Yes, I am Seadragon. Well guessed!

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February 4, 1903 | Likely Christian Church, Likely, CA

You go to Mrs. Smith's house and find the best dress you packed, which is white with gray silk trim around all the ruffles. You don't care for it: White clothes get stained, and plus it doesn't have any pockets. You brush your hair and put it into a knot, then put on your familiar green woolen coat.
The social, as Adelaide told you, is at six. You find yourself meandering down the street a touch early, perhaps five-thirty, and even though you don't have any idea where the church is, you can see its cross looming over South Street. You arrive.
"Hello, dearie," says a smiling woman sitting at a table. "I don't know you, I'm afraid, but the flower-arrangers could use a hand." She has a pleasant English accent and is probably about seventy years old. 
"Rose Thornton," you say. "Mrs. Smith's great-niece." 
"My name is Tildie Simons," she says. "I'm Edward's mum." 
"Ah, yes," you say. "I met your grandson, he's very nice." 
"So he is," says Tildie Simons. "Now, flowers, Miss Rose? Or are you here to sit and chat?"
"Flowers," you say quickly.
"They're at the first end of the table," she says, "nearest us." 
The pews of the church must have all been moved. There is an enormous table in their place, with chairs at it, and at one of the sides (it's square, perhaps ten people to an edge) there are three young girls, all talking to each other and holding beribboned dried flowers.
"Has Mrs. Simons sent you?" one asks. "We're so sorry we've not been working."
"Yes, let's put them into their vases," you say, trying to coerce them, indicating a box of colored-glass vases, which have been nesting in straw. "And then we'll put the candles around them, I suppose," you say. 
"We're not to do that," says another. "I'm Daisy Fletcher, and these are some of my sisters, Sweetpea and Audrey." Sweetpea is the youngest, perhaps three, and Audrey appears near seven, and Daisy five. Perhaps they are related to Taylor Fletcher, you think.
"Penelope," says Audrey. "Not Sweetpea. But she can't pronounce her name." 
You help the children set the flowers in vases, and then you are leaning against a wall and hear snatches of conversation from the other side. You're near an open doorway; the voices must be coming from the room it leads to.
"--not with Mrs. Smith's girl in town you shouldn't--"
"--true, she seems like a spy--"
What can that mean? And surely, Mrs. Smith's girl is you?

Would you like to go through the door and speak to the people inside, or stay where you are and listen?

February 4, 1903 | Likely Christian Church

You pick up a glass resting on the table and put it so that the opening faces the wall. Then you place your ear on the bottom, like the listening tubes that your doctor uses whenever you have a cold, just to make sure there's nothing wrong.
One of the people talking procedes to curse. "That. Fish," says the person, whose voice sounds low like a man's. "I can't gut it to save my life." 
"Then I'll do it," says someone, higher-voiced. There's the quiet sound of a knife slicing through fish. 
"Goodness," says another person. "How do you get that knife so sharp, Taylor?" Taylor. Taylor Fletcher? It's not a common name, after all. 
"Sharp stones," she says, still cutting the fish.
"Say, Taylor," says the first voice, "wouldn't you go keep an eye on your sisters?"
"Thought you couldn't gut a fish to save your life," Taylor says. 
"Perhaps I've learned some tricks of the trade."
"Well, if you insist." You hear footsteps and hide the glass behind your back. A girl comes out, in a lavender dress with little white flowers. There is a knife in her hand. It's halfway folded and blunt. Didn't she have a sharp knife?
"Taylor," you say quietly. 
"Who in the world are you?" she says. She's not afraid of anything, or so it seems.
"Rose Thornton. I don't live here. I don't think that's your knife."
She looks at it and both you and her notice that there is a TL burnt into the wood
"No, it's not," she says. "Slimy as a fish, that Mr. Latcher...Thank you, Rose the Stranger Who Doesn't Live Here. You seem to know who I am, but I'll tell you that I'm Taylor Fletcher."
"You're welcome," you say, and she goes back into the room. However, the people in the room start speaking louder, so you can hear whispers without the glass. You pick it back up.
"--the new Justice of the Peace is coming, after all, and don't you see that this was the WRONG TIME TO DO IT?" 
"For goodness's sake, it's been six months," says someone else. "It's cold."
"No it's not," says the first person, "not with the niece digging up dust."
It's suddenly gotten a lot easier to prove what happened, you think as you put the glass back on the table. The Justice of the Peace is in town, and...if Tim Latcher switched the knife, then it must have been him. Him and a stranger. 
Taylor Fletcher is striding toward you.
"So, Miss Rose, I heard some surprising stuff standing in that doorway, and maybe you did too with your ear to the wall. Do you want to eat together and talk, maybe about your great-aunt? I'm so sorry she died, by the way." 
"I didn't know her," you say. You remember what Nora said about animosity between her and Taylor Fletcher. But it would be nice to talk about it with more than one person, and even nice to fix a friendship for two people you barely know...
Do you want to tell Taylor that you will eat with her and Nora, or eat only with Taylor, or just eat with Nora like you planned?

