Rue had a system.
Every evening, before the house went quiet, she made her rounds. She checked the front door (locked, good), the kitchen counter (crumbs, noted), and the living room fishbowl, where Gerald the goldfish made his usual slow, clockwise laps. Clockwise. Always clockwise. Rue approved of predictability.
But tonight, Gerald was not being predictable.
He was stopping. Turning. Dropping down to stare at something near the bottom of the bowl — a patch of blue gravel, nothing else — then swimming away in a tight little circle. Then coming back. Stop. Turn. Stare. Rue pressed her nose flat against the glass. Her breath made a small fog on the cold surface. Gerald stared at the gravel. Rue stared at Gerald.
Stop. Turn. Stare.
A detective cannot ignore a pattern. Rue began to circle the bowl, whiskers twitching with each step. She went left. Gerald swam right. She went right. Gerald swam left. He wasn't following her. He was pointing. A small fish, doing his best. Rue dropped to her belly and sniffed along the cabinet below the fishbowl — wood polish, dust, something faintly warm.
Then she spotted it: a small wooden drawer, left slightly open.
Rue hooked it with one paw and pulled. Inside: a red crayon, a button, and three dried peas. Nothing useful. Wrong lead. She pushed the drawer shut with her nose and sat very still, thinking. The house ticked quietly around her. A pipe groaned somewhere upstairs. Rue's ears swivelled toward the sound, then back.
Upstairs. Something from upstairs.
She padded into the hallway, nose low. The carpet was slightly cooler here, away from the lamp. She sniffed past the umbrella stand, past the bottom stair, past the tall bookcase that stood against the wall — and stopped. There. A smell like cedar shavings and something warm and small and alive. Rue pressed her nose to the gap behind the bookcase. Two small, dark eyes blinked back at her.
The hamster was round. He was solemn. He was wearing a tiny striped vest.
He also had his arms crossed and his chin up, which, considering he'd been stuck behind a bookcase for what appeared to be quite some time, was very brave of him. Rue regarded him. He regarded her. Neither of them squeaked. Rue put her shoulder against the bookcase and pushed, slowly and steadily, until there was just enough space for one small, vest-wearing hamster to squeeze through sideways.
He did not say thank you. He walked out with great dignity.
Rue escorted him upstairs — not too close, just nearby — past the bathroom, past the laundry basket, all the way to the small enclosure on the shelf in the spare room. The hamster climbed in himself, turned twice, and sat down. Rue watched through the mesh for a moment. His nose was twitching. Stop. Turn. Settled. She understood that feeling.
She went back downstairs.
Gerald was still swimming — but differently now. Longer loops. Easier ones. He passed the blue gravel without stopping. Rue sat down in front of the bowl and waited until he came around to face her. She looked at him. He looked at her. Then Rue closed her eyes, slowly, all the way, and opened them again.
One long, deliberate blink. Detective to informant. Case closed.
She tucked her front paws underneath her chest, wrapped her tail around her feet, and settled on the cool floor beside the fishbowl. Gerald made one more clockwise lap. Then another. Always clockwise. Rue approved.
