Nic looks upon the woman sitting across his desk in horror. It couldn’t be possible. Sure, it had to be considered from a professional standpoint, but never in a million years would he suspect that his mother, loved by all that met her, could have truly been the victim of a homicide! The only suspects could be the criminals she’d put away in prison, but they couldn’t possibly have escaped life sentences and murdered their well-known prosecutor without anyone knowing, could they?

       “H-how… How could you possibly know that’s what really happened to her?” Nic finally sputters out after a minute that felt more like an hour. “What evidence could you of all people have to prove your plea?”

       Clearing her throat, Melissa begins explaining how her sister had called her the previous afternoon but was fairly inaudible and speaking in the manner of someone who has just been chased into an alleyway by a group of haphazard adolescents. “I could only gather a few words clearly before the line went dead, but I could very clearly hear her say ‘-call for help. He’s still inside!-’, and then the line went dead after that. I have no clue as to their meaning, but anyone with half a mind can clearly gather that a rather dangerous male was inside her flat trying to do her harm and that that someone succeeded in doing just that. Can’t you see? You must use this information to find this man before he escapes or strikes again,” the woman cried in hysterics once more.

       Suddenly, before the Detective had the chance to respond, the phone rang. He answers, hoping for another clue to help him solve the daunting mystery before him.

     “Yes?” he asked.

     “Detective,” a deep voice on the other line responded, “I have the autopsy report on Angela Morgan. Would you like to come take a look yourself or should I just call for your intern in your place? He seems to be in need of actual field experience.”

      Nic almost laughs at the slight sarcasm in the other man’s question and his comment because both of them already knew what his answer would be. “No, Doctor, I don’t think that will be necessary. I can handle this one myself, thank you very much,” he says with a chuckle that quickly turns into a frown. “I’ll be right down.”

       He hangs up the phone and looks to the woman in front of him. “That was the ME’s office letting me know that the autopsy on mother is ready whenever I am. You can come with me, of course, but I’m used to the things that go on down there. You really aren’t,” the Detective explains with a hint of a smirk.

       “No, that’s quite alright. I can hold my own. She was my sister after all, and I for one am desperate for answers,” she says while sighing deeply with a troubled look on her face.

      “Don’t say I didn’t warn you then.”

      On that note, Nic and his aunt start for the elevator, pressing the button for the basement of the station where the Medical Examiner’s office resides. The elevator slowly descends, almost as if it knew what lay ahead of them. A loud ding goes off, and the doors open to reveal Doctor Carson, the Medical Examiner, holding a manila folder in one hand and his glasses in the other. Even though he works with the dead for a living, Joseph Carson is a cheerful man in his late thirties with bright, calculating blue eyes and cropped dirty blonde hair. He was one of the first people to befriend Nic when he was first starting out and often still jokes about Nicolas being too young to do his job accurately. As Nic and Mel walk toward him, Carson smiles and gestures for them to follow him to an autopsy table where a body lay, covered by a thin yet opaque white sheet.

      “My condolences Nic. And who might this be? It’s as if this was all a dream and the lovely Angie is here before me now,” says the doctor.

      “I’m Melissa, Angela’s twin sister and Nic’s aunt,” replies the Angela look-alike herself.

      “We can deal with pleasantries later. What have you discovered, Doctor? Do you know the cause of death? Because Mel here believes this was the cause of murder by an intruder that was seemingly male,” explains Nic without pausing to take a single breath.

      “No, young Nicolas, I have no cause of death for sure yet, but I do know that this could have been an accident. There was a foreign substance in her stomach that could be poison, and I’ve sent it to the lab to be tested already. We will know within the hour. As to this tale your aunt has told, it couldn’t possibly be true. There is no sign of a break in or struggle, and Ms. Morgan’s body was not physically harmed by another person. There are no fingerprints other than her own and the only DNA we have found in her apartment was her own, other than your own from the moment you stumbled upon her and called it in. The glass and ceramic shards provide evidence of fright or or a fall while she had been holding them, in which case, supports the theory of an intruder. The only thing that troubles me are the traces of wheat and poppy seeds within her intestines,” provides the doctor.

      Suddenly, Nic realizes something that could shed some more light on the subject. “Mel, if mom called you yesterday afternoon, why is it that you’ve only just arrived an hour ago today? Unless of course you flew in yesterday and talked to mom before her untimely death,” Nic inquires in all seriousness towards the woman at his side.

      Mel looks at his with a realistic hurt expression. “Are you implying that you suspect me of murdering my own sister in cold blood? I loved Angela. I still do. I would never have done something so cruel to another person,” she claims quietly as she starts towards the elevator doors. Moments later, only Nic, the Doctor and the cold body of Angela Morgan remain in the basement of the police station.

      “With all due respect Detective, I have seen worse cases in my days, but I’ve also met better liars and actors than she. If you want to do the right thing, you should investigate her whereabouts, starting with yesterday afternoon up to this morning,” says Carson. “It would be the professional thing to do.”

