Momma leads a family called Plot Twist, and tonight someone in it turned killer. She stood over the body in the pool room, holding a scrap of torn fabric. The dead guest had clutched it. Momma meant to catch the murderer before another guest died, but the scrap told her nothing. Red and gold thread, cut clean. She turned it in her pink glow. Any of twelve guests could have worn it. The mansion had trapped them all for a game. Now the game had a corpse. Momma gathered the living in the hall. She held the scrap high so they could see it. "One of you left this behind," she said. "Show me your costumes." They came one by one. Waffles pushed his sunglasses up and studied her instead of the scrap. "You watch people, man. So do I. Whoever did it stayed calm." His plaid shirt held no tear. Mya Star turned in place, her sparkly dress catching light. No gold. Connie lifted her dark red gown and showed the hem. Clean. Toast stood still, suspenders and green cap, no fabric to match at all. Then Kaylee stepped up. Her red gown ran with gold thread down the side. Momma's chest tightened. She had known Kaylee for years. She raised the scrap to the gown's torn seam. It fit. The threads lined up. Red into red, gold into gold. The room went quiet. Kaylee looked down at the tear and her hands began to shake. "I ripped it on the pool room door," she said. "Hours ago. I swear I did." Momma held the two edges together. The match was exact. But she pressed the scrap flat and saw the cut. "This wasn't torn," she said slowly. "It was cut with a blade. Someone cut a piece from your gown while you wore it." Waffles leaned in. "So they framed her. Smart. Pin it on the loud dress." Momma's certainty broke apart. The clue had worked, and it had lied. The real killer had planned this. They had watched Kaylee snag her gown, then cut the proof and pressed it into a dying hand. "You're clear," Momma told Kaylee, and the girl sank against the wall. Then a scream came from the kitchen. Momma ran. Toast and Waffles followed. On the tile lay a second guest, still warm, one hand open. Inside the open hand sat a fresh scrap. Purple. Sparkly. Momma knew that fabric. It was her own dress. She pressed her palm to her hip and felt the small cut in the sparkle where a blade had passed. The killer had marked her now. And every guest in that hall had just watched her clear one suspect. The next body would point at Momma herself.

Momma still held the purple scrap when the guests broke. They scattered through the halls, shouting, slamming doors. She counted heads by force of habit. Kaylee against the wall. Waffles by the kitchen. Toast under the archway. Then she saw the gap. SilverMist was gone. Momma knew her. SilverMist had joined Plot Twist young, a girl with green eyes and a diamond necklace that spelled her own name, ink running down one arm. She trusted Momma more than she trusted herself. Now she was somewhere in this house alone, and the killer was still moving. "Find her," Momma said. She grabbed Waffles by the sleeve. "You watch people. Where did she go?" Waffles pushed his sunglasses up. "Toward the water, man. She ran scared. Scared people run to open space." Momma ran for the pool. Her heels cracked on the tile. Drew caught up beside her, chain swinging, breath fast. "I'll take the far side," he said. She let him. One more set of eyes. The pool room was huge, the water still and blue under the lights. Momma scanned the steps, the deep trim, the surface. Nothing floated there. Her chest loosened one notch. Then she heard it. A small sound behind the pump housing at the far end. SilverMist crouched there, knees drawn up, shaking. Alive. Momma reached her and pulled her up by the shoulders. "I saw someone," SilverMist whispered. "By the kitchen. Before the scream. A shape. Cutting something." Momma's grip tightened. This was a witness. A real one. "What did they cut?" "Cloth. Purple. Off you." SilverMist's green eyes filled. "I didn't see the face. I ran." Drew reached them, hands open, calm. "She okay?" "She's fine," Momma said. "She saw the killer cut my dress." Drew nodded slow. Something crossed his face and left. Momma marked it and let it pass. She had the girl. That was what mattered now. She walked SilverMist back through the halls herself, one arm around her. She would not let this witness out of her sight. She had feared she was hunting a third body. Instead she had found a living pair of eyes. But the eyes had seen almost nothing. A shape. A blade. No face. The killer had cut Momma's dress in front of a witness and still stayed hidden. That told Momma something colder than a clue could. The killer had watched SilverMist run and let her live. Because a scared girl with half a memory pointed nowhere. Momma sat SilverMist down and knelt in front of her. "Tell me everything you remember. Slowly." The girl started to talk. Behind them, the guests gathered again, quiet now, watching Momma hold the one person who had seen the killer at work. And every one of them wondered what SilverMist would remember next.

