RoseBlood

The Case

There are plenty of empty notebooks in the drawer under my bed, so the first thing I do after breakfast is rush upstairs and choose one with slightly yellowed pages and a deep navy cover, thin gold patterns on the front outlining shapes of planets and stars. Proper art and stationery shops are my go-to places for writing materials, and my parents are more than happy to buy the slightly overpriced items from there because, well, they're slightly overpriced, so automatically better.

I open it to the first navy starting page, write 'Casebook One - Holly Cassia' in white marker pen, then turn to the clean sheet of yellow-white, thin navy lines spaced evenly. I grab a pen, jot down the date in the margin, and start to write.

The Case of Paranoia

What I Know: Bobby Cassia is certain that he recognised someone who was briefly seen in attendance at the party/gathering they attended on Wednesday evening. He also stated that he felt like he was being followed at the time he and his wife Judith left said gathering.

Timings: The couple left at

I pause, thinking back to when Dad came into my room and asked about what I was reading before they both went off. I always wear the smartwatch Mum bought me last year, just in case of anything like this. I bite my lip, then my pen meets the paper again.

The couple left at 19:37. The party was approximately fifteen minutes away, meaning that they were there at 19:52. They came back home late at night, at 22:54, meaning they left it at approximately 22:39. This concludes that the follower on the way home was present between 22:39-22:54, a fifteen-minute duration.

Links: The familiar face at the gathering could very possibly be the follower.

Explanations: Not yet determined.

Follow up: Question Bobby Cassia.

I sigh and put my pen down, leaning back on the headboard of my bed. I could just ask Dad for a completely accurate recap of what the person looked like at the gathering and where he might have recognised them from. But even though he doesn't catch on to the reasons behind my questions as quickly as Mum does - pursed lips, a knowing glare and she saunters off - I still need to avoid being obvious. I just can't take the lectures about treating life like a limitless murder mystery, ending in Hayley coming over to 'check on me' more often.

Instead, I sneak them in throughout the day, between them working at home and preparing for my birthday party, though all that'll identify it as mine is the cake. Lizzie works in the kitchen with a content but tired smile on her face, and Dad types busily in the main room. I sit next to him on the sofa with a book in my hands, and he glances up at me in slight surprise and confusion at my being here. I ignore it, stopping myself from grimacing as I ask him about how his work's going. Ten minutes later, I bring it up and drop the questions as casually as I can.

"I guess all that made the party odd was the person you recognised," I suggest with a mild look of interest on my face. Dad frowns and nods.

"Well, yes. I- I wouldn't say odd, but, well, you know. Just a tad unusual."

That's the same thing, Dad.

"Maybe he was just an old client," I say, and he shrugs.

"Mm. Maybe. Though I usually recognise the difference between people from work and just people in general, friends, that sort of thing. I didn't get a good look at their face, and to be quite honest, I wasn't really paying attention. In the middle of a conversation and all. So I couldn't tell if it was a man or woman, but... well, they just stood near a doorway with their eyes fixed on me. A little disturbing, but I brushed it off."

"Maybe they mistook you for someone else," I respond, and he nods again.

"Yes, that must be it. Nothing to worry yourself about, anyway."

"Course not," I agree with a smile, and laugh, daring to add, "as if you'd know anyone who'd stalk you."

Dad smiles, but then the expression freezes, before it turns into an alarmed frown, with what looks like annoyance in recognition of my antics.

"H-Holly, that's enough."

"What?"

"Don't treat this like some... some Agatha Christie crime," he continues, standing up with a huff and clutching his laptop to his chest. "It's... that's enough."

Then he hurries off, and I'm left staring after him in matching annoyance and confusion.

What I know: Bobby Cassia didn't get a good enough look at the familiar face at the gathering, but it was described as watching him intently, making Bobby feel uncomfortable.

Explanations: Bobby seemed defensive at the mention of someone he knew attempting to follow him and Judith Cassia.

Follow up: Looking for anything new around the street the Cassias live on. Question Judith Cassia.

Like questioning your Mum's going to be any easier, I think, and shake my head, putting the case book away safely and going back downstairs. I open the front door and step out, a wave of fresh, afternoon breeze hitting my face. I pull the door to, knowing my parents won't question me going out - probably won't even notice - and start walking down the street full of perfectly spaced houses on each side, the white paint on the bricks still clean, unblemished whites, even though the houses have been here for ages.

I pull out my phone and earphones, connecting them and putting mystery ambience music from YouTube. It sounds stupid, but it helps me a lot when it comes to thinking and getting in the right frame of mind for the loose ties I have to work with at the moment.

Bobby could just have been tipsy and paranoid, you know that. You say he's not one to get paranoid, but how do you know for sure? It's been a while since you were actually togeth-

"Shut up," I hiss at myself, like some crazy person, stopping under a tree at the end of the street and leaning on its trunk.

Face it, Holls, the nagging doubts continue. You're just desperate for a disaster. Is that really such a good thing? Not everything goes as it does in a book. There's no writer in reality.