You can tell a lot about people just by watching them. Really watching them, that is.

When he's not in school, Alfred often finds himself sitting on the porch and just observing things—like how Francis always touches the front door to his house before unlocking it, as though he's checking to see if it's really there or if he's imagining it. Or how Gilbert Beilschmidt buys The Illinois Inquirer each morning and turns to page five to read the international section.

People say nothing goes on in small towns. People are wrong. The best stuff goes on in small towns.

On the third of December, at six o'clock in the evening, Ms. Hedervary's cat, Budapest, goes missing. Alfred knows this because Ms. Hedervary knocks on their door on the fourth and asks them if they know anything about the disappearance, and Arthur tells her that no, they haven't seen him, but that they'll be sure to let her know if they do.

She seems quite distraught over the whole ordeal, so Alfred draws himself up to his full height and tells her that he'll do everything he can to find Budapest.

"Oh, thank you, sweetheart. You're such a dear, but you don't have to worry yourself over it."

"No, no!" Alfred assures. Arthur's hand is on his shoulder, as if to say "that's enough of that," but he ignores him. "I promise I'll help you find him. I'll ask everyone in town what they know! It'll be like a police investigation!"

Arthur makes a noise of disapproval and pulls Alfred away from Ms. Hedervary with an arm around his waist. "Hush, Alfred. You won't be doing anything of the sort until you finish your homework."

Ms. Hedervary gives them both a teary smile, looking a little more cheerful upon witnessing their bickering. "Alfred, you just take good care of Arthur. Make sure he doesn't get into any trouble."

It's a weird thing to say. Alfred can't quite describe it, but it's almost as if she seems satisfied to see the pair of them together before she leaves, the heels of her shoes clicking as she walks.

But once Arthur shuts the door behind her, Alfred pushes the strange happenings out of his mind and immediately glowers at his guardian instead. "What'd ya do that for? I could've helped her!"

"You're only a child, Alfred. I'm sure Elizabeta will find her cat."

"But how can you be sure? We gotta ask around! Friends help each other out, and Ms. Hedervary's a friend, right?"

Arthur looks up at the ceiling and says, "Dear Lord, give me strength."

"Arthuuuuuur!"

"All right. If you want to look into the matter further, that's your decision, but you may only do so after you've tended to your other responsibilities, am I clear?"

"Crystal clear," Alfred agrees, shrieking with laughter when Arthur suddenly takes to tickling his sides. "S-Stop that!"

Arthur makes a funny face and lets him go. "Fancy yourself a detective now, hmm?"

"Yup! Detective Alfred Jones!" Alfred states, puffing out his chest. This is his first mystery to solve! Soon, all of Illinois will know his name. He'll be just like Sherlock Holmes except even more awesome! "I bet Gilbert from Beilschmidt's Sweets did it. He's always talking to Ms. Hedervary, so he must know something."

Arthur props himself on the couch and opens up a novel from the little library in his office. There's a thoughtful shimmer of amusement in his eyes. "You mustn't go around accusing people without any evidence to defend your case, Alfred. First, you should interrogate a few individuals around town. Then, you can narrow down your findings and follow a lead."

It's a good point, and if Alfred's going to be a proper detective, he supposes he should follow Arthur's recommendations. He fetches a spare notebook from his room and starts plotting the list of people he wants to talk to. Tomorrow is Saturday, which means he'll have to hold off on questioning people like Mr. Honda and Toris until Monday.

He peeks over at Arthur and asks, "Who should I go to first?"

Arthur lowers his book and narrows his eyes at Alfred, scrutinizing him with a frown. "Francis," he decides. "I'm taking you to him first thing in the morning so he can cut that mane of yours."

Francis is a pretty talented barber and hairdresser. Both men and women flock to his salon, and business is never slow. Still, Alfred hasn't had his hair cut in a long time, and he can't help but feel a little anxious at the thought of someone holding sharp objects so close to his scalp.

"Do I havta go?" Alfred groans, pulling his knees up to his chest. There the man goes again—sucking all the fun out of everything!

"Yes. I can barely see your eyes with all of that hair in the way."

It's not the most heroic way to kick off his investigation, but he supposes it'll have to do.

