"Welcome to the Sapphire of the Sun, my name is Raul: owner, cook, accountant… and town lawyer," —a voice greeted us from behind the counter. When I turned, I saw a well-dressed meerkat, wearing a suit straight out of the 1930s, a white shirt, and a red bow tie, topped off with a small waiter’s hat that gave him the perfect touch of anachronism.

We approached, and I saw how the meerkat slightly shrank behind the counter, as if trying to make himself invisible.

—"How can I help you?" —he asked with a nervous smile.

I took a moment to observe the place. There were six townsfolk scattered throughout the diner, and only one empty spot in the corner.

—"Table for two... and your best hot chocolate." —I finally responded.

—"For the little girl, I suppose? And for you?"

—"The girl? No, no..." —I laughed, winking—. "The chocolate is for me. She wants a double espresso."

Mi Fan shot me a sharp look, clearly unimpressed by my joke. I raised my hands in a gesture of peace.

—"Alright, two hot chocolates and your best dish."

—"Two hot chocolates and two apple fritters." —Raúl responded, forcing a smile.

We both said it at the same time: The best in the world.

I moved closer to the counter, hoping to catch a glint of camaraderie in the meerkat’s eyes, hoping to share the light joke of the moment.

But he slowly began to sink, sliding down behind the counter, as if trying to disappear from the space he occupied. His fear was palpable. And then I felt it—the weight of the shackle on my foot. Ah, of course... I’m accused of murder.

—"Don’t worry, my good Raúl, I’m not a murderer. I’m as innocent as Chandler in that Friends episode where he accidentally told everyone that Ross was in love with Rachel and then tried to deny it like it was someone else’s fault." —I gave him my best "everything is under control" face.

Raúl just stared at me. His expression didn’t change one bit, his eyes remained firm, unwavering. But we liked to believe that, deep down in his mind, something had shifted, that maybe, just maybe, he had stopped seeing me as a threat. Although, of course, we’ve always been optimistic by nature.