“Good grief.” She sighed. “She’s really foisted some trouble on me.”
“The moment that fine woman saw the letter,” Matsurika continued, “she declared it to be the jurisdiction of one Kurumi Tokisaki!”
“My jurisdiction?” Kurumi furrowed her brow ever so slightly. While dealing with Matsurika was annoying, she couldn’t imagine Origami saying a thing like that without good reason. “May I see this warning letter?”
“Certainly!” Matsurika nodded theatrically and handed her the envelope.
After scrutinizing the exterior, Kurumi pulled out the paper inside and dropped her eyes to the page. In a rather ordinary typeface, it read:
MAY 18.
TRAGEDY WILL BEFALL THE SUKARABE HOUSE.
THE MAGIC MARKSMAN.
There was nothing particularly noteworthy in the letter. It was written to sound quite meaningful without making any actual, specific threats. The name of the sender, however, was quite curious.
“The Magic Marksman?” she read aloud.
“Yes. That’s Weber, is it not? Oh!” Matsurika raised her eyebrows in sudden realization. “Could the culprit be an opera fan perhaps?!”
The Magic Marksman was indeed an opera by Carl Maria von Weber. This was likely where the snooty perp had gotten their name.
The instant Kurumi saw the name, though, an entirely different thought flitted through her mind.
“You don’t think…?” she murmured, abruptly sinking into thought.
Matsurika tilted her head. “Is something the matter?”
Preposterous. It’s just a coincidence.
But for some reason, the sinking feeling deep in her heart would not allow her to simply let this go.
“…I accept,” she said finally.
“What?”
“I accept your request,” Kurumi repeated. “Please tell me everything.”
“…! Really?!” Matsurika’s face lit up, and she clasped Kurumi’s hand firmly. “Aah! I could cry! To drive off the darkness, intelligence and love and a teensy bit of violence are precisely what one needs!”
Her dramatic response made Kurumi already regret her decision, but… Well, that ship had sailed. There was nothing to be done now.
She shrugged with an exasperated sigh and rolled her eyes. “Allow me to ask you this: Why do you speak so formally? No matter how noble or wealthy the family, no one speaks so stiffly.”
“I believe you are the last person with the right to say such a thing!” Matsurika cried, exasperation increasing her volume tenfold.
“…”
Shortly after the murder of the detective, Kurumi sat in one of the Sukarabe mansion’s many rooms, deep in thought.
He had been in the very center of the hall—everyone in attendance watched him get shot. That was the long and the short of it. Police officers and the family’s own security guards alike witnessed it. The number of angles available to the shooter had been limited. They would likely find the culprit soon enough.
For some reason, though, there was something off about the situation—like a loose tooth she couldn’t stop poking with her tongue. Kurumi stroked her chin as she sank deeper into thought.
At least, she tried to.
“Ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah! Wh-whatever shall we do?! What is to be done?! A major crime has occurred in my home!”
This wasn’t exactly an ideal environment for brainstorming.
Matsurika shouted and flapped her hands as she whipped her head around, perhaps seeking somewhere to rest her gaze. Kurumi sighed briefly as she turned toward her.
“Please calm yourself, Matsurika,” she said evenly.
“You expect me to remain calm after a man was shot before my eyes?!” she shrieked. “How in the world are you so composed, Kurumi?!”
“I’m used to these things.”
“What?”
“Never mind,” Kurumi said absently and scanned the room once again.
Everyone of note in the hall during the shooting was here with them now—Matsurika’s mother and father, four servants, and two bodyguards. A total of ten, including Kurumi and Matsurika. The police officers who had also been present were currently investigating the crime scene.
After the shooting, they couldn’t exactly stay in the hall until it was secured, but they also couldn’t simply go their separate ways—they were all key witnesses. Thus, after being given routine pat downs, they had all been shunted into a room in a different wing. The room was plenty large and furnished nicely enough, so they were comfortable at least.
That said, however, no one looked particularly relaxed. No one was as panicked as Matsurika with her shouting, but Kurumi could tell that they were all trembling slightly.
“…The Magic Marksman,” she murmured.
If it had only been the mysterious letter, that would’ve been one thing, but a man had been shot. Common sense dictated she leave this matter to the police. But an unexplained shooting occurring hot on the heels of the arrival of a warning letter from someone called “The Magic Marksman”…? Kurumi was deeply unsettled.
She took a deep breath. “Matsurika,” she said.
“Y-yes? What is it?” She turned toward Kurumi with wide eyes.
“You said you wished for me to identify the person who sent the letter, yes?”
“Y-yes, I did,” Matsurika replied, sweat beading on her forehead.
Kurumi exhaled shortly and stood up from her chair. “I suppose this should have been that detective’s job, but…seeing as he is no longer with us, that no longer appears to be an option. Your humble Kurumi shall solve this case.”
✦ ✦ ✦
Kurumi left the annex building with Matsurika and walked toward the crime scene.
Yellow tape, the kind often seen in police procedurals, stretched across the entrance to the hall, and she could see several detectives and police officers. She poked her head in. Noticing her, a middle-aged man in an unseasonably warm-looking overcoat walked over to them.
“Hey, whoa. Hold up. You were in here before, yeah?”
“Yes. My name is Kurumi Tokisaki,” she told him. “If you wouldn’t mind, I’d like to take a look around.”
“What?” The man frowned. “Obviously, I can’t let you do that. We’ll come get your statement later, so go sit tight—”
“Oh my!” Matsurika cried as she popped her head out from behind Kurumi. “Couldn’t you spare her just a minute, Uncle Sada?”
“…?!” The moment the man—Sada, apparently—saw Matsurika, his attitude changed abruptly. “M-Miss Matsurika!”
“Kurumi is a detective whom I’ve hired,” Matsurika explained. “I’m certain she’ll be quite helpful.”
“…Aren’t there enough detectives?” Even when Sada replied with the most obvious question, Matsurika showed no sign of balking.
“Here we have one detective for each generation!” she crowed.
“S-sure, right,” Sada said placatingly. “But we have no idea where the shooter might be hiding. I can’t expose you and your friend to that kind of danger.”
“Oh my! I’m certain we’ll be fine in the company of so many excellent officers.”
“B-but, Miss—”
“Am I really not allowed?” Matsurika asked with puppy dog eyes.
A baffled look flashed across Sada’s face, but eventually, he sighed in resignation. “…Just this once. On two conditions: You stay where I can see you, and you don’t touch anything.”
“Absolutely!” Matsurika beamed. “Right, Kurumi?”
“Yes, yes. Understood.” Kurumi nodded and stepped into the hall with Matsurika in tow. Sada trailed after them, shaking his head.
“…Well done, Matsurika,” Kurumi whispered. “You got us access to the crime scene.”
“Oh-hoh-hoh-hoh! A big family can be quite convenient, you see!” Matsurika replied with a high-pitched laugh. Although she had been shaking like an anxious Chihuahua earlier, she appeared to have recovered to a degree.
The exchange between Matsurika and Sada did make Kurumi feel like she’d caught a glimpse into the darkness of a stratified society, but class issues aside, a stroke of luck allowed them to search the scene. She decided to reserve her commentary for another time and stepped forward.
A remarkably large bloodstain had bloomed like a red flower in the center of the hall, right where the detective had been shot.