"Ah, there is my favorite boy!" Francis exclaims as they walk through the door, thin-toothed comb in one hand and a broom for sweeping up hair in the other. He gallivants over to them, exchanging a good-natured handshake with Arthur before flashing Alfred a gleaming smile.

"Oh, I'm flattered," Arthur jokes, giving Alfred an encouraging push forward. "I knew you would come to fully appreciate my existence someday."

Francis rolls his eyes and snarls, "Not you! Come here, Alfred. Have you gotten taller? Take a seat—I won't bite, not with Arthur here, anyway."

With the speed of a sloth, Alfred drags his feet over to the swivel chair and sits down. He put up a bit of a fuss this morning, refusing to leave the house because he didn't see what was wrong with his hair anyway. He likes the way it is. So what if it's getting a little long? If they cut it, it's just going to grow back again anyway. This whole hair-cutting business is nonsensical in his opinion.

Arthur takes up a chair in the nearby waiting area and says, "He's a little nervous, so be gentle."

"I'm always gentle," Francis proclaims, adjusting the height of Alfred's chair to have better access to his head. "What kind of style did you have in mind, mon chou? Something slicked back and trendy like the Hollywood movie stars nowadays?"

Alfred sinks further in his seat and flinches away from Francis as the man runs a hand through his hair to get out the most prominent tangles.

"Don't make it too short," Arthur warns, a business magazine in his lap. "Just a trim."

"A trim it is, then. Do not be afraid, Alfred. You can see exactly what I'm doing in the mirror, and if you don't like it, I can fix it, okay?"

Feeling a little better now that he knows his head isn't going to be shaved, Alfred nods and lets Francis work without complaint, settling down within minutes. Halfway through the job, Alfred starts feeling brave enough to confront Francis about the pressing questions that he's had in mind. "Hey, Francis? Did you know Ms. Hedervary's cat went missing?"

"Ahh, yes. I'm afraid I did hear about that. It's a terrible thing."

"Yeah, well, I'm trying to figure out what happened to him."

From the waiting area, Arthur raises his brows and adds, "Detective Jones is leading an ongoing investigation."

"Hmm, I see," Francis murmurs with a chuckle before snipping away at Alfred's bangs. "Am I allowed to have my lawyer present?"

Alfred purses his lips and sneezes when a piece of his hair lands on his nose. "Uhh, sure. Arthur can be your lawyer."

"Well, I guess we're all set then. Ask away."

"Where were you on Thursday, December third, nineteen twenty-nine, at six o'clock?"

Francis smiles at the sideways glance he gets from Arthur and says, "I would have been here, cutting hair as usual. I close at eight."

"You would have been here, or you were here?" Alfred presses, wearing a skeptical expression.

"I was here," Francis amends, trying not to laugh.

"Wait, I gotta write this down!"

Arthur waves a hand of dismissal and jumps in. "I'll remember for you. You can write it later."

"Okay. So, Francis, would you call Ms. Hedervary a friend of yours?"

Francis nods and rids Alfred of a pesky split-end. "Yes, I've known Elizabeta for many years."

"Do you know if she had any enemies?"

"No, she seems to get along with everyone. Well, everyone except Gilbert, there's a fiery relationship there, but it's a history I won't go into."

"Do you think Gilbert could have taken her cat?"

"No, why would he do something like that? Gilbert is many things, but he isn't a thief."

"Just wanted to get your opinion," Alfred placates him.

Francis dusts some hair off of Alfred's neck and takes off the silly bib that everyone at the barber's has to wear. Then, he puts a dollop of hairstyling gel in his hair to smooth out some of the shaggy ends. "There, all done! You're as handsome as ever, don't you agree?"

Alfred climbs out of the swivel chair and takes a good look at himself in the mirror, pleased with the result. Arthur also seems to approve because he pays Francis and tips him well.

"I might have more questions for you later," Alfred tells him as Arthur ushers him out of the salon. "Don't leave town."

This time, Francis doesn't even bother trying to suppress a booming laugh.

Truth be told, Francis's information doesn't really help Alfred's investigation very much. It just reiterates Alfred's initial suspicions concerning Gilbert.

The man is shifty, that much is clear. Francis also mentioned he has a long history with Ms. Hedervary, but what could that mean? Only one way to find out.

"Arthur, I gotta go and see the Beilschmidts."

