Chapter Nine: Murder Most Foul

They found his body sprawled on the floor of his flower shop. He was on his back, one arm over his chest, the other flung to his side. There was blood on his shirt and bruises peaked out above his collar. His eyes stared at the ceiling, wide and unseeing, filled with fear.

Queen Leah glanced around the shop. "Don't touch anything," she ordered tersely to the three men with her as she edged into the room.

"Should we call someone? A police officer, maybe?"

Leah gave the man who had spoken a withering look. "A police officer, Edward? And who would that be? Our Sheriff is currently elsewhere." She ran a hand through her unruly red curls and frowned at the body before looking at another of the men. "Peter, call my husband. Tell him…" She hesitated. What could she tell him? She had no answers, and even worse, she had no idea how to go about investigating the murder.

She turned away from the body. It was true that they had no sheriff in this town, but she'd had the equivalent of detectives in her kingdom, and they would suffice.

The queen glanced at Peter again. "Tell King Stefan that Maurice has been murdered and I've called the Blue Guard." She pursed her lips together. "Alert the rest of the town to this… development. And make sure that it is known that I am investigating." Her expression hardened. "Make no mistake, we will find and punish the person responsible."

"As you wish," Peter said, inclining his head and slipping unobtrusively from her presence.

"Edward," Leah said, "assemble the Blue Guard at town hall. All of them. It is time we restore some order to this town."

"Yes, your Majesty," Edward said, and he, too, left the shop.

That left Leah alone with only one of her guards. She rather thought three guards following her constantly was overkill, but Stefan had insisted, claiming that with Regina and Rumplestilskin on the loose, it would not hurt to have a tail everywhere she went. She'd agreed reluctantly, unable to find fault in his logic – and she found his concern endearing.

She slanted a quick look at the third guard. His name was Philip, a name he shared with her presumed son-in-law – assuming, of course, that Prince Philip was not dead. And if he was dead, was there any way to save her daughter…?

Assuming they ever managed to find Aurora.

"Your Majesty?" Philip said. "If we are going to make it public knowledge that Sir Maurice is dead, should we first notify his daughter?"

"Yes, yes," Leah said. "You are right, of course."

She knew little about Belle, but Maurice had mentioned that he and his daughter were estranged. He seemed to think it was the fault of that monster who worked at the diner; or perhaps the devious imp had something to do with it. Leah, who had disliked Maurice from the moment they'd met yesterday, thought it was far more likely that the fool had pushed his daughter away himself.

But she'd smiled and accepted his words without argument. He'd been useful to her, helping her gather together those who opposed the ridiculous notion that Snow and James were somehow the rightful rulers of this town. She'd taken advantage of that, and now that she stared at his dead body, she couldn't help but wonder if it was what had gotten him killed.

She squared her shoulders. If she was in any way responsible for putting the poor man in danger, she would bear the responsibility for seeking justice.

She stepped past Philip and out of the shop. The early morning air was bitterly cold, but the sun was out, and she had to shade her eyes from its glare. She glanced back and forth, turning her head to see if she could spot anything out of the ordinary. But the street was calm, even quiet.

She sighed, and watched the white wisps of her breath hover in the air.

Philip trailed behind her.

"I don't know anything about him," Leah admitted softly.

"Your Majesty?" Philip asked.

"Maurice. I don't know anything about him. I don't know who would want him dead."

She licked her chapped lips and lapsed into silent thought. Maurice had not been a part of her kingdom, and so whatever enemies he'd made in the past would not be known to her. And she had never paid enough attention to Moe French to have any idea of the people who hated him during their cursed years.

There were the obvious suspects, of course. Rumpelstiltskin had made his jealous love for Belle brilliantly clear to the entire town, and Leah doubted he would refrain from killing Maurice if he thought it was necessary to do so to keep Belle to himself. The Evil Queen was a viable suspect as well – though her motivations were less clear.

But who else?

"The Blue Guard will find answers," Philip said, "and perhaps his daughter will have some idea."

Leah nodded, but that did little to ease her worry.

It wasn't just that she knew so very little about Maurice. It was that she knew little about the entire town. If the rumors were true, then there were people here from kingdoms she had never visited, from lands that she had never even heard of. How could she possibly hope to rule a town when she knew next to nothing about the people in it?

And how could she even go about learning the relevant information? The only person who knew those details was the Evil Queen, and Leah was not about to ask Regina for help.

She glanced behind her at the flower shop.

When Maurice had come to her with his whispered words and accusations, when he had reminded her that she was still a Queen and it was time she took back the power that was rightfully hers, he had spoken bitterly of Snow and James. He had no love for the two of them, or for James' obvious attempt to seize control of the town. Maurice had claimed to have spoken against them only to have them ignore his requests and trample over his justified concerns.

So Snow and James would have been suspects… except that Snow was currently trapped in some other world and James had put himself into an enchanted sleep.

