The Penthouse Clue

6 Comments / Stand-alone short stories, The Story Vault / By Views She Writes

Mochi’s hand hovered over her phone. She was about to dial 911 when she heard a voice—familiar and frantic—from outside her apartment door.

“Mochi? Mochi, are you okay?”

She froze.

“Lai?”

Her heart flipped. She rushed to the door and yanked it open.

There he stood, breathless, eyes wide with worry.

“Why are you home so early?” she asked, stunned.

“I—I got a call from Mr. Fido,” Lai said, stepping inside. “He told me you left work early. Said something felt off and asked me to check in on you.”

That didn’t sit right. Her instincts prickled.

“Mr. Fido called you?”

“Yes. He said he was worried. That’s all.”

Her eyes narrowed, but something in Lai’s face—genuine concern, the way he kept glancing at her hands like checking she wasn’t hurt—settled her enough to think clearly.

“Lai… something’s not right. Come in. I need to show you something.”

She dragged him to the dining table, where all the clues were laid out in neat rows: the monogrammed handkerchief, the torn note, the printed version of the coded poem, and her phone already open to the what3words app.

She launched into the full story—from the bloodied penthouse room to the note hidden beneath the office desk.

“And these,” she pointed, “these are words from the poem. See? Each group is color-coded and numbered. When rearranged, they make pairs of three words. what3words locations.”

Lai leaned in, curious. “You’re serious.”

“I was just about to try the combinations when you knocked,” she said. “Now that you’re here—let’s do it together.”

He nodded and sat beside her.

She moved her fingers over to the first set—the red words.

Lai gently stopped her.

“Try the green ones first,” he said softly. “They feel… lighter. More hopeful.”

Mochi smiled despite herself. “Sure. Let’s go with the hopeful ones.”

She typed:

Postures.ladybug.bedclothes

Nothing.

“No address found,” she whispered, deflating. Her excitement slipped through her fingers.

“Maybe… remove the spaces?” Lai suggested.

Still nothing.

“Wait—what format does the site accept?” he asked.

Together, they scanned the instructions.

“No periods at the end,” she muttered. “That might be it.”

She retyped:

postures.ladybug.bedclothes

A pin dropped on the map.

“It’s a real place!” she gasped. “A wholesaler named Will&You, in Batiscan, Quebec.”

“A real place,” Lai echoed. “Try the second one.”

She held her breath and entered:

empires.stewing.pencils

Lai shifted beside her. Her screen loaded. A name popped up.

Marry Me Mochi, Ontario

Her hand flew to her mouth.

“What…?”

She turned to look at him—and found Lai down on one knee, holding out a ring.

A real, beautiful, glimmering ring.

“Will you marry me, Mochi?”

Her breath caught in her throat. She stared at him. Then at the screen. Then at the clues on the table. Then back to him.

She started crying. Then laughing. Then crying again.

“You tricked me,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “You—Lai, you tricked me!”

He chuckled through his nerves. “I didn’t expect you to go full detective mode. I mean… I knew you’d be curious—but I didn’t think you’d start calling international companies.”

She was shaking her head, still laughing.

“Mochi,” he said softly, “please give me an answer. My knee is actually hurting.”

She dropped to the floor with him and kissed him. “Yes. Yes, yes, yes. A hundred times yes.”

They sat on the floor for a few minutes, still dazed with adrenaline and disbelief.

Finally, she pulled back, wiping tears from her face. “Did you really plan all this?”

Lai nodded. “I knew I couldn’t just do a normal proposal. You love puzzles. You live for clues. So I wanted to create a mystery… just for you. Something only you could solve.”

“And Mr. Fido?”

“He helped set it all up. I needed access to the penthouse suite without raising suspicion. He staged the room with some props—fake blood, moved furniture, a few red herrings. The handkerchief was from an Etsy store. The note? Just a scrap from a script I wrote. He even made sure no guests were booked that day.”

She stared at him, overwhelmed.

“And the blood?”

“Corn syrup and food coloring,” he said. “Messy, but safe.”

“And what about Mr. Peter Radcliff and MM?”

“MM stands for Miss Marple. Peter Radcliff was Mr. Fido’s brainchild. A madeup name from Peter Pettigrew and Daniel Radcliff. All of your favorites.”

At that moment, Lai’s phone buzzed. He glanced at it.

“Mr. Fido,” he said with a smile, handing it to her. “He wants to talk to you.”

Mochi took the call.

“Mr. Fido?”

“Congratulations, my dear,” his familiar, cheerful voice greeted her. “I’m sorry I had to play the stern manager. I hated every second of it. But I had to sell the performance. And I’ll be honest, I didn’t expect you to get so close to calling the police!”

“I almost did,” she said, laughing.

“You’ve always had the makings of a sharp mind,” he said fondly. “You just proved it. Enjoy your engagement, Mochi. You’ve earned it.”

She hung up the phone slowly.

Then looked at the clues. The camera roll of photographed ‘evidence.’ The note. The apps still open.

“I was a detective for a day,” she whispered.

Lai took her hand.

“And you solved your biggest mystery.”

“You didn’t want the Nancy Drew escape room,” Lai continued, smiling, “so I built you a mystery instead.”

She smiled, leaned into him, and whispered, “It was all worth it.”