About ten minutes later they arrived at the Matthew's house. The family had moved in just three months ago and two weeks later the pranking started. The three children had immediately been suspected, but, of course, they all denied it.

Sam got out of the car and saw Dean already waiting. They were posing as two college students on the road with their father but looking for anything interesting that might make a good story for a paper or maybe even a novel. After they had heard the conversation in the diner, they had become interested and since they had nothing better to do, they had decided to try their skills in solving the mystery.

They went over to the small house. It was surrounded by a neatly kept garden that had a swing for the children in one corner. In another corner they had planted some vegetables. The remaining space was just grass that was divided in two by a stone path. The house itself was built with red bricks and the roof had dark brown pantiles. There certainly had been some renovations in the last few years as there was no way the house still looked so good after more or less sixty years.

Sam rang the doorbell and stepped back to stand beside his brother. They only had to wait for a few seconds until the door was opened. Mrs. Matthews was a tall women, well, tall compared to other women, in her late thirties. She wore her brown hair in a loose bun in the nape of her neck and was dressed in comfortable but elegant-looking clothes. On her hands were big, pink rubber gloves from which water was still dripping.

"Messrs. Spencer, how can I help you?" she greeted them, "Oh, and excuse me for not offering my hand. I'm afraid, I'd get you all wet. I was just doing the dishes, you know. But please, do come in."

"Thank you, Madam. We apologize for disturbing you. We just had a few more questions. Shall we come back later?"

"No, no, it's alright. The plates can wait a bit longer." She stepped back to let them enter. Sam waited until Dean went first. He turned around to discretely blow his nose and then followed his brother, closing the door behind. They were led to the living-room where Mrs. Matthews politely offered them a seat before calling for her husband and going back to the kitchen to take off her gloves.

"Yes, Margaret, dear. What is it?" Mr. Matthews entered the room. He was about the same height as his wife, but definitely had a few more pounds of meat on his ribs. He wasn't fat, not at all, but one could see that his body wasn't getting much activity. He probably sat in an office all day and the only work-out he had was playing with his children. His thin hair was already graying though it once had had a light brown color. He wore square glasses that made his friendly expression look a bit sterner.

"Oh, hello, I didn't see you there. You were those people who wanted to write this story about what's happening here, weren't you? How can I help you?"

"Yes, that's right, Mr. Matthews. We were wondering if we could ask you a few more questions."

"If you think it could help. But I don't have much time, so make it short."

"Of course, Mr. Matthews. Thanks a lot for your time."

"Darling, don't be so impolite. We'd love to help. Please, sit down. Do you want a drink? A tea perhaps?"

"Yes, please. A cup of tea sounds really nice," Sam answered for both of them when he saw Dean beginning to decline the kind offer. He was starting to feel a slight tickle in his throat and hoped some tea would help him get through the interview without anybody noticing he was getting sick.

A couple of cups of tea later, they were coming to the end of their questions. Sam had let Dean take the lead – which had earned him a few worried glances — and had only intervened when he thought Dean was forgetting something. That was certainly a good decision because while the tea had prevented that he needed to cough repeatedly, it didn't stop his throat from getting hoarse and that would have happened even faster if he had had to talk the whole time, not to mention Dean would have noticed very soon. But everything had gone fine though they hadn't learned anything new and there was just one last question to ask.

"Anything else you can tell us?"

"Well," she glanced at Mr. Matthews, "there was that other week, but again just exactly one week, mind you. My husband, he was so helpful, but always in secret. I remember that one time I went to do the laundry, but there it was, already clean and folded. I think, he even plaited everything. Another time he did the dishes, things like that. But after about a week, it just stopped."

"I'm sorry, dear, I know I should help you more, but as much as I hate to admit it, that wasn't me. I don't even know how to use the iron."

"You see? Even now he says he didn't do it."

When Mr. Matthews opened his mouth to reply, Sam caught his eyes and shook his head. He then mouthed to him, "Just let her think you did it and maybe help out more in the future."

Meanwhile, Dean was questioning Mrs. Matthews a bit more. "Thanks a lot, for telling us about this, Mrs. Matthews. When did you say this happened?"

"Oh, that was just the week before the kids were acting up, you know. Poor children, it wasn't easy for them to move here."

While Dean was still talking to both of them, Sam excused himself and began to inspect the rooms. They had already been through all this, but since they hadn't found anything then, he went over it once more. He didn't have much hope though, but there had to be some clues left behind somewhere. Hurrying through the rooms, he was glad the children were at school. The day before he hadn't had much luck going through their rooms as they had been playing there, but at least he had had the chance to ask them a few questions. Now, that he had heard Mrs. Matthews tale that something had been helping her in the household (he didn't believe for a second that the husband was lying about that), he remembered the kids telling him, that sometimes when their mother told them to tidy up they had come to their rooms only to find them already neat and clean. And they had been very insistent that they had nothing to do with the pranking.

When he finished and returned, he found his brother already waiting for him. Again they thanked the couple for answering the questions and promised to tell them if they learned something new. A quick glimpse to the clock showed that they still had enough time to interview the next family before meeting their father for lunch and they made their way back to the car.

Almost there, they were interrupted by an older, female voice.

"Excuse me, Messrs.," a lady who probably was a neighbor said. They turned, discretely screening their surroundings for threats, but the only one around was this old woman. She had to be at least seventy years old and walked slowly towards them on the sidewalk, a cane in her right hand.

"I couldn't help but notice you coming here again. Are you with the solicitors? There is one thing I was wondering about."

"No, madam, I'm sorry. But what did you want to ask? Maybe we can help you nonetheless."

"My apologies, but you probably don't know anything about this. I only wished to inquire what happened to Pouky."

Pouky. Somewhere, Sam had heard that name before. Or, had he read it? Sam couldn't remember. He exchanged glances with Dean, but Dean didn't know either.

"We are sorry," he answered, "we don't know. Who is Pouky?"

"Pouky was Karin's pet, a cat I think, but I never saw it. She sometimes talked about her Pouky, how she gave him some cream as a special treat. But she was a bit confused in the end. Maybe it used to be a pet of hers and it's already dead. I apologize for bothering you. Have a good day."

"Not at all. You have a good day as well," Sam said. She turned around and slowly went towards the next house. When she was out of hearing distance, Sam asked his brother: "What do you think about Pouky?"

"An old pet like she said. Mrs. Neumann was old and probably confused past and present."

"Yes, I agree. I just have the feeling that I heard or read that name somewhere. I just don't know where and maybe it's important."