But Snow and James had followers who were no doubt desperate to protect the perfect couple's influence. Could one of them be behind this murder?

In Leah and Stefan's realm, the Blue Guard had been a subset of the royal guard tasked with investigating crimes against the royal family. While the lesser nobles and village leaders were allowed their own sheriffs, their own jails, and their own executioners, anyone who committed a crime in the royal city, violated a royal decree, or harmed a royal person was subject to the whims of the king and queen.

In Storybrooke, the Blue Guard was an odd assortment. Traditionally there were seven, but now there were only five – two had been killed during the battle with Maleficent after Aurora had been cursed, and Stefan had not replaced them before Regina had cast her own curse. Of the remaining five, there was a baker, a construction worker, a grocer, a secretary, and a town hall bureaucrat.

They did not look particularly fearsome, but despite the last twenty-eight years of the curse, they still remembered how to be the Blue Guard. They still remembered their duty. And Moe French's death might not have been a crime against the royal family, per se, but Queen Leah had given them and order, and they were honor-bound to follow it.

"Oh… God…"

The knight of the Blue Guard watched impassively as Belle stumbled back, away from her father's body. She was shaking, tears pooling in her eyes, and she vehemently shook her head, as though her denial could change what had happened.

"No, no…" Belle whispered. "No, this can't… no…"

She turned, twisting away from the sight, and buried her face in Mr. Gold's chest. The imp wrapped his arms around her immediately, holding tightly as she continued to cry.

The knight grimaced at this, but said nothing. It was not his place to question Belle's horrible taste in men. If she wanted to put her trust and her love in a monster who ruined the lives of everyone around him, then that was her choice.

He just hoped she knew what she was doing.

He reached over and covered the body with the white sheet, blocking it from view.

Belle had insisted on seeing the body even though Mr. Gold had tried to dissuade her from it. He had argued that she didn't need to subject herself to that, but she had responded that she wouldn't believe that he was dead until she saw it with her own eyes. And so they were here, and Belle was sobbing.

The knight cleared his throat. "Let's move to a more comfortable room so that we can talk," he said, ushering Belle and Mr. Gold out of the hospital's morgue.

"I don't understand," Belle whispered. "I saw him yesterday."

The knight opened the door to a small hospital conference room and gestured for Belle to take a seat at the table. She complied, looking small and frail, and wiped a hand over her eyes to brush away the tears.

"First," the knight said as he took the seat opposite her, "allow me to express my heartfelt sympathies at your loss."

Belle just stared at him.

"I know how difficult this must be for you, but I need to ask you a few questions."

"Why you?" Mr. Gold interrupted as he limped forward to stand behind Belle, one hand on his cane while the other came to rest on her shoulder.

The knight frowned. "I beg your pardon?"

"Why are you investigating this? Why does it matter to you?"

The knight blinked. "It is a murder," he said, a hint of derision in his tone. "Why wouldn't we investigate?"

"You aren't the sheriff," Mr. Gold pointed out logically.

The knight raised an eyebrow. "And where is the sheriff?" he retorted. "Beyond our reach. If we wait for Sheriff Swan to return, the trail will probably have gone cold." He looked at Belle. "You do want your father's killer brought to justice, don't you?"

"Yes," Belle answered emphatically.

Mr. Gold said nothing, but he narrowed his eyes dangerously and the knight swallowed, remembering abruptly that he was not just talking to Mr. Gold – he was talking to Rumpelstiltskin. However intimidating the pawnbroker had been, the Dark One was much, much worse.

He looked away, and though he did not see it, he could perfectly imagine that Mr. Gold was smirking.

"What questions?" Belle asked, breaking the tense silence.

The knight snapped his gaze back to her. "Perhaps it would be best if we spoke in private," he suggested.

"No, I… I need… moral support," Belle said softly.

The knight pursed his lips, but nodded. "Very well. You said you saw your father yesterday. Can you tell me about that visit?"

Belle reached up to wipe away more tears. "We argued," she whispered, horror seeping into her voice. "He wanted to… he said he missed me, but we argued and I didn't forgive him and…" Her words choked off abruptly, a sob escaping her lips. "If I'd known…"

The knight said nothing, simply waited. In his experience, people always had regrets after someone had died – regrets for things not said, for help not given, for a life not saved. There was much he could say about the futility of such regrets, but it was better to simply wait and listen.

After a moment, Belle composed herself. "It was a short conversation," she said. "I was at Granny's diner and he came in. I hadn't seen him since he tried to send me over the town line…"

"He did what?" the knight interrupted.

Belle wrapped her arms around herself. "When I refused to leave Rumple, he tried to erase my memories of before the curse by sending me over the town line. He said he was trying to protect me. I was so angry… I told him to stay away from me. And he did. I didn't see him at all until yesterday."

