Walking In Deception

CHAPTER 6: CASE SOLVED. SHALL WE REPORT THAT TO THE POLICE?

“I’m alright,” she said, stepping out behind me. “Thank you all.”

“Then let’s move to the dining room,” Osahon said. His face was expressionless, but something in his tone felt softer — almost proud.

I was the first to speak. “I hope it tastes as good as it looks.”

Mrs. Okon laughed. “Madam, you’re making me jealous already.”

“You don’t need any investigation to know who did this,” Mr. Richard joked.

Osahon gave a crooked smile. “It’s dead meat, just like you all.”

We all stared at him, confused, until he shrugged. “What? I’m not allowed to make jokes too? My bad. Let’s eat.”

We did — quietly but warmly.

After breakfast, Mrs. Okon spoke first. “Thank you all for this. I appreciate it. Truly. And don’t worry, you won’t have to do it for long.”

“I don’t think that will happen soon,” I said. “You’re not a burden. Let us take care of you, for once.”

Osahon rose from the table. “In the spirit of service, I’ll handle the dishes.”

“Mr. Richard,” Mrs. Okon said with a tired smile, “help him out, will you? I may need madam to put me to sleep again.”

We laughed softly. As I walked her upstairs, there was a knock on the door.

Mr. Richard went to answer it. It was Mr. Jonathan, holding a brown envelope.

“You really have to stop knocking,” I teased as he entered.

He smiled faintly. “Pardon me. I may have taken a peek at the autopsy results. I just wanted to ensure they didn’t contain anything we didn’t already know.”

“And if they did?” I asked.

“Then he wouldn’t make them public,” Mrs. Okon said suddenly from the stairs. “He’d show them only to his father.”

“That’s correct,” Jonathan admitted. Then he looked toward the kitchen. “Before we talk about that — I need to know which genius put my father in an apron.”

“I would’ve cooked more if I knew you were coming,” Osahon replied dryly.

“Don’t stress yourself, papa,” Jonathan said, grinning.

Mrs. Okon yawned. “I think I’ll rest up now.”

“Right,” I said, helping her upstairs.

---

When we reached her room, she clutched my wrist and whispered, “Be careful, madam. I think Detective Osahon is the killer.”

I froze. “What? Why?”

“He’s been looking at me strangely all day. I’m not saying he killed your husband… but have you considered that your husband’s death might’ve been an accident — and my husband’s wasn’t?”

“My God,” I breathed.

“I know, right?”

“No — you’re turning paranoid, that’s what. For God’s sake, you ate his food today! If he were the killer, shouldn’t we all be dead?”

“Please,” she whispered urgently. “Keep your voice down.”

“That man has done nothing but help you — all of us.”

“Wait,” she said. “Think about it. Your husband’s overdose could be explained as an accident. Mine can’t. He was poisoned.”

“I guess you’re right,” I said bitterly. “I forced my husband into depression and he overdosed, case solved. Shall we report that to the police?”

“It’s not like that—” she tried to explain.

“In fact, we never had this conversation,” I said sharply, turning away.

I tried to leave before she could say another word but she said something that stopped me in my tracks.
"I don't deserve the love your family has shown me." She said weakly. "I remember my husband had to run away from his last job because he thought the family was haunted by death," she chuckled, "Oga was the one who saved us."
I couldn't make sense of what she was saying. When did my husband save Mr. Okon's life. My hands were trembling, but I forced myself to breathe. I couldn’t go downstairs angry and confused, they’d notice.

When I finally rejoined the others, Mr. Jonathan was the first to speak. “Is Mrs. Okon alright? She sounded tense.”

“All is well,” I lied. “She wanted to be alone. You probably heard the door slam.”

“I’m sure it’s nothing serious,” Mr. Richard said.

“She was there for me,” I murmured. “And now, I can’t even comfort her. I couldn’t even hold her.”

“Don’t see it as a debt,” Osahon said quietly. “You’re doing what you can.”

I nodded, though guilt pressed heavy on my chest. I had just lied for her — to protect her, to protect everyone.

But as I looked at their faces, Osahon, Jonathan, Richard, I realized something. These men knew nothing of grief the way we did. They had built walls around their pain and called it strength.

And as I stood there among them, I made a silent promise:
I would be that wall for Mrs. Okon.
Her friend. Her comfort.
Whatever it takes.