If the killer's identity is a mystery, then maybe it's worth pointing a finger at the mayor for now.
Chimera isn't fishing in the river valley, isn't in town, and isn't at Martha's house either.
So where could it have gone?
Aimlessly wandering around looking for a Chimera beast felt like a total waste of time. Cohen figured it'd come back eventually—unless it took off because it woke up to find chatty Mr. Frondo still hanging around, prompting it to boldly pack up and move out.
Cohen decided to shift his focus to snagging the silver key instead—it seemed like a much clearer goal.
After briefly filling the Earl in on his plan, the Earl's reaction was identical to Von Braun's.
"Don't tell me you're suspecting the mayor just because—" The Earl shot Cohen a look like he'd lost his mind.
"Of course not," Cohen said, shaking his head. "You know that half-baked nonsense I spouted was just to get Von Braun out of the way. He's good at playing spy; he doesn't need to get mixed up in this."
"Since when did you turn into such a stand-up guy?" the Earl asked suspiciously.
"Am I usually some kind of villain?" Cohen shot back. "I've been doing good stuff all along, okay?"
"I've never seen a 'good guy' constantly rambling about the Dementor Empire…" the Earl said dryly, "oh, and ruling the wizarding world and helping Voldemort rise again."
"That's my future career plan. Someone's gotta be the boss—why not me?" Cohen corrected him. "It's like those guys obsessed with dirty thoughts all day. Just because they've got adult films auto-playing at eleven every night doesn't mean they're guilty of assault or something."
"I'm an owl," the Earl quickly clarified, dodging the implication. "Owls don't have that kind of—"
"I didn't even say who I was talking about."
After wandering around the park for a bit, Cohen swung by the church and the home of the eyewitness, "Marjorie Morlick."
She was a widow in her thirties, still charming, with no kids and looking pretty healthy.
But Mrs. Morlick insisted she'd seen the shadow of a giant creature and even pointed to "slime left by a monster in the park" as proof.
Though the witness and evidence were suspiciously in cahoots, Cohen wasn't fooled.
"I can smell a lie from a mile away!" he declared confidently as he headed back to Martha's house with the Earl and Mr. Frondo in tow.
"Why don't you just hit her with a damn Legilimens spell?" the Earl asked, clearly fed up with Cohen's detective games. "She's just a Muggle!"
"You wouldn't get it," Cohen said, shaking his head. "You've turned into a boring grown-up."
"I'm a bird!" the Earl snapped back. "And I'm plenty fun—"
"I think, Earl, your constant swearing might be why Cohen's fed up with you," said Mr. Frondo, whose Silencing Charm had worn off again. He spoke slowly and deliberately. "I never use words like 'cucking' or 'skank.' For a young wizard, that might be a bit…"
"Both of you shut it once we're inside," Cohen warned. "Martha's old and can't handle shocks—even if she's a witch. She might start suspecting her cat's secretly a wizard or something terrifying like that."
For once, Mr. Frondo actually kept his mouth shut.
Looks cat had some sense of restraint after all.
"Why'd you come back alone?!" Edward emerged from the kitchen, spotted Cohen pushing the door open, and rushed over, lowering his voice.
"I finished investigating," Cohen said. "I'll find the killer soon."
"The killer?! Weren't you just—forget it. Don't say you came back alone. If Martha asks, tell her I just Apparated to pick you up—"
"Ed, is someone here?" Martha's voice called from the master bedroom.
"No, I just brought Cohen back," Edward replied quickly.
"But thirty seconds ago, I heard noise from the kitchen—" Martha shouted from her room. "Oh, found it! The clothes I prepared for little Cohen…"
Martha emerged from the bedroom holding a nightgown embroidered with a sky-blue eagle, catching Edward and Cohen standing by the door.
"I thought you'd sworn off Apparating with people ever since you hurt that chipmunk back in school," Martha teased with a smirk. "Your dad and I always thought you were just too nervous. Some things aren't worth being so timid about—you only left the chipmunk's tail behind, not its little head…"
A sharp screech came from a pot in the kitchen.
Edward yelped and bolted back to the kitchen while Martha pulled Cohen over to the couch and slipped the nightgown over him.
"It fits perfectly," Martha said, admiring how Cohen looked in it. "Rose gave me your measurements, so I had two sets made—one with a lion, one with an eagle. I'm a Ravenclaw, of course. Not that Gryffindor's bad or anything—I just want my precious grandson to be a little clever…"
Now Cohen understood why Mr. Frondo liked hanging out with Martha so much.
After thanking her, Edward finished the last dish.
They ate dinner early. Edward planned to tidy up the overgrown, thorny garden outside ("Your dad brought in some creepy plants," Martha warned him. "Watch out for the venomous tentacles and wear the dragon-hide gloves."), while Martha knitted by the cold blue fire crackling in the fireplace.
Cohen, on his way back to his room, couldn't help but ask out of curiosity.
Were Rose and Edward planning to have another kid in their forties?
"Of course they're baby clothes, dear," Martha said with a chuckle. "For your baby."
Cohen almost said "too soon," but then he remembered—last Christmas, Martha had made a prophecy about "Cohen giving her a great-grandchild in the next few years."
Terrifying. Did wizards really trust their own predictions *that* much?
Plus, Cohen figured little Dementor Mick probably couldn't wear a physical wool sweater anyway. A Dementor in a knitted sweater? The thought alone was downright bizarre.
"I'm gonna do some summer homework and then sleep," Cohen said, wishing Martha goodnight early. He left Mr. Frondo with her for company—partly because he didn't want to sneak around at night with a chatterbox tabby cat, even a magical one, who'd blow his cover in a heartbeat.
Cohen's room was decently big. Technically, it was a guest room, but it'd been assigned to him since the house rarely had visitors.
A double bed, a desk, and a huge, empty wardrobe.
Edward had stashed Cohen's trunk under the bed so Martha wouldn't accidentally open it if she came in.
An open window led straight to the garden outside—maybe Edward would pass by later while clearing weeds and dangerous plants.
"Wake me up at midnight," Cohen told the Earl. "I'm gonna nap first. How do you manage to not sleep day or night, anyway?"
"Because I'm a magical owl," the Earl said, making it up on the spot as he prepared to fly out for a loop. "I've got two brains that take turns resting. I'll come get you after I catch some field mice."