The knight considered this, then asked, "And yesterday, the two of you argued?"

"Yes," Belle murmured.

"Did your father have any enemies?"

"The ogres?" Belle offered. "Other than that… he didn't really attract people's attention. I know that he got into arguments with other noble families every now and then, but it wasn't… it was never anything serious. He could never stand fighting, even if it was for a good cause. He often just conceded. My father was…"

She didn't finish the sentence, and the guard wondered what she had meant to say. He had investigated enough crimes to tell when someone was trying desperately not to speak ill of the dead, and he had a suspicion that Belle had been about to refer to her father as weak.

It would certainly match with Queen Leah's impression of Moe French.

"Did Moe French have any enemies?" the knight asked.

Belle shrugged. "I don't know," she said, bitterness twisting her tone. "I spent all the years of the curse locked up in the hospital."

Behind her, Mr. Gold stiffened and his expression darkened.

The knight made a mental note of that, in case it became relevant later.

Aloud, he said, "And you can think of no one who would want your father dead?"

Belle shook her head mutely.

The knight held her gaze for a long moment, then let his own eyes flick up to Mr. Gold's face. Belle caught the questioning glance, and surged to her feet.

"No," she said firmly. "No, he wouldn't… You can't just assume that everything bad that happens in this town is his fault. Have you forgotten Regina? You know, the woman who cursed us."

"Mr. Gold nearly beat your father into a coma while you were locked up in the hospital," the knight said simply.

Belle froze. She clearly had not known that, or at least had not given it much thought.

"So I ask you again, are you sure that your father has no enemies here?"

The knight watched in interest as indecision and pain flickered over her features, and then Belle turned to Mr. Gold.

"Belle…"

"Tell me you didn't kill him," Belle said, her words somehow both a plea and a demand. "Tell me that you had nothing to do with this. Look me in the eyes and swear to me that you did not kill my father."

Mr. Gold reached out and touched her chin lightly with his fingertips. Staring directly into her eyes, he said, "Belle, I swear to you, on everything I hold dear, that I did not kill your father." He paused, and when Belle said nothing, he asked, "Please, Belle… believe me. I didn't do this."

Slowly, Belle nodded. "I believe you," she whispered, and once again burst into tears.

Mr. Gold held her close and did not let go.

While the knight of the Blue Guard questioned Belle, two of his companions carefully and methodically searched the area around the flower shop for any sign of the murder weapon. It was slow going, but the Blue Guard was nothing if not resolute in their dedication to their task.

However, as news of Mr. French's death spread, a crowd gathered outside the shop, and without yellow police tape to mark off the shop as a crime scene, one of the knights eventually had to abandon the search and post himself outside the door to prevent anyone from contaminating the scene.

"Is it really murder?" a young boy asked, pushing forward to peer into the window of the shop.

The knight frowned at the question, and at the excitement in the boy's tone. It seemed that in any world, young children did not quite grasp the severity of brutal death.

"Yes," he said in a clipped tone. "Now step away from the window."

The boy's mother dragged him back with admonishments for her son and apologies for the knight. He waved away her concern and looked back at the crowd. As long as he was stuck here babysitting a group of adults who were, for the most part, acting like overeager children, he figured he might as well make use of it.

"Do any of you work in the establishments on this street?" he asked.

A few nodded in reply.

"Did you notice Mr. French acting strangely in the past couple days?" the knight continued. "Did he do anything out of character?"

"No. He mostly kept to himself since the curse broke. He was quiet. Didn't really engage with people. Except… there was that one man who hung out around the shop a while back. What was his name?"

"Smith? No… Smog? Um…"

"Smee, I think it was."

"Any idea where I can find this Smee?" the knight asked.

All he received in reply were several shaking heads.

"And did Mr. French have any friends besides this… Smee?" the knight pressed.

This time the shaking heads were interspersed with shrugged shoulders.

The knight sighed.

"What about enemies?" he asked.

There was silence for a moment as the crowd pondered this question, then a young woman spoke up.

"I heard he argued with Ruby Lucas yesterday."

"Ruby Lucas?" the knight asked, turning his attention to the woman.

"Yes. She's the waitress at Granny's diner. She's friends with Mr. French's daughter." The woman shrugged and added, "I didn't actually witness the argument, but one of my friends did, and she said that Ruby and Mr. French were really yelling at each other."

The knight was about to ask for his friend's name when there was a shout from a nearby alleyway and the second knight of the Blue Guard appeared, holding a knife in her gloved hand.

"It's got blood on it," she said as she walked towards the crowd. "Just a little bit, near the handle. The rest of the blade has been wiped clean, but it looks like it could be a match for the murder weapon."

She held the knife out to her companion and he took it, scrutinizing it carefully. It was a kitchen knife, with a thin stainless steel blade and a black handle. A crescent moon was etched into the base.

