Chapter 62: Detective Roger

After listening to Roger's account, Vanessa first frowned, then seemed to recall something, exclaiming in surprise:

"You mean that awful old lady who keeps calling the hotline claiming someone steals the soil from her flower pots!"

"Yes, you know her?" Roger raised an eyebrow.

Vanessa slammed the car horn in anger: "Of course I do—I've been yelled at by her too. Damn, she's been tormenting us nonstop lately."

"To be honest, I think she's no different from a psychiatric patient."

"The doctors diagnosed her with severe delusional disorder and bipolar disorder," Roger added.

"Then why believe her?" Vanessa glanced at the man, then shrugged: "Well, maybe your sixth sense told you something?"

"Just like those previous news stories, I feel something's off here," Roger said with firm certainty.

"Let's assume Mrs. Luoyide isn't lying—who would steal exactly two ounces of soil each time? That's far too little," Vanessa wondered aloud.

"Then we'll only know once we find the thief," Roger said as the black Mercedes pulled into Yushujie Shequ.

The police car parked by the roadside made no move to stop them, and the neighbors paid no extra attention to the Mercedes.

As the car stopped at No. 3112, Vanessa suddenly asked: "You said you delivered food here yesterday—wouldn't they recognize you?"

"Don't worry, the female nanny had the day off yesterday," Roger adjusted his glasses: "As for Mrs. Luoyide, no one believes her anymore."

"That's true."

Vanessa stepped out of the car and knocked on Mrs. Luoyide's door with Roger.

"Knock knock knock."

"Is anyone home?"

As the female journalist's voice echoed, footsteps sounded from behind the door.

Moments later, the door opened, revealing a Black nanny.

"Who are you?"

"Hello, I'm Vanessa, a reporter for the Seattle Times, and this is my colleague…" Vanessa said, holding up her credentials.

"Jose," Roger smiled.

"Seattle Times reporter?" The Black nanny looked surprised: "Oh my goodness, Mrs. Luoyide must've called you."

"That's right—we'd like to learn more about the theft case Mrs. Luoyide described."

"I'm so sorry," the nanny said apologetically: "But it's just a misunderstanding—Mrs. Luoyide has severe delusions; what she says… you understand. Thanks for coming all this way."

From her tone, she clearly intended to shut the door on them.

Vanessa immediately said: "Wait."

She blocked the nanny: "Actually, Mrs. Luoyide has called our newspaper dozens of times and frequently insults us. It's caused major distress to our operators—our editor specifically assigned me to resolve this issue in person. You get it?"

"But it's all made up," the nanny said hesitantly.

Vanessa smiled: "Regardless, this needs a conclusion. I'll deliver that conclusion to Mrs. Luoyide so she stops insulting our staff."

After a moment's thought, the Black nanny nodded: "Alright, come in—but don't stay long."

"Understood."

Vanessa led Roger through the front door.

A faint woody fragrance filled the air; a wide, dark red Persian rug stretched from the foyer to the living room, swallowing their footsteps.

In one corner of the living room, Mrs. Luoyide lay in a rocking chair, scribbling on a notebook as if recording something.

"Mrs. Luoyide, reporters are here to see you."

The Black nanny stepped forward to announce them—but at the word "reporters," the old woman jolted upright as if shocked.

"You finally came!" The old woman leaned on her cane, grumbling: "Damn it! I've called 318 times—why are you only here now? The thief's already stolen at least fifty ounces of my soil—it cost me a fortune!"

Vanessa silently rolled her eyes.

Yet, out of journalistic instinct, she asked: "You say you bought this soil at a high price?"

"Exactly!" Mrs. Luoyide said: "It's sterile, enriched with perlite, premium potting mix—I bought it to grow vegetables, and now someone's stolen it! That bastard deserves to be shot on the spot!"

"Sterile soil," Roger muttered, pulling out his phone to search for information.

Vanessa asked again: "How did you discover the soil was stolen? Did you see the thief?"

The old woman snorted: "If I'd seen the thief, would I be calling you? I'd beat him senseless with my cane!"

"As for how I noticed—I've grown flowers for over twenty years; I know the exact weight of every pot. If it's even slightly lighter, I can feel it!"

Hearing this, Roger found her claim plausible—after all, some reality shows feature people with uncanny sensitivity to weight.

Not even one ounce, let alone one gram, could escape their notice.

After asking a few more questions, Vanessa said:

"Could we see the garden?"

"Of course—investigations require on-site inspection. You're actually reliable, unlike those useless cops—they just repeat the same few questions over and over; my ears are numb from it."

Grumbling, she called the Black nanny, and the group headed out to the yard.

From within the yard, the flowers looked even more dazzling than from outside—vibrant blooms of varying colors clustered at different heights, complemented by the garden furniture, resembling a shop themed entirely around flowers.

"So beautiful," the woman, always helpless before such scenes, murmured.

While Vanessa admired the flowers, Roger focused on the garden fence.

"Excuse me, what's this for?" He pointed to a square, movable panel at the base of the fence—only about 40 centimeters high, too small for an adult to pass through.

"It's a cat flap. Mrs. Luoyide owns a Garfield—see, he's up there."

Roger followed the nanny's gaze to the roof tiles by the gate and spotted a plump Garfield cat lazily basking in the sun.

"This guy's fatter than a pit bull."

Roger clicked his tongue and continued examining the flower pots.

Yet after checking everything, he found no other clues.

On the other side, Vanessa also asked Mrs. Luoyide about the garden.

For instance, whether there were signs of forced entry at the gate, or whether anyone had come in recently, and so on.

But all the answers were negative.

With no other option, Vanessa and Roger decided to take their leave for now and organize the clues they had gathered.

Just as they were about to leave, Mrs. Luoyide suddenly pulled out her small notebook: "By the way, you should see this—I record every one of his thefts!"

"Alright." Roger took the notebook from the female journalist.

When they got back in the car, Vanessa spoke up: "What do you think? I think the old lady's having delusions. Honestly, I didn't spot a single clue."

"Mm-hmm." Roger flipped through the notebook page by page.

"Do you still believe someone is really stealing soil? This is utterly absurd—what could two ounces of soil possibly do?"

"Mm-hmm."

"Aren't you even listening to me?"

"Don't rush, Vanessa." Roger held up the notebook: "I believe Mrs. Luoyide isn't delusional."

"What?"

"Look at this." Roger spread the notebook before the female journalist and pointed to the dates and times Mrs. Luoyide had marked: "Every theft occurred on Wednesday, Saturday, and Sunday—extremely consistent. What do you think that means?"

Vanessa paused slightly, then said instinctively: "It means his actions follow a pattern—we can find him by following this schedule?"

"Exactly."

Roger checked his phone and saw that today was only Monday.

"Looks like we'll have to wait two more days."