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He leaned in closer and sniffed. A faint, sharp scent lingered in the air — barely there, but enough to make his nose twitch.

James muttered, “That’s… alcohol.”

Alice, who had been trailing a few steps behind, knelt beside him and inhaled. “Whiskey,” she said after a moment. “Definitely Scotch.”

James’s eyes flicked to her, then over to André and Francesca, still standing near the box. “Do you sell whiskey here?”

Francesca shook her head immediately. “No. We don’t sell any kind of alcohol.”

André added, “The only place in Bellavita that serves drinks is the bar — the one run by Jonathan and Elise.”

James stood up slowly, processing. His gaze returned to the faint traces on the floor. “Then someone brought it here themselves… and probably spilled some on the floor.”

He glanced once more at the corner. The smell was faint — the kind that lingered a few days after a careless spill or an unsteady hand.

After a moment of silence, he turned back to André and Francesca. “Thanks for your help,” he said, voice calm but firm. “From now on, keep this place locked. If someone came in here once, they might try again.”

Francesca nodded quickly. “We will. I’ll make sure of it.”

James gave a final look around, then head outside.

As they stepped outside, the last light of day stretched long shadows across the ground. The sun was dipping behind the hills, casting a soft amber glow over the villa. It is 5:50 PM now — just ten minutes until they were scheduled to meet Officer Rossi.