The knife could have been sent for a full DNA and fingerprint analysis, but that would have required allowing it to leave Storybrooke, and King Stefan refused to allow the potential murder weapon to go somewhere that they couldn't follow. So it was sent to the hospital instead in the hopes that Dr. Whale would have the right technology for the necessary forensics.

A cheap fingerprint analysis kit was found at the Sheriff's station, but no one in the town had their own fingerprints on record, so even if they did get prints from the handle of the knife, there would be no comparisons to make until they had a viable suspect.

There was Mr. Gold – though it seemed unlikely he would willingly allow himself to be fingerprinted. There was this mysterious Mr. Smee who could not be fingerprinted until he was found.

And then there was Ruby Lucas.

"Ruby isn't here," Granny said, glaring at the knight before her. "And I'm busy."

"A man is dead, ma'am," the knight replied smoothly. "I am sure your customers will understand if you have to inconvenience them for a few minutes. The man deserves justice."

Granny rolled her eyes and huffed, as though she thought quite differently about the matter, but she nodded all the same. "Very well," she said with ill-disguised irritation. "What do you want to know about?"

"Moe French came to your diner yesterday," the knight said.

"Yes. To talk to his daughter." Granny wiped her hands on her apron and stepped behind the counter to continue with her work while they talked.

"Did you hear the conversation?" the knight asked.

"No," Granny said in a clipped tone. "I was working. And I don't eavesdrop on private conversations."

"I was given to understand that the conversation became quite heated," the knight said. "Are you sure you did not hear any of it?"

Granny blinked. "They argued," she admitted. "I heard that they had raised their voices, but I wasn't truly listening, so I don't know what they said."

"I see." The knight was quiet, studying Granny carefully, before he said, "And did your granddaughter get involved?"

"Ruby? I…"

He could tell by the unease flickering through her expression that the woman was trying to figure out how to answer that question without saying anything that could be construed as evidence against her granddaughter. The protective instinct was strong in parents and grandparents, and King George's framing of Ruby for murder was common enough knowledge that the knight knew Granny had good reason to be wary on her granddaughter's behalf.

But the knight was interested in justice, and only the full truth would suffice.

"There were other people in your diner," he said. "I could ask one of them for their version of events." And, as if to prove his point, he gestured to the several patrons who were currently listening to their conversation.

Granny gave him a hard look, then said, "Follow me."

And she turned on her heel and marched into the relative privacy of the diner's kitchen.

The knight followed.

"Here's what happened," Granny said bluntly as she turned around to face him, "Mr. French was upsetting Belle. Ruby went over to make sure everything was alright – she's friends with Belle, and given what French tried to do to his own daughter, Ruby was right to be worried."

"I see," the knight said noncommittally. In truth, he agreed with Granny's assessment of the situation – if Moe French had really tried to force Belle over the town line, then he had been a threat to his daughter.

But he did not tell Granny that. He did not tell her anything, but simply allowed her to talk, wondering where her story would lead.

"Anyway, Belle asked her father to leave, and in response, he lashed out at Ruby. He called her a freak and accused her of lying to Belle, trying to turn Belle against him. Belle became upset and rushed out of the diner, and eventually her father followed her."

"And that was the last your granddaughter saw of Mr. French?"

"I… no," Granny admitted. "She told me that she saw him later yesterday afternoon, near his shop. They argued again. She told him to stay away from Belle, and he accused her of working with Regina." She hesitated, then said, "Look, I know how this whole thing looks, but… my Ruby was just trying to look out for her friend. She's got a big heart… she just doesn't always think things through. She was reckless and angry, but she's not a killer."

The knight studied her expression carefully. It was clear that Granny believed every word she was saying. But was that because Ruby was innocent, or was it because she just didn't know her granddaughter as well as she believed?

An argument was not enough to prove motive.

But it was definitely a start.

And yet…

There was something strange about this, about the two passionate arguments so many people had witnessed.

Every single person who had known Moe French had described him as quiet, as someone who kept to himself. His own daughter had done practically everything short of calling him a weak coward. He avoided confrontation at all costs.

So what had happened to change his behavior yesterday?

Queen Leah and King Stefan wanted this solved quickly. And now that they had the likely murder weapon, it was entirely possible that they could figure out who was behind this without too much more trouble. But even if they did…

Something about the whole situation just felt wrong.

"Do you have any other questions, or can I get back to work?" Granny asked pointedly.

"That is all for now," the knight said. "Thank you for your time."

He turned away, and as he did so, his gaze fell upon the knives in the knife block at the end of the counter.

He paused.

"Are these the knives you use for cooking in your diner?" he asked, gesturing towards them.

Granny nodded. "Yes," she replied impatiently. "They're a matching set."

The knives were slender, with stainless steel blades, black handles, and crescent moons etched into each base.

One was missing.