The cameo feels unnaturally cold in your fingers as you take it from Mrs. Chase's trembling hands. The porcelain face of the woman depicted seems to watch you with knowing eyes as you turn it over. Your thumbnail finds a nearly invisible seam along the edge, and with a soft click, the back panel slides open. A folded slip of onionskin paper flutters onto the desk, barely thicker than a cobweb.

Mrs. Chase gasps as you smooth out the note under the green glass of your desk lamp. The handwriting is frantic—Charlotte's, judging by the way your client's breathing hitches. 'Evelyn—the Blue Parrot midnight Thursday. He works for them. The tattoos—' The rest is obscured by what looks like blood smudged in a hurry. You glance at Mrs. Chase's wrists where her gloves meet her sleeves, noticing for the first time the faintest edge of ink peeking out.

The phone rings again, making you both jump. This time it's the front desk of the Golden Lotus. Old Man Li is wheezing into the receiver about a 'lady in black' asking for you downstairs. You catch a glimpse through the window blinds—a silhouette too tall to be Charlotte, standing motionless under the flickering neon sign. The stranger's gloves are the deep black of a fresh inkwell, and when she turns her head slightly, you see the telltale gleam of a pearl earring.

The tart's custard filling has oozed across the desk now, pooling around the cameo like golden evidence. Mrs. Chase is whispering rapidly under her breath, prayers or curses you can't quite catch. The fan overhead speeds up suddenly, sending case papers fluttering to the floor like wounded birds. Somewhere in the building, a door slams.