February 4, 1903 | Likely Christian Church, Likely

"If you wouldn't mind," you venture, "I'd planned to eat with Nora Jones, but we can sit all together, can't we."
"I suppose." Taylor suddenly seems much more acid. "But, yes."
You go over to a seat. Taylor sits down next to you and sort of turns away. For that reason, Nora sits next to you not knowing who her other dining companion is.
"Nora," you say, "this is Taylor Fletcher."
"I know who she is," says Nora, wrinkling her nose.
Someone stands up on a chair and rings a bell. It is Tildie Simons.
"Welcome, everyone," she says. "Eat, converse, and be merry. We follow the rules of our town's other gathering space, the Main Street Hotel: IN THIS ESTABLISHMENT, THERE IS NO ARGUING, FIGHTING, OR HATE OF ANY
KIND. IF YOU DO NOT FOLLOW THESE RULES, YOU WILL BE THROWN OUT,
POSSIBLY ON YOUR NOSE.  And--" She pauses "--Enjoy the food." She sits down.
You try to follow her command, but it's hard. Eating dinner with Nora and Taylor is like being an interpreter: Taylor talks to you, mostly asking about your life, and refers to Nora as "her". Nora asks you how your evening's been, and only talks directly to you. The food is very good, although it's rather hard to eat. You try addressing them both at once.
"So," you say, "I'm trying to solve the mystery of what happened to my great-aunt. Do either of you have any ideas?"
"I worked with you on this," says Nora, in the same acid tone as she did.
"Tim Latcher stole my knife recently," says Taylor, "so he could be a practiced criminal, but..." She glances at Nora. "Perhaps one'd think me improper if I were to say I spend lots of time in the woods." It's rather obvious that one is code for Nora Jones.
"And perhaps one'd think me prissy if I were to say I liked to sit and talk and sew with her." Now one means Taylor Fletcher.
"What actually happened between you two anyway?" you ask. 
"Well, we were friends, and then we started coming head-to-head a while," says Nora. 
"We were the last two left in a spelling bee," says Taylor.
"And both of us were good at the same things in school," says Nora. "We both left graduated last year, and they couldn't assign someone to be top of the class. They had to put both names on top of the list."
"And then," says Taylor, "there was the singing and music contest."
"The what?" you ask.
"Well, on Midsummer's day, there's always a bit of a festival, and this year there was a singing and music contest," says Nora. "We weren't as good friends as we used to be, stuff was already a bit strained, and then we dared each other to enter the contest."
"We play instruments, but we're shy," says Taylor. "I play the fiddle, she plays the piano." Somehow that suits both of their characters perfectly.
"And Taylor won," says Nora. "But the judges almost couldn't decide, and nearly picked someone else. We'd been competing so long, and we swore that we'd never compete again, but it got too hard to hold the promise once the judges picked the other. I'm so sorry," says Nora, speaking to Taylor for the first time tonight.
"I regretted it," says Taylor.
"Okay," you say. "Now why don't we solve this mystery."
"We could try to get an outright confession," says Taylor.
"Or we could find a way to prove it to the Justice of the Peace otherwise," says Nora, pointing at someone talking to Tildie Simons. "He's here."

Which do you want to do?

February 4, 1903| Likely Christian Church

"I think I'd like an outright confession," you say. Even though it's risky.
"Okay," says Nora. "We could try cornering him, although we might get in trouble..."
"Or," says Taylor, "we could offer to trade seats with Audrey, Daisy, and Sweetpea." Taylor points at her sisters, who are sitting right next to the Justice of the Peace, who is sitting next to none other than Tim Latcher. Tildie Simons must have moved. 
"Let's do that," Nora agrees. After a bit of coercing (mostly by Taylor), the three young children have moved, and, also, the move puts them next to Lily Jones, who was sitting with Katherine Soderstrom. You decide that the good thing about small towns is that people look after each other. You sit down next to the Justice of the Peace, and Nora then Taylor sit next to you. 
"Hello, Mr. Snifter," says Nora, who apparently knows the Justice's name. "What brings you to our little town?"
"Ah, well," says Mr. Snifter, "I wanted to visit my aunt, and also visit the town where my predecessor met his end." 
"Unfortunate, that," says Taylor. "I'm Taylor Fletcher, and this is Nora Jones and, next to you, Rose Thornton, and she's got something to tell the person on the other side of you, but she's right here for a reason." 
The justice looks around, confused. Nora elbows you gently.
"So, Mr. Tim Latcher," you say, leaning over the Justice a bit, "did you murder my great-aunt?"
"According to the speech that Mrs. Tildie Simons gave, you're not supposed to be mean," says Mr. Snifter. 
This is exactly what you don't want to happen; now Tim Latcher has a way out. 
"She's not being mean, she's telling the truth," says Taylor. "So speak now or forever hold your peace."
"Well..." says Tim, "what's your evidence?"
"Plaid cloth in her house," you say, pulling the cloth from your pocket. You notice his red shirt is patched. "And this note with your handwriting on it." You show him the note. "And that you never knew she was your benefactor. And the lock was forced. And she was lying on top of the covers. Among other things."
"I do have the legal right to arrest someone, and I'm also a judge, so I want you to say yes or no," says Mr. Snifter.
Tim throws up his hands. 
"Yes."
And then, suddenly, he gets up and runs away.
"Darn," says the Justice of the Peace. "I'm afraid I've got a bad knee, and I don't want to go chasin' criminals with no evidence. So, one of you'd better stay here and explain everything, even if one or two want to chase." 
"I'll go," says Taylor, who's up in a flash. "Nice talking."
"I'll stay," says Nora. 
Who do you want to go with?

