Chapter Eleven

"Funny how you came back here looking for something you won't get, detective."

Joshua stood on the steps of the front porch, as quiet as a mouse. Yet, as if practising magic, Mrs. Margaret Walters was able to detect his presence. He squinted up at the sun, which heat was capable of turning the tar on the road to muddles. Joshua wasn't wearing his normal outfit of a leather jacket over a white shirt and a slacked tie. He chose to go entirely casual; a grey Under Armour T-shirt with black jeans and white Adidas sneakers. Part of the reason being the hell of a weather they were having, literally.

The other reason was because he didn't go as a detective, but as plain ol' Joshua Mulligan. An ordinary inhabitant of Chesterfield Springs.

"Well, aren't you going to come in?" She asked. "Or do you prefer to bake out there like freshly marinated meat?"

With that, she rose from the white bench on her porch and grabbed her cane. She was indoors in a flash. With Joshua at her heels.

“So, did you just come to keep an old woman company? Or are you here for my cranberry cupcakes?”

Joshua smiled at the old woman's sense of humor. Most people her age were in elderly homes, getting pampered until they passed over to the other side of existence. Others attached themselves to people; family, friends, associates, work partners . . . just so that they don't end up alone.

But Mrs. Margaret Walters was a different kind of breed, the roughly tough kind that faced life head on, no matter what was hurled at her.

Dead husband? No problem.

Abandoned by family members? Yeah, so what?

Stuck in a town with very little potential for her and her kids? Bring it on.

Having a meagre job with very little income? Jokes on you.

Eventually losing her eyesight? Nothing serious.

Living through the loss of her first child? Pfft, easy enough.

Joshua looked at how composed she was, how healthy she looked, the sunny expression illuminating her aged features.

It was hard, he could only imagine. But she scaled through like the warrior she was. So, yeah. She was good.

Being in her presence alone was an inspiration to Joshua. He'd unmistakably found a role model.

"I just wanted to see how you were doing." Joshua stated, settling down on her white leather couch.

"I've been doing okay, young man." She informed him. "Been thinking of getting a cat. These nasty little mice have been bugging me for days now." She squeezed her face like she could remember how much she'd suffered from them.

"Yikes. That sounds terrible."

"It is, too." Margaret agreed. "I keep finding their droppings everywhere in the house. Even in my wardrobe! How much do they eat that they keep releasing so much shit?"

"About twice their body weight." Joshua replied, trying his best to suppress a laugh.

"That's about 20 burgers at a go. No wonder they're always jumpy."

"That's true." Joshua chuckled.

"I know you're not here to talk about mischievous rats or whatever," Margaret said, after five minutes of awkward silence.

"So, talk to me." She adjusted herself on her couch, eyes always staring ahead, sitting across the living room from Joshua.

Joshua sighed and shrugged. "I don't know, ma'am. I guess I needed to find something out from you."

"Something about . . . ?"

"Jonathan," he answered with hesitation. "Something about Jonathan."

Margaret took a deep breath, and twisted a little on her seat. "I thought the case was over. You guys found the bad guy, right?"

"But, doesn't it sound a bit strange to you?" Joshua asked with genuine curiosity. "The manner in which the whole thing ended. Like whoever did this wanted us to find what we found. We played right into their hands."

"And what makes you so sure that ‘they’ are still out there?"

Joshua shrugged again. "Call it a gut feeling, or intuition, or whatever. I just know what I feel about all this. And it's not good."

Margaret sighed, a sound that always tugged at the strings of Joshua's heart. He almost felt bad at what he had to do. Almost.

"So, what was it you needed to find out about?" She asked, picking a porcelain mug off the saucer in her hand and bringing it to her lips.

Joshua steadied himself, inhaling deeply and exhaling slowly.

"I need to know about the argument between you and John."

The mug got momentarily stuck on her lips as her hand froze. In fact, her entire body remained perfectly still. Joshua didn't know if he should be impressed at her perfect impersonation of a statue, or if he should be worried that it could be a stroke.

He chose the former when she suddenly proceeded to sip tea from her mug and settled it down on her saucer.

Owing to her lack of response, he decided to press on.

"I understand there was a misunderstanding between you and Johnathan. Although I'm not sure of the reason, and that's why I want clarification. If you don't mind, of course." He added quickly.

Margaret took another sip from her mug, a longer one this time. Until it was empty. Then she directed her head and looked right at Joshua, which spooked him outrightly. If he didn't know better, he would've said she was staring at him.

"Oh, you see, I do mind." She said with a definite tone. "That in itself is an extremely personal matter that shouldn't see the light of day. Or reach the ears of strangers."

"But a lot about Jonathan already has been exposed to the public," reminded Joshua. "And a whole lot more has been locked underground with us professionals. So, I'm sure it's nothing serious."

"Are you threatening me, young man?" The tone went from friendly to defensive in seconds.

"Not a threat, ma'am." He assured me. "I'm simply saying nothing would be worth hiding anymore."

"I'm still under no obligation to speak about anything," Margaret folded her hands to emphasize her notion. "I mean, how do I know you don't work for some tabloid?"

Joshua smiled. And it wasn't a pretty one. "If I did work for a tabloid, you'd be really famous. And so would I. I'd tell everything is know, including Johnathan's will."