His new guardian is rather understanding, and takes Alfred down to the sweet shop within the hour. There, they find Gilbert standing behind the counter as always with a box of cigarettes, another newspaper, and a scratch-off lottery ticket. Suspicious, indeed. His expression just screams of cat-murderer. Alfred wouldn't be surprised if he had Budapest's corpse hidden right behind the counter.

"I'll be at the other end of the store if you need me. I've got some reading to catch up on," Arthur mutters, giving Alfred's shoulder a good squeeze before walking off.

Time to get down to business. The confrontation with Francis was just a warm-up. Now he's got to fry some bigger fish. He walks straight up to Gilbert and slaps a hand on the countertop, determined to get a few answers once and for all.

Gilbert lifts his eyes from his newspaper and regards Alfred with a neutral air. "Hey, squirt. Arthur told me you'd be coming after me."

"Where were you on Thursday, December third, nineteen twenty-nine, at exactly six o'clock?"

"Phew, right down to the questions, huh? I'm not even going to get a hello? Well, all right. I was here, in the shop, restocking some shelves with jawbreakers."

Alfred makes a show of opening up his notebook and taps his pencil against a page. "How long have you known Ms. Hedervary for?"

"Elizabeta? Hmm, it's gotta be around twenty-five years now. I've known her since we were kids, and I'm turning thirty soon," Gilbert reveals, using a penny to get his numbers on the scratch-off lottery ticket. "Been playing the lottery since the day I turned eighteen. You would've thought a poor, old bastard like me would've won at least a nickel by now."

"Hey!" Arthur shouts from one of the tables in the corner. "Watch your foul mouth, please!"

"Whoops. Sorry!"

"Don't let it happen again!"

"Uh-huh. Yeah, kid. I dunno what else to tell you," Gilbert mumbles before taking a big bite out of a caramel apple. "I don't know anything about Elizabeta's cat, except that she's had him for a few years now."

Alfred cocks his head to the side. "How did you know I was going to ask about Budapest?"

"Well, that's why you're here, right? Like I said, Arthur told me you'd come to hunt me down."

"Rumors around town say that you and Elizabeta have a 'fiery' relationship."

Gilbert furrows his brows and licks his lips free of apple nectar. "Who said that?"

"Sources…" Alfred mumbles, feeling mischievous. He doodles a basket full of kittens in one of the margins of his notebook. "Anyway, what do you think they mean by that?"

Gilbert scowls, and if looks could kill, poor Arthur would be lying cold and stiff on the ground. "Look, kid. Don't get involved in other people's personal lives."

"A cat's life is at stake!"

"It's not my cat, so it's not my problem," Gilbert growls, wincing when Ludwig steps out of the back-room to swat him over the head. He nearly chokes on a chunk of his apple. "What was that for?"

Ludwig smacks Gilbert on the back and mutters, "Be nice and behave."

"I am behaving."

Watching them argue makes Alfred sad. He wonders if he and Mattie would've gotten into petty fights like this had they been given the chance to grow old together. Would they have opened a candy store and started drinking and smoking and yelling at the neighborhood kids? They could eat all of the candy they wanted, whenever they wanted it, and no one would be around to tell them no.

"Gilbert, don't be cross. He doesn't understand," Arthur says carefully, eyes still fixated on his book.

After a long grumble of discontent, Gilbert is ready to resume the interrogation. "All right. Elizabeta and I used to be a couple, but not anymore."

"Why not?"

"Because I'm an as—"

"Gilbert," Arthur cautions him again.

"I'm a big jerkface," Gilbert finishes with a snuffle. "That's done and over with now."

Interesting stuff. Alfred scribbles a few notes and considers everything Gilbert has told him, thinking hard. Suddenly, he doesn't think Gilbert is a killer anymore. No, that would be too simple. Plus, he's only shifty on the surface, not deep down. "Did you love her?"

"Did I—?" Gilbert gapes at him like the flounder Alfred had to stomach the other day. "Yeah, I guess I did. I loved her."

"Do you still love her?"

"To be honest, I don't know, kid. Maybe."

What's there to be uncertain about? Adults sure make things unnecessarily complicated. Either someone gives you butterflies in your belly or they don't. It's a simple deduction to make, Alfred thinks.

"If you help her find Budapest, maybe you guys can get back together again," Alfred suggests, eager. Not only can he solve this mystery, but he could also get Elizabeta and Gilbert to reconcile, and then Gilbert wouldn't have to be so sour and sullen all of the time.

