Chapter 65

Chapter 65
I woke up still curled on the couch, the weight of sleep pressing down on me like chains. A warm blanket rested over me, tucked in with such care that I knew it had to be Grandma's doing. Beside me, on the floor, Elsa was chewing quietly on a pile of vegetables, her little paws gripping a leaf as though it was a treasure. Her wide, glassy eyes lifted toward me when she noticed I was awake, and for a moment I froze under her stare. It was sharp, almost accusing, as though she knew something I didn't — or worse, as though I had done something wrong. She blinked slowly, then went back to eating, the sound of her small teeth scraping echoing in the silence of the room.

I pushed myself up, the blanket sliding off my shoulders. The air felt heavy, like the world outside had gone gray overnight. My throat was dry, my body stiff, but I forced myself to move. Grandma wasn't anywhere in sight, which was unusual. She was always up before me, usually humming in the kitchen or scolding me for sleeping too much. The silence now felt wrong, like the air was holding its breath.

I stood, wrapping the blanket tighter around me, and walked toward the kitchen. Maybe she's outside in the garden, I told myself. Still, the thought clung to me: Where's Grandma?

The kitchen smelled faintly of yesterday's tea, the cups still sitting on the counter. I decided to make pancakes, something warm, something that could fill the house with life again. I reached for the flour and eggs, my movements clumsy with sleep, trying to chase away the strange unease wrapping itself around me.

That's when the back door creaked open.

I turned, and there she was. Grandma. Relief washed over me so fast I nearly dropped the egg in my hand. She stepped inside, brushing cold air from her shawl. But she wasn't alone. Behind her walked a man I recognized instantly — the sharp suit, the polished shoes, the kind of man who never belonged in our small, simple home. I had seen him at the gala, standing in the crowd, speaking softly to powerful people. Seeing him here made my stomach twist.

"Joy," Grandma called, her voice steady, though her face was pale and drawn.

"Yes?" My voice wavered despite me trying to sound normal.

She looked at me for a long moment before speaking, as though weighing whether the words should even be spoken. Finally, she said, "We've just come from the mayor's house."

"What?" The word was nothing but a whisper.

Her lips pressed together tightly, then parted again. "His house caught fire last night. He and his wife... they didn't make it."

I blinked, the words sinking in slowly. The mayor and his wife. Gone. Just like that. I wasn't sure what to say, so I simply whispered, "Oh." A dull ache stirred in my chest. They weren't family, but I had seen them at the gala — smiling, graceful, alive. It was hard to imagine them reduced to ash overnight.

Grandma's eyes softened as she looked at me, as if she didn't want the weight of it to crush me. The man behind her said nothing, only stood quietly, his gaze steady and unreadable.

I forced a small nod, though unease rippled beneath my skin. "That's... terrible," I murmured. My heart wasn't racing, but there was a heaviness in the air I couldn't shake, as if the fire carried more than just smoke with it.

Elsa's ears twitched, and she chewed a little faster. I found myself wishing, just for a moment, that I could crawl back under Grandma's blanket and pretend the world outside hadn't burned overnight.

"The police are investigating it," Grandma said, her tone a little heavier than before. "So this inspector here is here to ask me some questions." She gestured lightly toward him. "Simon, you must have met my granddaughter, haven't you? She was at the gala."

Simon gave me a polite nod before turning his attention back to Grandma. He pulled a small notepad from his coat pocket, his expression calm, focused.

"Mrs. Lawson," he began, voice steady, "I'll keep this brief. I understand this is a difficult time."

Grandma's lips pressed together, but she gave a small nod.

"Did you have any contact with the mayor or his wife yesterday evening? After the gala?"

"No," Grandma answered firmly. "The last time I spoke with them was at the event. We left shortly after."

Simon jotted something down, then looked up again. "And to your knowledge, did the mayor have any enemies? Anyone who might want to harm him?"

Grandma's brow furrowed slightly. "Enemies? The mayor was a politician. Enemies come with the job. But... personal ones? Not that I know of."

Simon leaned forward just a little, his pen resting against the page. "What about visitors to his home? Did he mention expecting anyone?"

Grandma shook her head. "He never said. But I know his wife wasn't fond of unannounced company. She kept their doors closed to most."

There was a pause. Elsa shifted on the floor, her tiny teeth crunching into her vegetables, the sound oddly loud in the silence.

Simon cleared his throat gently. "One last thing for now, Mrs. Lawson. Did you notice anyone acting strangely at the gala? Anyone lingering too close, asking too many questions?"

Grandma's eyes narrowed in thought. "No one comes to mind," she said slowly. Then she glanced at me for a brief second, as if to reassure me more than herself. "But if I think of anything, Inspector, I'll let you know."

Simon closed his notepad and tucked it away. "That would be appreciated."

He stood, adjusting his coat. For a moment, his gaze lingered on Grandma — not accusing, but searching — before softening just slightly. "Thank you for your time. I'll be in touch."

Joy sat quietly, staring at the empty teacup in front of her, still trying to piece together the news. The inspector had left, his questions lingering like an echo in the air. Grandma remained at the table, hands folded neatly on her lap, her expression unreadable. For a long moment, silence stretched between them, broken only by the faint rustling of Elsa nibbling in her corner.

Finally, Grandma spoke, her voice calm but edged with something Joy couldn't place.

"Joy, there's something you should always remember... people wear masks, even the ones you think you know best. Trust is a dangerous gift, and sometimes it costs more than you're willing to pay."

Joy blinked, uneasy. "Grandma, what do you mean?"

But instead of answering directly, Grandma reached over, brushing her knuckles gently against Joy's cheek, as if she was too young to understand. "Just... be careful with who you let too close."

Later that evening, Grandma insisted they go into town together. The air outside was heavy, carrying the faint smell of smoke that still drifted from the ashes of the mayor's mansion. As they passed the marketplace, Joy couldn't help but notice the way people huddled together, whispering. Faces turned, voices dropped when they walked by.

One woman murmured to another, "They say it wasn't an accident..."

Another replied under her breath, "Then who would set a fire like that? And why both of them?"

Joy's stomach twisted. The weight of every hushed voice pressed against her chest, the town itself seemed to throb with suspicion. She glanced up at Grandma, hoping to find answers in her face. But Grandma only straightened her shoulders, her lips pressed into a thin line.

"Don't listen to idle tongues, Joy," she said firmly, though her eyes betrayed a flicker of something darker—something Joy couldn't quite name.

The market square buzzed with voices, though none of them felt ordinary anymore. Every whisper seemed laced with fear. As Joy and Grandma walked past a bread stall, two women bent close over their baskets, voices trembling.

"They found the back door open, you know. Whoever did it wanted them trapped."

Joy slowed, pretending to admire the loaves on display, but her ears strained toward the women.

"Trapped?" the second one gasped. "And burned alive? What kind of monster..."

Her companion shook her head quickly, eyes darting left and right. "Keep your voice down. They say it wasn't just about him. The mayor had enemies, old debts... but his wife? Poor woman, she never deserved that."

Grandma's hand tightened around Joy's wrist, firm enough to make her flinch. "We're not here to feed on rumors," she murmured low, tugging her along. But Joy noticed how Grandma's eyes flicked toward the women with a sharpness that didn't belong to casual disinterest.

They moved past a fruit stand where two older men whispered in gruff voices.

"I heard screams, real screams, before the fire spread."

"Could've been the wife."

"Could've been both. But the fire wasn't the worst part—they say gasoline was poured around the house. That's no accident, that's a message."