SilverMist had told Momma everything she could. It was not enough. The purple scrap still sat on the table, cut from Momma's own dress, planted in a dead guest's hand. To the family, it pointed one way. It pointed at her. Momma felt the change in the room before anyone spoke. Fewer eyes met hers. More eyes watched her hands. Kaylee said it first. She stood by the archway, brown braid over one shoulder, red gown still torn at the hem. She had been framed once herself, and it had left her sharp. "They found your cloth on the body, Momma," she said. "Not mine this time. Yours." Her voice stayed level. That was worse than shouting. She was stating a fact for everyone to hear. Momma did not defend herself. Defending yourself made you look guilty. Instead she turned to the one person who had said nothing. Toast sat on the floor near the wall, green hat low, big eyes fixed on the scrap. The little frog had watched the whole night without a word. Momma trusted what Toast saw because Toast never added anything false. "You watched the kitchen," Momma said. "Tell them what you saw." Toast hopped up. Toast walked to the table and looked at the purple scrap. Then Toast looked at the torn edge of Momma's dress. "Wrong cut," Toast said. The room went still. Kaylee frowned. "What does that mean?" Toast pointed one green finger at the dress. "Your dress tore up. Frayed. Pulled." Toast pointed at the scrap. "This one cut clean. Straight. Blade." Toast tilted the green hat back. "Cloth off your dress would fray like your dress. This did not. Someone cut this off flat cloth. Not off you." Drew leaned in, chain swinging as he bent over the table. He ran a thumb along the scrap's edge, then along the dress. "He's right," Drew said slowly. "The dress frays. The scrap is sliced. It doesn't match how her dress rips." Momma took the scrap and held it beside her hem. Everyone saw it now. The torn dress pulled loose in threads. The scrap ended in one flat line. It was the same color, the same sparkle, but it had never hung on her body. The killer had bought matching cloth and cut a fake. Kaylee's shoulders dropped. "So it was planted. Like mine." "Planted better," Momma said. "Made to fool my own family." The suspicion lifted off her like a held breath let go. Her family stepped closer again, back on her side. But Momma did not feel safe. She felt colder. The killer had matched her exact fabric. That took planning done before the ball. Someone had studied her dress, bought thread to copy it, and waited. This was not one wild night of blood. It was aimed at her, and it had started long before the first guest died. Momma looked at the fake scrap in her hand. "Whoever did this knew my dress before tonight," she said. "They've been watching me. I need to know for how long."

Two guests lay dead, and Momma had no way to sort the guilty from the rest. The fake scrap proved the killer had watched her before the ball. But watching told her nothing about who moved through the kitchen that night. She had twelve suspects and no record of their steps. She needed to know who had passed through that room. So she gathered the family and started asking. She set them in a line. Kaylee stood first, red gown torn at the hem, arms crossed. Being framed once had made her impatient with questions. "Ask me whatever you want," she said. "I was in the ballroom. Ten people saw me." Momma believed her. Ten witnesses cleared Kaylee. She crossed her off. Drew went next. He'd searched the pool with Momma, so his hours were tracked. Toast had watched the kitchen doorway all night with those big unblinking eyes. "Who went in?" Momma asked. Toast counted on green fingers. "Cook. Twice. A girl in wine-red dress. Once. Then the scream." Momma turned. A girl in a wine-red dress meant Connie. Connie stood near the wall, black hair down her back, hands folded. She was young and quiet, and few in the family knew her well. "I went to the kitchen for water," Connie said. Her voice stayed soft. "I saw no one. I left before the scream." Momma studied her. The story fit Toast's count. But it placed Connie in the room right before the body was found. "Stay close to me," Momma told her. Then she pulled SilverMist forward. The witness had seen the killer cut the purple scrap near the kitchen. "Look at her," Momma said. "Is this who you saw?" SilverMist stared at Connie for a long moment. Her green eyes filled. "No," she said. "Taller. The one I saw was taller." Connie's shoulders dropped in relief. Momma felt the list shrink in her hands. Kaylee, Drew, Connie, herself, SilverMist, Toast, Waffles. Cleared, one by one. That left five suspects, and all five were tall. She had a shape now. A person too tall to be the small ones in this room. Then a shout came from the far hall. Feet ran. Kaylee reached the door first and froze. Momma pushed past her. A third guest lay on the floor. Blonde hair spread across the tile. In the dead hand sat a silver scrap, cut clean, matching SilverMist's sparkly dress. Momma's stomach turned. She spun to find SilverMist. The witness stood pale against the wall, staring at the silver cloth that framed her. "They're not done," Momma said. "And now they're pointing at you." She had narrowed her list to five tall suspects. But the killer had answered by killing again, and by aiming the next frame at the one witness Momma swore to protect.