      Nic looks at him for a moment before turning and leaving without another word. He decides to take the stairs to avoid any contact with anyone, especially his aunt. Could she have made everything up to cover her own tracks? With enough experience, anyone could be a good enough liar. But Mel? He would have to see this for himself. As he walks outside to his car, he thinks it is time to talk to his uncle who, to Nic’s surprise, is staying in a hotel not far from the station, waiting for Mel to return . He gets out of his car, walks into the hotel and up to room 202 where his uncle said he would be staying until after the funeral. Once he reaches the door, he knocks and smiles as it opens.

      “Nicolas Morgan! It has been far too long since we last talked. Come in, Come in. I was just about to have tea,” greets the man once Nic shuts the door behind him. Landon, his uncle’s first name, is a man of average height with the typical English accent and stereotypical British love for tea. “I will be right back, and we can talk over tea.”

      Once Landon returns with two cups of tea and a small plate of sugar cubes, they both take seats opposite one another across the coffee table in the makeshift living area of the hotel room. Nic takes his cup and adds three cubes of sugar, the same way his mother did, before starting with his questions.

      “I’m here strictly on business, and I have a few questions that I am hoping you can answer for me. Around when would you say that you and my aunt both arrived here in Paris? The time and date would be most appreciated,” Nic explains.

      “We arrived here early yesterday morning when Melissa told me she needed to see her sister about some mysterious phone call. She didn’t seem worried as much as she seemed nervous, but when I asked about her strange behavior, she said she had to confront Angie about something, though she never went into any detail,” he begins.

      “So you arrived early yesterday morning? And Mel went to see my mother that same morning?”

      “Yes, that is the truth. Melissa left with a basket of her sister’s favorite poppyseed muffins that were fresh from the oven, and she returned to this room around three hours later, looking frightened and relieved all in the same. All she told me was that her and Angela had gotten into an argument and that it got heated quickly.”

      “Interesting. Is there anything else you are able to recall? If I’m to solve this mystery, I need all the facts.”

      “No, lad, I don’t remember anything more of importance. Is that all? I have other errands to attend to before Melissa returns.”

      After saying goodbye, Nic heads downstairs to his car. As he opens the driver side door, his cell phone rang with a call from Doctor Carson. “Hello?”

      “Nic, I want to say that you should get back as fast as you can, but there’s something you must know. The lab results just came back. The foreign substance I was telling you about, the one in your mother’s stomach contents, was found to be a synthetic form of arsenic that caused her airway to close shortly after she ingested it. The hives on various spots of her skin were the result of an allergic reaction to almond extract contained in her stomach contents. The ceramic shards also contained traces of the extract and grains of wheat, as did your mother’s fingers. The almond extract was clearly used to cover up the arsenic in her system and make everyone believe her allergy to tree nuts killed her, not the synthetic poison. There’s one more thing: your aunt’s fingerprints were found on the back gate of the complex and the window sill to the room next to your mom’s. A neighbor complained about loud voices coming from her room yesterday afternoon and remembered hearing a crash before everything went silent. Why this was not looked into, I do not know, but if I were you, I would call your aunt in NOW and put an APB out on her car just in case she tries to make a break for it,” cries Carson without a moment’s hesitation.

      As soon as he finishes speaking, he hangs up and calls his aunt into the station. Though she sounded on edge, she reluctantly agreed. Nic starts his car and speeds to his office. He runs into the station to see his aunt sitting down in the waiting area. She looks up and meets his gaze, but when she sees his hand slowly slides down to his handcuffs, she stands up and briskly starts for the door.

      “Stop that woman! She’s a murderer, a liar and has betrayed us all. She killed Angela Morgan. She is the one who killed my mother,” Nic shouts to his colleagues.

      Before he could reach her, the officer closest to the door, Officer Smith, tackles her to the ground and handcuffs her hands behind her back as Nic slowly makes his way to the struggling woman being pulled off the floor. He stops in front of her and looks her in the eyes, holding back the tears that threaten to fall. How could she?! She murdered her own sister.

      “Why? Why did you do it?”

      She glares at him with a ferocity that could rival any other before speaking in a low, threatening tone. “Why, you ask. Because even when she was married to your father, my fiancé at the time, who is now your uncle, was pining after her! Because when he bought her that crystal heart for her birthday only days before, I knew it had gone too far. I refused to pretend nothing was going on. Not once had he spent that much on a single present for me, and I hated her for it all. I knew she would not pass up the opportunity of a poppyseed muffin with her twin sister. I knew she would never suspect anything out of the ordinary until it was too late. I would’ve gotten away with it if she hadn’t tried calling for help. Though, I admit the yelling was mostly me. She deserved everything that happened to her.”

       Nic looks at her for a moment before deciding that the woman before him is not his aunt any longer. “You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to speak to an attorney, and to have an attorney present during any questioning . . .”

      As Nicolas Morgan finished reciting the Miranda Rights to the monster he once knew, he couldn’t help but feel alone. He had no living, immediate family left besides his uncle who shared not a drop of blood with him.

      “Great work, Detective,” says the chief with a wide grin. “Your parents would be so proud that they raised a son that rivaled the legendary Sherlock Holmes himself.”

      In the end, it seems that no one truly gets away with crime with impunity. And with that, Nic decided it was time to go home. To his real home, back in Topeka, Kansas. Once there, he would start his life over again, never forgetting the wonderful woman he called his mom.