February 4, 1903 | Likely

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Snifter,” you say. You run out of the church. The street is quite empty, probably because everyone is at the social. You hear some voices and turn towards them. 

“Honestly, did you really think you could get away with this?” Taylor asks. “And why would you do it?”

”Well, that is a long story, Miss Taylor, and you aren’t going to be able to hear the end of it.” You’re near the north end of town. It’s dark, and you realize that Taylor is tied to a tree. You wonder how that happened.

“You honestly think that you can get away with this?” Taylor repeats. “ ‘Cause you’re not very good at tying people up.” She wriggles under the rope that is tying her to the tree and points at you, then to behind the person who you think is Tim Latcher. You sneak behind him. He Is picking up a match.

Since you can’t think of anything else to do, you scream. “Boo!” He jumps and that gives you an idea. You set your green coat on the forest floor, hoping it won’t turn into a mess riddled with tree needles, exposing your white dress. 

“I am the ghost of Mrs. Smith,” you say in your most ethereal voice. “And those who are murdered do not go so sweetly from this world.”

”Egads!” Tim Latcher mutters. You hear footsteps behind you and move so that you’re in front of him.

“You will do what is right and confess to the Justice of the Peace,” you say in the same tone as before. He strikes a match on the sole of his boot and holds it up.

“You’re not a ghost,” Tim says. “You’re Rose Thornton.”

”So she is,” says Taylor from behind him. He tries to turn around, and she catches him with the rope he probably used to tie her to the tree. In a few minutes, he is tied to another tree, this time via a rope around his waist and then around the tree, with Taylor holding the end. 

“We could call for the Justice of the Peace and both guard him, so he really can’t escape,” she says, “or one of us could get the Justice, which might make him listen more.”

Which do you want to do? 

At this point, because few people appear interested in this (I know it's dragging on, but soon it'll end), I'm repealing the 'take turns' rule.

February 4, 1903 | Likely, CA

"I'll go get the Justice," you say.
"Go then," says Taylor. "Quickly."
You run down Main Street in your white dress, your boots thudding on the pavement. Then you run in the door of the church. Inside the building, you walk. You don't need a fuss. 
"Justice Snifter," you say, "Mr. Latcher was apprehended and is currently tied to a tree at the north end of town."
"So?" he says.
You falter, but Nora nods at you. "You can arrest him." 
"All right." Justice Snifter gets up and he and Nora follow you to the tree--except Tim Latcher isn't tied there anymore and he and Taylor are fighting.
"He was tied to a tree," you say as Snifter gives you a pointed look. 
"All right," he says. "Do you confess to the murder of Tabitha Smith?"
"I do," says Tim Latcher, who then tries to make another run for it. He feints to the left and tries to slip past Taylor to the right. However, Justice Snifter blocks him with an arm, and Nora puts her body behind the arm, although it isn't necessary. Tim Latcher puts his hand behind his back and Justice Snifter handcuffs him. 
You pick up your coat and shake off the few needles, and Tim is walked back to the church and handcuffed to a post. That's what satisfaction feels like, you think.  

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February 16, 1903 | Likely, CA

Your parents are set to arrive in perhaps ten minutes. They'll pick you up in a coach, and then you can go back to Alturas in the coach and take the train home. Not that you're really happy for this to end.
Nora and Taylor came to say goodbye. They both gave you their addresses, and they have yours. You also have the address of the Justice of the Peace and Gretchen and Justin. You decide that both you and Justin are probably better off not pining after each other from miles away. It would be boring, pining. 
You've taken the more interesting of Mrs. Smith's notebooks in your suitcase, as well as a present each from Taylor, Nora, and Gretchen (respectively: a wooden box, a nice pair of gloves, and a stone necklace on a lacy chain), and you're sitting in the living room. 
Here comes the coach, the horses' hooves clacking on the street. You look at the house one last time. You're okay to be going--it's what should happen, after all.
But who's to say you can't come back?

The end. 

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I hope you liked this, and thank you for reading it! I enjoyed writing it.