Workshops are usually the safest places on Earth. Follow a couple of basic rules and you're safer than whatever's stuffed inside a teddy bear's belly. But on August 12th, at exactly 12:46 PM, local police got a call about a dead body in one of these cozy little workshops. A Mr. Tomas Sage.

  Grace Avery showed up early. Her steps were crisp, her back straight enough to shame a ruler. She was never the bossy type, but she had a stubborn pride in how she presented herself—and, unfortunately, in how others saw her. Even though it caused her more headaches than she'd ever admit, she still bothered to look put-together. Stepping inside, she took in the layout of the workshop.

  Well—" workshop." It was really just Tomas' garage on its best behavior. A nice, neat rectangle where most of the space had been transformed into a shrine of everything Tomas had ever built. Decorations, toys, knick-knacks, both tiny enough to choke on and big enough to trip over. Grace's eyes drifted from piece to piece, picking them apart mentally. Only about a quarter of the room was actually a work area, separated by a wall and a small window. And it was through that window that Grace first spotted Tommas' body.

  Inside the work area, she found him slumped at his desk, head drooped forward like he'd fallen asleep mid-sentence. His face was smeared in both dried and fresh blood, and the dent in his skull left no mysteries: blunt-force trauma. A bloody bat lay a few feet away like it had clocked out after a long day. Grace had seen this before. Blunt weapon to the head? Not exactly groundbreaking.

  "I bet Basil would call this 'unoriginal,'" she muttered with a sigh. She leaned in to examine the body—

  "Well... if it isn't Grace Avery..."

  Grace closed her eyes and exhaled. That voice annoyed her more than Basil and Carwell combined—and that was saying something. She turned, plastering on the fakest pleasant tone humanity had ever produced. "Agent Stella Carson. What a surprise. What are you doing here?"

  Stella's bright blue eyes met hers, dripping with smugness. She flicked her long white hair like she was shooting a shampoo commercial and sashayed past Grace as though she were made of air. "What do you mean? This is my case," she said, already poking around the body with all the grace of a bored raccoon.

  "What? That's nonsense. Mr. Virg assigned this case to me." Grace's glare sharpened. "There's no room for your sloppy work. You can leave now."

  "Oh, sweetheart, I'm not lying." Stella gave her a pitying look that made Grace want to commit a crime herself. "Did you not get the email? Mr. Virg reassigned it. He thinks you're... not the right fit for another case. Something about that partner of yours. Apparently, he's 'unprofessional,' and the fact that you let him run wild reflects badly on you." She shrugged. "Honestly? You should ditch him. Plenty of capable detectives in the sea."

  Grace's jaw tightened. Basil, a pet? A disposable accessory? She took a step forward, fully prepared to introduce Stella's face to the wall, but an officer slid between them like he'd been trained for this exact scenario.

  "Is there a problem?" he asked.

  Stella immediately ducked behind him, pretending to be the fragile damsel, though she still shot Grace a smug, taunting smile over his shoulder.

  "Fine," Grace said, voice clipped. Stella wasn't here for justice, or protocol, or even the case—no, she was here to irritate her, settle some imaginary score, or just cause a scene for the fun of it. And given that Grace never received any reassignment email, Stella was obviously full of it.

  There was only one person she needed right now, someone who wasn't just a pet, but the single best detective there was in the sea. Take one final look at the crime scene. She hopped in a taxi and made her way to the bakery.

  .

  .

  .

  Basil House was a private detective, and not a forgettable one. He had solved his fair share of cases and baffling oddities for all sorts of people, from mysterious yellow-faced figures to murders fueled by painfully uncreative motives. Never, however, had he imagined becoming a consultant for another detective, let alone his old high school classmate.

  Not that he could complain. Far from it.

  He didn't fully understand why or how, but he'd taken a liking to Grace Avery. The cases intrigued him. Grace intrigued him more. And, slowly, their partnership was becoming something else entirely. Sometimes, he caught himself imagining a future with her, not chasing clues, not arguing over deductions, but simply being... friends. Or maybe something more.

