Trevor stared at the video clip on his phone. It was only 86 seconds long, recorded by a static camera in the left corner of the Premium Zone. There was no audio, and with so many people passing, it was hard to see them clearly on the phone’s small screen.
Trevor zoomed, moving the frame, and noticed one key event: at the 10-second mark, a waiter carrying two trays collided with a dessert table in the regular guests’ zone, not far from the premium area. Food and trays crashed to the ground. Waiters and clerks rushed in to help, creating instant chaos that drew a lot of attention.
Trevor remembered this moment distinctly. He and Spion had used the confusion to slip across the barrier. He moved the frame to the barrier: he saw himself and Spion rush across, then bump into a chestnut-haired waitress—Snow. He then walked toward the dessert tables where the Queen’s apples were displayed, and the Ambassador walked up almost simultaneously. The video ended there.
Was that all? He thought, dragging the progress bar back to the moment of the crash. He paused the video just at the waiter created the distraction. At the apple table side, he could clearly see the back of a chestnut-haired waitress standing right beside the apples. Her right arm seemed to raise momentarily, then she quickly turned and left the area, moving against the flow of people looking at the crash. She didn’t pause or look at the noise made by the falling trays, unlike everyone else. She then collided with Trevor.
Snow? He immediately texted Gossip News: “Is that Snow?”
Gossip News replied instantly: “I don’t know. I can only show you clues. You solve it by yourself.”
He also got a message from Spion: “HRU? We saw Ali take another guest away, but you’re not back.”
“Restroom, omw,” he replied. On his way back to the booth, he thought about Snow. Spion knew her well and could help him question her. But how could he mention it without revealing his source?
The party hall was much calmer now. Few people remained, and no one was dancing or walking. Groups simply sat, chatting or relaxing. He rejoined his friends.
“Finally, you’re back. We were worried about you,” Lady News said with concern.
Before Trevor could figure out how to tell them what had happened in the Reading Room, Report Man said, excited, “Now, I can tell you what I discovered!”
“Report Man met Dr. Fit in the restroom right after you left and insisted on waiting until you were back,” Spion explained.
“So, I met Dr. Fit,” Report Man began. “He told me the analysis team had finished their work and he was free to go home. I asked him what he could say, and he just kept repeating he couldn’t say anything. So I threw my theory at him: I suggested the murderer might have poisoned the apples at a specific time, and the Ambassador was just unlucky enough to be the first to take one. He still couldn’t tell me anything about the case, but then I switched topics. I said, ‘Isn’t it a shame to throw all those good apples and desserts away?’ He paused, and he said, ‘Yes, all good apples. Totally a waste.’” Report Man paused dramatically, looking at everyone.
“All the apples taken by the FBI as evidence are fine; they weren’t poisoned!” Report Man continued. “So I threw a new theory at him: I asked, ‘Is the apple just a trigger?’”
Everyone looked puzzled. Report Man explained, “The murderer couldn’t guarantee the Ambassador would take the single poisoned apple, and they couldn’t poison all the apples, which risks killing the wrong person. The apple can’t be the only source of the lethal dose.”
“What was Dr. Fit’s answer?” Trevor asked urgently.
“He still just said, ‘I can’t discuss the case.’ Then, when he was washing his hands, he said, ‘No one washes apples with Wolfsbane juice.’”
“They found Wolfsbane juice on the apple? What is that?” Trevor demanded.
“I did a quick search,” Report Man replied. “Wolfsbane juice is a powerful plant toxin, sometimes used in medicine, but lethal in the wrong dose or when mixed with other things. The other things could be on his lips; remember, his lips and the apple turned black.”
“Lips?” Trevor thought aloud. “Other things on what he had eaten before?”
“But other people still could have been accidentally killed by eating the food at the party,” Spion reasoned.
“The secret mistress!” Lady News exclaimed excitedly. “A kiss could also transfer the other part of the poison to the Ambassador’s lip! And in such a way, the murderer could guarantee only the Ambassador was poisoned.”
“So the secret mistress is the murderer,” Trevor said, just as excited. “We can ask Ali who the secret mistress is. He is the Head Waiter, he must know.”
“He may not tell us. He can’t divulge any Salon guest’s private matters,” Spion cautioned.
“Well, it’s getting late now. We should go. Maybe we can ask him tomorrow, or ask Mr. Dressrious—it’s about a murder; surely he can tell us,” Report Man suggested.
“I can’t go,” Trevor interrupted, and quickly told them about his confrontation with Agent Mulder and the two-hour deadline.
“He can’t do that! He has no direct proof,” Report Man said angrily.
“I can contact the best lawyer now. She has a lot of experience dealing with the FBI,” Lady News said, pulling out her phone.
“But they only want to use Trevor as a scapegoat,” Spion worried. “He may still be detained for a while. We need to help him solve the case tonight.”
“Then let’s go ask Ali right now. We are certainly willing to help you, Trevor,” Report Man declared, standing up.