Curtain Call at the Lantern

A cashmere overcoat, the sort that costs a month of someone else's wages. Empty outer pockets. A silk handkerchief. A gold pen. In the lining, though, stitched into a slit you'd have missed if you hadn't been trained to distrust tidiness, something small and heavy.

A steel tag, bent from years of handling, the stamped letters worn soft by a thumb: SALTMARSH DOCKS - E. FENN - 4471.

You turned it over. Jonah leaned in. "Who's E. Fenn?"

"Someone who worked the docks. Someone who kept his work tag for a very long time." You weighed it in your palm. "The coat says Edwin Fairweather. This says somebody else. The question is which of them was the costume."