  A ridiculous thought for someone like him. Surely.

  But as tempting as it was to keep daydreaming and wasting away in philosophical nonsense, Basil had two tasks to attend to. First: figure out who this mysterious "Q" person was. The question had been scratching at the back of his mind ever since his first case with Grace. Second, and far more immediate, was telling Grace to come in.

  He already knew she was there.

  Grace favored low heels. Sensible ones. That meant her footsteps were crisp, clean, and unmistakable. Far sharper than someone wearing flats or sneakers.

  "Grace," Basil said lazily, staring at the ceiling, "as I've mentioned many times, the door is unlocked."

  The door opened slowly, revealing Grace in all her usual composure, though something sharper lingered in her eyes today. Before Basil could say another word, she marched forward, grabbed him by the arm, and hauled him upright.

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  "Basil, I've got a case I think you'll love!" Grace said, practically buzzing with excitement.

  "Ugh," Basil groaned. "If it's another staged suicide, I'm going back to bed. Those lose their charm after the tenth one."

  "No, no! This is an actual murder. And I need your help."

  Basil looked at her, expression dull but eyes sharp, studying her face. "You're irritated," he said flatly. "Someone mocked you. Or perhaps you ran into a rival."

  Grace stumbled back a step. "How did you know?" she blurted. "Are you spying on me?"

  "No, no. Your life is far too boring to spy on," Basil replied calmly. "I can tell because I see it."

  Ignoring the insult, Grace tilted her head. "You... see it?"

  "Indeed. You entered with sharp eyes, your posture straighter than usual, and you dragged me up without hesitation. Normally, I'd say you were simply in a rush, but you don't behave like this. That means determination. And determination born from anger."

  Grace stiffened.

  "Your eyebrows are lowered despite your best efforts to relax them. Your chest is puffed out, a common gesture when someone's upset." Basil paused, smirking. "Assuming, of course, you aren't attempting to seduce me."

  "O-Of course not! You little—"

  "Anyway," Basil continued smoothly, unfazed, "these are all signs of irritation. You haven't spoken to me yet, so I know I'm not the cause. It can't be Carwell, you're far too used to him by now. Which leaves someone else."

  He leaned forward slightly.

  "And given how striking you are, I imagine there's no shortage of women envious of you. Therefore, a rival."

  Grace looked down as a faint blush crept across her face, completely betraying her. She felt foolish for letting something so childish get under her skin, and even more so for the fact that Basil saw right through her immediately.

  "Look," she said, clearing her throat, "regardless, there's a case. And I want your help. Will you come?"

  She looked up at him then, eyes wide and earnest like a puppy begging for a treat.

  Basil smiled.

  "Tell me about it first."

  Grace grew serious. Sitting down on.... Whatever she could find in Basil's home, she began to explain. Basil listened intently, despite his outward, lazy appearance, he had his full attention on the case. Finally, Grace finished, leaving the curious Basil to process.

  "Hmmmmm, that's quite interesting in deed." Basil said with a serious expression. "Tomas Sage hmmm? That name sounds familiar."

  Grace's ears basically perked up as she heard this, "really?! How?"

  Flipping through some papers on the coffee table, Basil pulled out a small list of names, "I believe he was a client of mine a few weeks back. Something about a missing child. I had to decline the job since was working on a case with you but... that is interesting."

  Hearing this, Grace asked if Basil knew anything about Tomas. Basil's eyes could catch the smallest detail; she was sure that if Basil has seen Tomas alive, he would have worked out his entire life story by a stain on a shirt.

  "Hmm... well he wasn't a very educated man. His school life was most likely mediocre. He had a son.... Hence why he came to me for a missing child. Despite his mediocre academic skills, I could tell he had a niche for building things. Perhaps a woodworker, or some kind of carpenter, or even a sculptor."

