The sun set slowly over the quiet hills of Speranza, casting long, dark shadows across the cobblestones. Inside the small shop named “La Pagina che Fa le Fusa,” the air was warm and smelled strongly of old paper, fresh rosemary, and sweet chamomile. Tonight, the shop was a place of deep, silent mystery.
High up on a tall wooden bookshelf, two green eyes watched the room. This was Toe, the sleek black cat. He was completely still, hiding in the dark like a shadow against the colorful books. Below him, on a big bordeaux velvet armchair, sat Ashwaganda. He was a large, fluffy ginger cat. His golden eyes were half-open, and his mind was working very fast, much like a famous detective putting puzzle pieces together.
A terrible crime had happened in their home.
Earlier that day, Moira had returned from the village market. The cats had heard the loud crinkle of a shiny plastic bag. They had smelled the rich, wonderful scent of fresh fish treats. But then, Moira had smiled a secret smile, turned her back, and the treats had vanished. She had hidden them.
Ashwaganda stood up on the plaid wool blanket and stretched. It was time to investigate. He looked up at Toe. With a silent nod, the two furry detectives began their hunt. The tension in the quiet room was thick, like a heavy fog rolling in from the hills. Every floorboard that squeaked made their ears twitch.
First, they had to think about who was in the shop today. Could someone have helped Moira? Altea had visited from her Cigar House, bringing the heavy smell of dark tobacco. Anna had come from the Coffee Taverna with fresh, hot coffee. Marisa had stopped by from her Mint Choccolet shop, carrying sweet things. But no, Ashwaganda knew Moira acted alone. This was an inside job.
Toe jumped down from the high shelf without making a single sound. He walked over the old terracotta floor, which was smooth from many human feet. He sniffed around the big oak counter where Moira always worked. Behind the counter, there were many glass jars filled with herbs and tea leaves.
Ashwaganda walked to the small round tables. He checked near the little ceramic vases that held fresh rosemary. Nothing. He then checked Moira’s favorite book. It was an old book with faded peacock-blue leather and a silver stamp of a sleeping cat on the front. It smelled of dust and dried flowers. The treats were not under the book.
The shadows in the shop grew darker. The suspense was terrible. Where could the treasure be?
Then, Toe noticed something strange. On the shelf behind the main counter, sitting next to the nice porcelain teapots, was an old typewriter. The typewriter was pushed forward just a tiny bit. It was out of place.
Toe looked at Ashwaganda. The little grey cells were working. Ashwaganda jumped onto a chair, then onto the counter. He crept slowly toward the old machine. His fluffy tail swished back and forth in the quiet room. He reached his paw behind the heavy black keys of the typewriter.
He felt plastic. He heard a soft crinkle.
With a quick pull, Ashwaganda dragged the shiny bag into the light. Moira had thought the typewriter was the perfect hiding spot. But she forgot that her cats saw every small detail, just like true detectives.
Toe used his sharp claws to open the bag. The rich smell of fish filled the warm air. The two best friends sat on the counter and ate their stolen treasure. They purred a loud, happy song that filled the whole shop. The great mystery of the hidden treats was solved, and the quiet village of Speranza was peaceful once again.
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