Margaret froze yet again. This time, pure fear could be read on her face. "Where . . . where . . . how?" Her breathing picked up pace as she struggled to place her words.

Joshua wanted to take it easy, so as to not scare her to unconsciousness. But he had to build in the momentum he'd started on. So, he continued:

"That was it, wasn't it? You and Jonathan start a fight over the rights to his assets. Whatever he had in mind wasn't the plan you had, and you didn't hesitate to cast him out when he refused to comply. I wonder if that's the reason why you never mentioned his writing career."

Joshua didn't realize how ruthless he sounded until he noticed tear drops roll out from Margaret's eyes. She wasn't crying just yet; just the tears flowing freely. And, all of a sudden, Joshua felt like he'd been hit by a truck.

"I was always, always, proud of my son and every single decision he took." Her voice was surprisingly steady, the control was shaky, but still steady.

"I tried my best to support his endeavours, when he decided to become what he wanted to be. Not what I wanted for him. And it worked. By God, it did. He is probably the biggest author of his time. Everybody wanted a piece of him; they all wanted to use and extort him for his talent. But he always stood his ground. Never let himself be used, he always dictated what he wanted. And it always went his way. That was until the divorce with Eleanor Rigby."

The mention of Eleanor's name caused Joshua to raise a brow. It wasn't the first time someone attributed John's fall to their divorce. Now, he was beginning to think he'd need to inquire more about the details of the divorce.

"The nature of the divorce, ma'am." He asked. "How smooth was the process? Or was it messy like most marriages these days?"

Margaret slowly wiped her eyes with the tips of her fingers, and sniffed a couple of times. "You know, Johnathan loved that woman. Like I've never seen him love any other. I could feel his heart bleed when they began to grow apart. Eventually, he saw things wouldn't be able to work out. So he decided to end the pain, instead of prolonging it. And I was in support of that.

"When the issue of his will came up, a few months after he'd returned to Chesterfield Springs, I wanted him to leave a part of his assets to Eleanor, who I believed was the mother of his child. Instead, John made me understand that there was no child, and Eleanor wasn't part of the inheritors in his will. My initial thoughts were that John never included Eleanor because they were divorced, and I tried to talk him out of the path of revenge and unforgiveness. The feud began when he told me to forgive their father first, then he'd consider listening to my advice."

She sighed again; a long, deep sigh of tiredness. “Heaven knows I tried to be a good mother. To raise my children to the best they could be.”

Joshua left his seat and crouched down beside Margaret. "And you did wonderfully. Your children turned out better than most kids that had both parents, you should be extremely proud of what they've achieved." He covered her gnarled hand with his gently.

"Of what John had achieved."

He held her close, rubbing her shoulder as she leaned on him and cried in earnest.

★

"Oh, hey you. Welcome back."

Tracy kissed him quickly and rushed back into the kitchen.

Joshua stood at the door for a moment, then he walked in slowly, taking one cautious step after the other.

The sounds coming from the kitchen made him think he'd walked into the wrong apartment. The smell, however, pulled him closer like a puppet master pulled on a puppet's strings. The powerful aroma brought him to the kitchen, and he stared around like it wasn't his house.

Grocery bags were all over the sink, from where he stood he saw remnants of a green substance on a brown chopping board. Probably lettuce, or broccoli. Two pots were mounted on the electric stove, each bubbling ceaselessly.

And there stood Tracy, in the midst of all the chaos, sprinkling some seasoning into the first pot, whilst standing on her toes and peering inside. Joshua smiled at her oversized T-shirt, which was actually his, and her cute little socked feet.

He'd need to start getting used to the sight, he concluded. Of course, he didn't expect her to make gestures like this every day. But, he wasn't used to anyone doing it in the first place. So, it was nice to have a change for once. Plus, Joshua already concluded through the aroma that whatever was being made was already ten times better than whatever he'd cooked in that kitchen.

She turned and flashed one of those magical smiles at his amazed expression.

"I just thought I'd surprise you with a little something," she explained. She soon began to stir into the pot.

"It's almost done," she announced. "Why don't you quickly change up? Your meal will be ready when you return."

And it probably was the best thing Joshua had ever tasted in weeks. Better than Chinese noodles. Joshua had had spaghetti and meatballs before, he'd even tried preparing it following steps from a YouTube video, although that came out horribly.

But this . . . This was the atomic bomb of deliciousness.

Joshua scraped the last strands of pasta off his plate and rushed into the kitchen, returning with another filled plate.

"Again?" Tracy laughed. "That's your third plate already."

"It's not my fault that you cook so wonderfully," he said defensively. "I blame you for that." With that, he attacked a meatball on the top with relish.

Tracy laughed as he sat beside her on the couch, also with her own plate.

"Oh, I almost forgot." She dropped her plate on the coffee table and picked up her phone, and tapped on the screen.

Immediately, the apartment boomed with music. Joshua listened for a moment, settling his plate on the table as well.

"Is that MO3?" He asked.

"Yup," she said with a wide smile. "I got his songs off iTunes yesterday."

Joshua stared at her for a second, then dived at her, kissing her neck and making her giggle uncontrollably.