A hand connects with the top of his head, and Alfred looks up to see a wistful Arthur looming over him.

"I think that's enough questioning for today, my boy."

Day five of the investigation comes and goes, and Budapest still isn't anywhere to be found. Mr. Honda says he thinks he saw the fluff-ball wandering Ms. Hedervary's yard around seven on the day he went missing, but he always takes catnaps in the yard around that time, so it wouldn't be anything out of the ordinary. What Alfred needs to know is what happened to the cat after he was finished sleeping in the yard.

Ivan and Toris weren't even aware Ms. Hedervary had a cat, but they promise to keep their eyes peeled for any future sightings.

"Remember, he's white with brown splotches and pointy ears," Alfred reminds them.

Of course, there's still one person he hasn't questioned. It's best to cover all of his bases, and this one fellow sure looks like he's hiding something.

"Arthur, where were you on Thursday, December third, nineteen twenty-nine, at six o'clock?"

His parent turns down the volume of the radio and shrugs, awfully shifty. Awfully shifty, indeed. "Well, Detective Jones, I was in my office, working on a case."

"You don't say," Alfred murmurs, squinting at the man.

"You've been squinting quite a lot recently. I think we'll have to take you to get some spectacles."

"Don't try to change the subject!"

Arthur sighs, rubs the back of his neck, and writes 'OPTOMETRIST' on a scrap of paper to remind himself to make an appointment for the boy. "All right. What else do you want to know?"

"What do you know about Budapest?"

"Nothing much, aside from what you've told me," Arthur responds, a bit hurried.

Alfred nibbles on the end of his pencil and snaps his fingers. "You've been following me around this whole time."

"I've been supervising."

"Yeah, and you thought I wouldn't make you a suspect, but everyone's a suspect, Arthur. Everyone. We can't rule anyone out yet."

"Oh, I understand," Arthur replies innocently, forcing down a smile. "Who do you think is the perpetrator?"

"Perpetrator?"

"The one who did it," Arthur clarifies.

"Oh… I don't know. You tell me. You're acting mighty calm. Maybe you already figured it out."

Arthur shrugs his shoulders again and screws his face up when Baron jumps on the couch to lick his cheek. "It was probably Francis. He can't be trusted."

"Baron thinks you're hiding something too."

"Now you're accusing me? Where's your proof?"

Alfred closes his notebook and looks at Arthur with a piercing gaze, trying to decipher the many emotions packed together in those green eyes. He's not an easy person to read. "I wanna go into the office."

Baron collapses in Arthur's lap for one of many tummy rubs, paws twitching with enthusiasm.

"You'll need a search warrant for that," Arthur states.

"What's that?"

"It's a paper signed by a judge that says exactly why you're going through someone's personal property and what you'll be looking for."

Alfred stretches his lips into a dimply grin and angelically says, "I don't know any judges though, so can't you just let me look without a warrant?"

"I don't know, Detective Jones."

"What do you have to hide?"

Arthur smirks, one hand still massaging circles into Baron's belly. "I'm not in any trouble, am I, Detective Jones?"

"Let's hope not," Alfred retorts, watching Arthur get off of the couch and ascend the stairs.

"Come along, then."

Alfred climbs the stairs two at a time, heart pounding with anticipation. He doesn't waste any time in hurtling through the door to Arthur's office, completely immersed in this cat mystery.

And that's when he sees it.

Right there, smack dab in the middle of Arthur's desk, is a cat collar with a little jingle bell at the end of it. He picks it up with both hands, turns it over a few times, and looks to Arthur in confusion. "How—?"

"Congratulations, you solved the mystery," Arthur announces, eyes shining. "Now, off to bed with you. It's getting late."

"W-Wait. What? Where's Budapest, then?"

"Elizabeta found her cat in the park three days ago, but that didn't seem like a very good end to a mystery, so I let you investigate a little longer."

Something in Alfred's chest falls to his stomach—he feels it. It's like a stone being dropped down a pit. "Y-You didn't tell me?"

The smug expression on Arthur's face is quickly replaced with one of regret. "You were having such a swell time, and you were getting to know everyone in town. I didn't think it was fair to have the adventure end so soon."

