No one could’ve come through them. Not without a key. And Rose was the only one who had the keys. Her fingers shook as she examined the lock—still secure. The door was shut. No signs of forced entry. Yet on the floor, a trail of water droplets glistened—and beside them, two small daisies lay wilting on the tile.
She peered through the glass. The daisy bushes were crushed. Stems snapped. Earth disturbed. How had water and flowers from the garden ended up inside? Rose called the police without hesitation, her voice clipped, focused. But by the time they arrived, the floor had dried—and two wilted daisies didn’t count as evidence.