Turn, turn, turn, flip, turn, turn.

I pull on my magnifying glasses to look at the edge a little closer. On a few pieces, I’ve been able to tell which side is the front by the tear.

Hmm, it looks like it goes this way. Here? No. Here? No.

Grr. I’m making such good progress, but it’s not coming together. With the magnification glasses on, I lean down close to scan the pieces I have left to get into place and one catches my eye.

I pick it up and examine it closely under the light, reading the text printed there.

This is it!

I slot the tiny bit of paper into place and read out the name of what Yvette Horne ordered from the online folk remedy pharmacy. I’m not familiar with it offhand, but through the magic of Google, I will be.

I sense movement beside me and see a blue blob in the doorway out of the corner of my eye. My eyes are fine, but they’re used to the magnifying lenses now so my regular vision, even peripherally, is a bit wonky.

“Hey, Jeff,” I say, looking up and knowing I must look like Sybill Trelawney, eyes huge behind these glasses.

“Zoey.” He sounds tired, frustrated, and maybe a teeny-tiny bit amused way down deep under his gruff exterior.

Way, way down deep.

“Thanks for coming down. Did you bring my coffee?” I ask casually as I set the magnifiers on the table, careful to not mess up my puzzle work.

Nothing to see here, just a regular old visit to Zoey’s morgue.

Jeff’s brows jump together, a sound of confusion grumbling in his throat. I lift my brow and cut my eyes from Jeff to Alver, who’s standing back smugly.

“You used to bring me dinner,” I remind him. “Is a coffee now and again too much to ask? Especially when you’re creeping around like a creepy creeper.”

I wiggle my fingers to mimic his stalking about. Okay, so my insults aren’t much better than my pep talks judging by the twitches of Jeff’s lips and mustache and the confused look on Alver’s face.

“Alver, will you get Zoey a coffee, please?” Jeff asks without turning around. It’s not really a question at all but an order.

“Make it two, actually. One for me and one for Jeff,” I add.

Alver huffs and spins on his heel for the stairs. When he’s gone, I whisper, “You don’t have to drink it if you don’t want one, but I don’t trust him not to poison me or spit it in. Hopefully, if there’s a chance it’s yours, he won’t risk it.”