So that's it. The mystery he solved wasn't a mystery at all. It was all just an elaborate plan on Arthur's part. Before he can stop himself, he feels his eyes fill with angry tears.

"I hate you!" he screams, throwing his notebook down on the rug. "You lied to me!"

"Alfred, I didn't—"

"How could you do that?"

He's out of the office before Arthur can catch him, and he locks himself in his bedroom, positive he's about to start seeing in red.

"Alfred! Open the door!"

"No!"

"Alfred. That's not how you are to speak to me. If you don't open this door right now, you'll go without dessert for a week."

Forget dessert. He doesn't care anymore.

"Two weeks. Three weeks. A month, and you're not allowed to play with Toris! This lock is coming straight off when you come out of there."

"You're the worst parent ever!"

He doesn't mean it, of course. It's such a stupid thing to say, but it's too late to take his words back, and Arthur seems to be impacted by them because he stops knocking on the door and retreats somewhere down the hall instead.

Well, he's done it now. Arthur is definitely going to make him board the next train to the children's home in New York. And for what? For a dumb argument over a mystery game? It's all so infuriatingly ridiculous that he can't stand it.

He unlocks the door and painfully swallows his pride. He can hear Arthur in the master bedroom, and it isn't often that he goes in there. Usually, the only time he goes into Arthur's room is when he's scared or isn't feeling good because of a lung spasm.

"Arthur? Please, don't be mad," he whispers, lowering his gaze to the floor as tears dribble down his nose. "I-I'm really sorry. You just wanted to make me happy. I didn't mean to yell at you. I'm a bad kid. A bad son. I don't blame you if you just want to send me to another family. You deserve someone good."

He doesn't look up when he feels arms around his shoulders, nor does he look up when a handkerchief is wiped across his face.

"How many times do I have to tell you I'm not going to send you away for you to believe me?" Arthur asks him, voice very soft. "Every boy misbehaves, and you are no exception."

"S-Sorry."

"I know you are."

Alfred throws his arms around Arthur's chest and buries his head in his sweater. So safe. So warm. So protective. He never wants to let go. "You're a good parent."

Arthur doesn't seem to know what to say, so he doesn't say anything at all.

"I don't deserve dessert for two whole months! And you should make me scrub the floors in the bathroom!"

"We'll see," Arthur decides, ruffling the child's hair.

"Can I still get a story before bed?"

"No. Only children who listen to their parents are allowed to hear bedtime stories."

Alfred frowns. That's fair, he supposes. He did say some pretty awful stuff, and he can tell Arthur is still stunned by the incident.

"But I'll tuck you in, all right?"

"The German economy remains stagnant for a consecutive year. Inflation is on the rise," the radio drones as Alfred rubs his eyes and makes his way into the living room. A warm breakfast is already waiting on the table, and he doesn't hesitate to dig in while Arthur finishes up with preparing some tea. There's a flurry of snow blowing about in the wind outside—the first real snowfall of the season—but the flakes melt as soon as they touch the ground.

"I might not be able to pick you up from school today, Alfred. Do you think you would be able to walk yourself?" Arthur asks him as he sits down, rubbing at a knot in his shoulder. "I trust you know the way by now?"

Eager to prove himself, Alfred nods right away, almost too excited to swallow his oatmeal. He's big enough to do things on his own, and too often, it feels like Arthur shelters him unnecessarily. "Yeah! I can do it!"

Arthur seems a little reluctant, especially when he recalls what happened the last time he left the boy without any supervision. "You are to walk straight home. Can I trust you to act responsibly and not go wandering off?"

"Yes! I promise!"

"Ah, I'm afraid I've heard that line before," Arthur says with a conceding sigh. The boy has broken his promises before, as every short-sighted child does. "Fine. It's settled then. I have some business to discuss with a client at the firm, and it's quite serious, so I may not be home until dinner."

"What kind of business? Did something happen?"

"It's nothing you have to concern yourself with."

Alfred isn't surprised that Arthur won't share any details of a case with him. He rarely ever does. Once again, he looks over at the man's wedding ring and wonders what else he isn't telling him.

As though reading his mind, Arthur clears his throat and says, "I believe I've told you this before, my boy, but I'll say it again. There are some things you wouldn't understand, Alfred. Pray you aren't asked to understand them for a good while."

Everything happens in small towns.