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“On first examination, I noticed something very interesting about your collection of plants. You don’t clean your plants, do you, Mia? There’s dust on all of them. You really should, you know, the dust reduces the plant’s ability to photosynthesize. But I digress. This dracaena trifasciata has a disrupted dust pattern around its leaves here, and here.”

Mia and Isabelle exchange another glance before he turns around. “I believe that someone with access to your home planted — no pun intended — a camera. Using the footage, they could put together a rough idea of your schedule, and that is what gave them the confidence and freedom to break in and steal, among other things, your jewelry.”

Mia crosses her arms over her chest. “Someone with access to my home?”

The gumshoe nods, face solemn. “Do you think you could write me a list of who fits that description? And could I bother you for a glass of water?”

Mia scrunches her nose, eyes tracing a line across the floor as she processes what he’s said. After a moment she gives her head a little shake and forces a tight-lipped smile, then turns and walks from the room. The gumshoe meets Isabelle’s eyes and mimes a hat tip before sidling out the front door.

Isabelle finds him on the porch, leaning with his forearms on the railing, lit cigarette between his index and middle fingers. He lifts it to his lips and the tip glows bright with his inhale. He reaches into his pocket for the pack as Isabelle steps up next to him; she takes one and lights it behind a cupped hand to block the wind.

He flicks the cigarette with his thumb before taking another drag. “Have you heard the story of the tutor and the golden student?” Without waiting for Isabelle’s answer, he continues.

“It’s not a happy story, of course. Isn’t that a depressing thing about stories? The simple act of telling it signals its finality: no changing it, it’s already decided. But once, long ago, it’s said there was a tutor of two students. Both students were similar in ability and intelligence, but one of the students was the golden student, and the other the silver student.

“Now, the tutor was kind to the golden student. She lavished her with praise and encouragement, and celebrated every win, no matter how small. When the golden student performed perfectly she was lauded, when she performed poorly she was treated with gentleness and compassion. The golden student flourished and did so well that her parents laid heavy praise on the tutor, and the tutor was so proud of her student that the two formed a close, positive bond.”

He turns to Isabelle, whose eyes glance sideways at him before she takes another pull on her cigarette, letting it out slowly between her teeth.

“As I said: the two students were similar in both ability and intelligence. So what of the other student, the silver one? Well, I think we’ve all found that once first impressions are made, they’re hard to change. The silver student needed a little more help, a little more attention, and struggled at first to truly understand some subjects. So the tutor began to think of her as lesser. When the silver student performed admirably on a test, for instance, the tutor would always point out where the silver student could have done better, and acted as though the high level of performance was an expectation, and not an achievement. When the silver student performed poorly she was berated and dismissed.

“Slowly, the silver student began to think that there must be something wrong with her. While the golden student was supported during both high and low times, the silver student found herself without support and facing criticism no matter how well or poorly she performed. She lost interest in performing well. It was better, for her, to remain invisible, or not try very hard, than it was to yearn for praise it seemed impossible to earn.

“The way each student was treated began to shape their world view. The golden student grew confident in her own abilities and felt safe to take risks. She succeeded in many aspects of her life. She was given the recognition she deserved. The silver student withdrew and became apathetic to protect herself. She still did well — success had always been an expectation — but her self-esteem and self-image suffered. No matter what she achieved, she was never viewed the same as the golden student. And for what reason? None, really, except the tutor’s own bias.”

Isabelle’s stopped smoking. His eyes flit down to her hand and then up to her face as she stares ahead, as though she’s studying the house across the street. He catches Mia standing in the doorway, glass of water in hand, before he continues.

“As I said, the two were equals in ability. But treated differently, what they thought they could achieve — and indeed, what they managed to achieve — was quite unequal. It set a precedent that followed them for the rest of their lives. As I said, it’s not a happy story. It was already decided, as soon as I began it.”

The gumshoe takes one last drag, burning it down to the filter before he flicks it into a garden bed below.

“You have every right to be angry, Isabelle,” he says, softly. “To grow up so capable, and to be so unseen. Is it resentment? Sadness? Grief, that your mother left you nothing, and Mia everything? Is that why you did it? A belief that if you got nothing, then neither should she? Or did you steal so much because you thought you could keep the heirlooms for yourself, and you were trying to throw the scent off?”

Isabelle stares straight ahead. Mia says her name, but she doesn’t turn.

“It isn’t fair,” Isabelle says, finally, voice breaking on the last word.

“No,” he says, nodding. “It very rarely is.”