  "Anything else?" Grace asked desperately, hoping that there could be something of use.

  "Oh! He also doesn't like his eggs scrambled."

  Grace looked at him with the most unassuming, unsatisfied look in mankind. She decided not to state the elephant in the room, that being how on earth Basil could have worked out the egg information. But she instead decided to ask him the same question.

  "Now that you know the case. Will you come?"

  "Gladly"

  .

  .

  .

  Arriving at the scene, it was to no surprise that the body was gone. After the forensics and investigation team finished their work, the body was pretty quickly moved to a morgue for further inspection, meaning Basil would have to work with what he had.

  Grace followed behind him. It was not the first time she's on a case with him, so she knows the general pattern; Basil looks, he thinks for a bit, and he gets a conclusion or a clue. This was no different. Like all the other mysteries, he first observed the room to get a basic understanding of the victim.

  "I see, he is a sculptor after all. And a good one at that!" He said as he walked up to one of the wooden penguins set up as display. "Hmm, Tell me Grace, when you first came here, what was your input on this man?"

  Caught off by the question, Grace thought back. "Well, seeing how the majority of his workshop is for display, I thought that he probably sold his sculptures for a living. Maybe the ones for display are up for sale?"

  "Wow! You actually improved to some extent!" Basil said in a sarcastic voice, despite it, he meant it.

  "Well, thank you, Basil." Grace said with a prideful look on her face.

  "But you're not quite there. Take a look at these displays, notice how they don't have prices on them?"

  Leaning forward, Grace inspected the penguin to not find a price anywhere. She then went to another, than another, than another, still no price. "But why?" She asked

  "Because Tomas doesn't sell these works. Tomas takes commissions from people. The reason why these don't have prices is that these aren't for sale, they're used to show off his skills to attract consumers." He said as he walked around, poking at everything he could find.

  "Of course..." Grace thought to herself. As much as she hates to admit it, Basil is possibly the best detective she has ever met. His observations were scary good, his deductions were precise, if it weren't for his poor and childish attitude, she may consider him perfect. Thinking back to what Stella said about him made her mad, "how dare she speak about him like that before even knowing him?" She thought.

  Meanwhile, Basil made his way to the work area, the place where Tomas' body was found. It was quite cramped in there. The wall separating the "show area" from the work station had an opening on the right for people to walk through and a decent sized window beside Tomas' desk. Walking towards the desk, Basil saw a few notes and sketches stacked messily in the corner, a lamp and a small box of origami cranes. There were also boxes full of tools, saws, rulers, hammers, all in big boxes, a few unfinished projects that would have looked amazing if finished, and a unfinished bag of chips.

  "Tomas is a man who is quite lazy, I assume. Not a man of organization that's for sure." He thought to himself. "No sign of a wife either, so a single dad." He paused as he looked around the desk drawers, "Ah ha!"

  Inside was a small photo. A photo of Tomas and a kid beside him standing infront of an orphanage both happy. "Looks like Tomas never had a biological son to begin with."

  Pacing around the room, Basil thought. Who could have killed Tomas? Why kill him? Scratching his head he stepped out of the work area to check up on Grace. Watching her investigate was... something in the eyes of Basil. Watching her perfect image stumble when no one's looking is hilarious, but what caught his eye more was the security camera outside the garage.

  "Hey!" He yelled, "Are we allowed to check those cameras?"

  Turning her head towards the thing Basil was pointing at, Grace saw what looks to be street cameras. Public cameras. "I think so, but we need some time."

  No. Basil can't wait. He isn't the type of man to just sit around and wait for clues to come to him. His eyes darted around to see if he could catch anything, any clue, and there it was. "Hey Grace? May I see your workplace?"

  "Huh? Why so sudden?"

  "You know. I think it's time for your work to know that we're official."

  "HUH?! What?!"

  "Official partners~" Basil said with a sly smile. "What did you think it was, hmm~?"