The layout of Mrs. Joey's apartment and Holly Davey's home was basically not much different, though the decoration styles were starkly distinct.
A faint scent of lavender permeated the air. Several yellowed photographs hung on the wall, appearing to feature Mrs. Joey and her husband. Beside the fireplace, there was also a tea table covered with a crocheted tablecloth. Everything was filled with a warm and tranquil aura of life belonging to the old times.
"Would you like a cup of black tea, child? I just brewed it." The old lady's voice came from the kitchen.
"Thank you, Ms. Joey, but don't trouble yourself. It will be quick."
Russell smiled and declined politely, then focused his attention on his own task.
"Do you mind if I go into the bedroom to take a look?"
"Of course, but don't mess up the bed, alright?"
"I won't."
Russell walked into the bedroom, his gaze landing on the wall adjacent to the bookshelf wall in Holly's home. Unlike in Holly's home, in front of this wall stood a massive oak wardrobe that looked substantial in weight. The style of the wardrobe was very old, carved with intricate Baroque-style patterns.
Russell stepped forward, posturing as he knocked on that wall, turning his ear to listen to the echo.
"Mm... the sound is solid. It shouldn't be a problem with the load-bearing wall."
As he muttered to himself, he placed his hand on that massive wardrobe, attempting to push it. It didn't budge an inch. That wasn't unexpected.
"What's wrong, child? Is there a problem with this wardrobe?" The old lady walked out of the kitchen carrying a steaming cup of black tea, asking in confusion.
"Oh, nothing, Madam." Russell straightened up, a smile returning to his face. "I was just confirming whether any gaps had formed between the wall structure and the furniture due to humidity."
He took the black tea the old lady handed him, expressed his thanks, and then let his gaze fall back onto that wardrobe.
The switch must be right around here.
His gaze began to carefully search over those intricate carvings, not letting go of a single detail. The ability of [Investigation C++] was exerted to its limit. He patiently scrutinized the wardrobe before him, and very quickly, he discovered a trace of inconsistency.
beneath the door panel on the right side of the wardrobe, in a carving that should have been an ordinary flower stamen, the center position seemed slightly more depressed than the surrounding patterns, and the color was also deeper. If one didn't look carefully, or didn't possess his level of observation, it would be almost impossible to discover.
Found it.
Russell understood in his heart. He didn't trigger that mechanism immediately. Instead, he walked out of the bedroom and arrived in front of Mrs. Joey.
"Ms. Joey, do you mind if I ask you a few relatively strange questions?"
"Strange questions?" Mrs. Joey looked at Russell with some incomprehension. "Ask away, child, if I can answer them..."
"Mm... Have you felt anything relatively amiss recently?" Russell asked. "For instance, food being consumed rather quickly, or any noises at night and the like?"
Hearing Russell's inquiry, a few degrees of confusion appeared on Mrs. Joey's wrinkled face. She placed that steaming cup of black tea on the tea table beside the fireplace and sat down unhurriedly on the sofa opposite him.
"Things that are amiss..." She repeated, as if trying hard to recall something. "Mm... as people get older, memory is always not too good, child."
She smiled; that smile carried a bit of self-mockery and helplessness. "Sometimes I just put down the scissors, turn around, and forget where I put them. As for food and such, I haven't paid too much attention."
"Then were there any special noises at night?" Russell continued to press, his tone as gentle as if he were chatting with his own grandmother.
"Noises?" Mrs. Joey thought for a moment and shook her head. "My ears aren't too good. Once I fall asleep, I'm like a log; I can't even hear thunder. Besides, this building has always been very quiet."
She paused, seemingly feeling that her answer wasn't of much help, and added, "However, it's not completely without strange occurrences either."
"Oh?" Russell's eyes lit up slightly. He pulled over a chair and sat down opposite the old lady, assuming a posture of listening respectfully.
"My milk has always been spoiling particularly fast recently." Mrs. Joey furrowed her brows. "I ask the milkman to leave a bottle at the door every morning. Usually, one bottle can last me two days. But recently, I don't know what's wrong; it's only been there for a day, and by the next morning, I feel the taste isn't quite right."
"Could it be because the weather is starting to get hot recently?" Russell followed her words.
"Perhaps," Mrs. Joey nodded, evidently thinking the same thing herself. "And biscuits. Those I keep in the biscuit jar in the kitchen, I always feel... they seem to decrease faster than before."
As she spoke, she shook her head again and laughed involuntarily: "Sigh, look at me. Getting old just means loving to let one's imagination run wild. Maybe it's just me being greedy and eating two extra pieces, then forgetting about it the next day."
The old lady's voice was very light, as if telling an amusing anecdote that caused no harm. Russell's face also accompanied her with a smile, but the smiling intent in the depths of his eyes gradually retracted.
"Do you live here alone, Ms. Joey?" Russell asked, seemingly unintentionally.
"Yes," at the mention of this, the old lady's eyes dimmed a few degrees. She picked up a photo frame from the table, gently rubbing the glass surface with her fingertips.
Inside the photo frame, a handsome man wearing a military uniform was holding Mrs. Joey in her youth, smiling brilliantly.
"My husband left early. The children also have their own homes and are in other cities. They are busy; it's hard for them to come back even once a year."
Her tone was very flat, without complaint; instead, there was an open-mindedness of having seen through things.
"Then aren't you usually lonely?"
"You get used to it." The elderly woman put down the photo frame, that gentle smile reappearing on her face. "What's more, occasionally the nearby welfare institute sends a few volunteers over. Although they might be a bit noisy, it's better than it always being quiet."
"Volunteers?" Russell raised an eyebrow slightly.
"Yes," the old lady nodded and continued. "They are all good kids. They come once or twice a week to help me do some cleaning, chat with me, and sometimes bring some small snacks they made themselves."
"That sounds truly nice," Russell said sincerely.
Too nice. Who would suspect a good child who comes to deliver warmth and care for a solitary elderly person?
Russell already had a rough outline in his heart, but he was still missing the final piece of the puzzle to complete this picture. He needed to confirm that mechanism.
"Ms. Joey," he stood up and placed the cup of red tea, which had already gone cold, back onto the table. "I think I probably know where the problem lies. In order to confirm it, may I go to your bedroom one more time?"
"Of course, child, please go ahead." Mrs. Joey nodded kindly.
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