SummerSimo Travel Troubles Notes and The Purring Page

Chapter Six

The air in the Coffee Taverna was usually a warm embrace of roasted beans and steam, but that evening it felt like the quiet before a tempest. Anna moved behind the counter with a clinical eye, her hands shaking slightly as she prepared a round of “brews for the gods” for our gathering.
The Trap is Set
Ispettore Salomone sat at a corner table, his gaze fixed on the door. We had leaked a “riddle” through the village grapevine—a hint that the “final puzzle piece” to the treasure was hidden inside the antique coffee roaster.

• Toe, the sleek black shadow, had taken up a position on top of the espresso machine, his green eyes scanning the room for any “dissonant notes”.
• Ashwaganda, the ginger sage, lay stretched across the threshold of the cellar, a silent guardian of the “youngest earth” below.
• The Bait: I had placed the blue leather book, Days of your Dreams, prominently on the counter, its silver ink catching the low amber light of the tavern.
  The “White Fox” Emerges
  Just as the clock chimed, Altea’s assistant entered, his face a “mask of calm” that didn’t quite reach his eyes. He bypassed the trio of friends and headed straight for the antique roaster, a small tool kit—a “forger’s kit”—hidden under his coat.
  “Archaeology requires a delicate eye, wouldn’t you agree?” I said, stepping from the shadows.
  He froze. “I was just… checking the mechanism for Anna.”
  “With miniature files and vials of acid?” I asked, pointing to the tools he had just revealed. “The same tools used to create a ‘convincing patina’ on the forged diadem?”.
  The Feline Verdict
  Ashwaganda let out a soft, insistent meow, drawing our attention to the assistant’s expensive leather briefcase. When Salomone opened it, the “faint chemical scent” of the neurotoxin wafted out—the same scent that had lingered in the air at Mint Chocolate.
  Tucked into the lining was the real prize: a rare Amazonian vine extract, the “secret from Vienna” that had been used to paralyze the senses of the head chocolatier. The assistant’s plan was a “masterful forgery” of a life; he had staged the death to steal the diadem and collect a “handsome insurance payout” before fleeing Speranza.
  The mystery of the “smoke that never burns” was finally solved, not by a heavy plow, but by a “touch of magic and an abundance of furry smartness”.