The next day we immediately went back to visit the scene again. Mr. Cake, in a black suit and bowler hat, looks dapper, while I'm just wearing a casual white dress with a polar bear motif. Even his hair was made to look slippery. I'm pretty sure it's because of the attractiveness of yesterday's woman, Miss Belladonna, he's slightly improved in appearance.
My stomach feels quite churning, breakfast sandwiches are not enough. Maybe I should accept reality, as Mr. Cake said before, my appetite is indeed excessive. I just think practically, if the solution is to eat enough. Enough but is according to my portion.
The constables were still on guard and invited us in.
In the front was immediately greeted where the murder took place, a spacious living room of prime size. We told Miss Belladonna to wait in the parlor which was not too wide and too narrow.
We wandered around the ground floor, entering the two bedrooms, one of which belonged to Miss Belladonna, which had been made for the interrogation waiting room last night. The room is ideal, tidy and completely free of dust.
Mr. Cake checked some bookshelves, I followed behind. Turns out I was right, Miss Belladonna has a few books on maid etiquette. In addition there are also books with covers on animals and plants. Mr. Cake takes the title at least written the word psychological.
Before we go out, Mr. Cake also had time to pick up the sheets that I think look like notes. It was taken from the drawer of the room.
One other room is wider. It is different from Miss Belladonna's, this room was carpeted. In the middle of bed was a fairly large photograph, of a half-bald man with a mustache and eyebrows like a bad guy. I'm starting to think that the guy called Ulric is a little less like him. The bed is enough for three people and right next to the teak wood drawer there is a small display case containing two miniature multi-storey buildings. This place is just as clean, except for the outside of the wardrobe.
Then, we walked towards the kitchen which turned out to be connected to the dining room. Not that it is narrow, but the placement of the furniture is made a little more spaced. At least it's a little nicer than ours, even though it's a home kitchen. Everything looks classy but not too fancy though, but that doesn't mean it's cheap either. It was precisely at this place, as Miss Belladonna said, that Miss Diana Ulric died.
Without further ado, we rushed to the second floor. Three bedrooms, with two of them empty. It's a place for guests to stay, said Miss Belladonna before we went up the stairs. While the other room is a place that is almost as large as the one below with a photo of a man with a mustache and sharp eyebrows.
This room blatantly whispered to us that it was for women. The smell of some cosmetics also has a make-up place that looks magnificent. Again and again with teak wood, professional carving and looks unique. There are two shelf filled with medicines and vitamins. One of them is a sedative. Mr. Cake tried to check the bottles. There are also several syringes labeled with insulin after the bottles were removed one by one from the shelf.
After that we headed to the remaining two rooms. The rooms are ordinary, but one of them is more dusty. Even so it wasn't like a pile of dust, but it was probably just cleaned about four days ago. And in the dusty room, placed more things, shelves, and boxes. It looks a little stifling, even though its position is set at a distance using the concept in the kitchen earlier. These items include books, jacks, tools, cleaning supplies placed on shelves, and lots of boxes. Inside the box were lots of mixed unused bottles, in the form of bottles of medicine, ethanol and several small bottles made of glass.
"What are you doing, Feline?" Mr. Cake sifted through the bottles while looking back with an annoyed expression that looked like he needed my help.
While I was a little disturbed by some slightly interesting book covers. I usually like reading fairy tale books like this.
"Mr. Cake, look! This is the book I usually read first!” I said gleefully and excitedly that brought him here but with a disgruntled face. "Well, I haven't read all of them."
"Are you sure it's time for storytelling?" he said slowly, squinting his eyes at me for a moment.
Even though the cover and title are attractive, that doesn't mean the content isn't. Some of those titles are Cinderella, The Three Little Pigs, Little Red Ridding Hood, Hansel & Gretel, Von Mohr, The Pied Piper of Hamelin, Rumpelstiltskin, Rapunzel, and Hamlet & Ophelia.
Mr. Cake furrowed his brow for a moment, he took the two titles of the book.
“Say, Feline, which one have you read before?”
"Eh? Well..." I slightly embarrassedly pointed at a book title with an illustration of a blonde woman wearing a graceful dress.
Mr. Cake sighed, he shook his head lightly. His eyeballs rolled. I’m forced to ready for his chatter sarcasm.
“L-listen, it's not like… I-I have the money to buy those books, correct?” I said with a slightly forced smile.
“I guess it's about 60% when you say 'the book I usually read first!' but it's only one book? Moreover, there is no one who has never heard of Cinderella." His tone grew irritated.
Mr. Cake has a point. He still has two books in his hand. One of the books was tucked into his coat. But he still looked confused at the book he was still holding.
"What's the matter Mr. Cake." I raised my eyebrows. "What's so weird about that?"
“I rarely read fairy tales. But Hansel & Gretel and Rapunzel have a unique story. What's the problem with this book?" He held his chin, staring at the book in surprise.
“Hamlet & Ophelia? Well, maybe a romantic story that ends in a cliché, like Cinderella. Poor woman who-"
“Yes, it does contain romance, but it's not a cliché, Feline. Plus, it's not like a fantasy Cinderella story with apples, mirrors, princes, bleh!” Mr. Cake interrupted with a slight mockery of the book I've ever read.
“Yeah, whatever, Mr. Cakes," I said giving in.
Then put it back in the pile of books. He asked me to illuminate with the flashlight on my cell phone the bottles in the right corner. Mr. Cake lifted one of the bottles that resembled a thinner bottle like a tiny jar. Or maybe smaller? I don't know, I'm not an artist who remembers all the equipment.
"What's the matter, Mr. Cakes?" I asked him whose eyes were glaring at the label on the tiny little bottle that resembled a thinner bottle.
"Well... I'm trying to read this old label."
Not only was it worn out, but only a quarter of it remained. Even in the initial letters it looks blurry. Immediately, he took out a small notebook, then tore two pieces of paper, and a pen from his pocket. Then it was given to me.
He sighed as if this was going to be heavy. Well, I even have a lot of questions with at least ten boxes surrounding this room, what do we do with that?
“Write down everything in the cardboard around here the name of the label on each bottle. Take a bottle representative of the name. If it's a twin then leave it."
He gave me easy-to-understand examples.
"Everything?" I asked a little complaining,
He ignored me and immediately did his own part. I was dominant on the left side, while Mr. Cakes instead.
Honestly, I want to ask who is sleeping in this room? It was indeed a room, because there was a bed. If Miss Belladonna swallowed the words that the two rooms were for guests, the problem was what kind of guest sleeps in a place that looks like a warehouse? Although I must admit the mattress was not dusty, the night light also had no cobwebs. It's just that seeing some things that shouldn't be in the room seems to change the impression of the room itself.
Cardboard after cardboard…
Until my forehead dripped with sweat from my hard work. There has been a result that I put several bottles sideways and separated. For a moment, glancing at the names on the label, which I wrote page after page carefully, I realized how small my brain was. I have absolutely no idea other than this bottle looks like a thinner or a vitamin that I bought at Madame Odnery's pharmacy when Mr. Cake told me to.
Cardboard after cardboard… sheet by sheet…
This feels a little weird. Why do we depend on a cell phone flashlight when the sun voluntarily shares its light? Okay, let's say I get it. But…
"Why doesn't this room have a window?" I asked with a heavy heart.
The question was so deep in my mind that it was beyond reach. Same with the walls in this room, covered with carpet.
I'm still carrying out the task that Mr. Cakes.
Cardboard after cardboard… sheet by sheet…
ns 18.68.4.78da2
