Peace and Love. I'm not hallucinating, it's my new mantra. Let's fill our heart with joy of being alive and share this feeling with anybody that happens to come near by. Peace and Love.

Amélie, your honesty makes me proud of being your friend.

Chapter 11: Antiques? As in an old typewriter?

Woody arrived to the Ginsburg residence very early next morning. Jordan hadn't answered his phone calls and he was not going to let that happen. He was uptight not only about Jordan's reluctance to acknowledge him, but about James, too. He was only sure of one thing: James had admitted to killing Malden. It was true that he had said he had done it because of Jordan, but still…

This was the first time that this house was peaceful, almost surreal. The quiet walls rose as endless witnesses of unrevealed episodes and people from the past… they were that old. That part of Jordan's family must have been a very old one, certainly part of Boston history. It was impressive and almost threatening to his Wisconsin small-town humble roots. The day before they hadn't seemed too different despite all those high society arrangements and the WASP upscale people that had been there, death brings to the atmosphere a breath of equality that is not acceptable in everyday life.

George conducted him to the small luxurious lounge of the residence, and Woody was left in those surroundings to reflect on the fact that he had to talk to Jordan in spite of his qualms.

As she turned up, Woody walked resolutely to her and rather to forcefully spoke to her. "There at Pearl Street you could have been avoiding me for weeks, but here you have no choice, like a Brahmin woman, but to show up as if you cared. Here I am, left to think in this room, with all those silver thingies that not even my granny would have known how to use," he motioned towards a counter with a silver tea service on it. "You're a fast learner; I already knew you were smarter than me. You know, I always thought of you as a brainy, caring Southie. Maybe I was wrong…" He was fuming.

"Gee! If this is the way you're gonna be, you can forget I came and you can return to your much useful investigation of my grandma's murder," and Jordan turned her back to him, leaving already.

He stood there for a millisecond and hastily grabbed her arm from behind, forcing her to stay.

"Sorry, I don't know what possessed me. Jordan, please… It's just that I'm so frustrated… Jordan, please, I love you… I didn't mean it." He was trying to hold her, his eyes showing the helplessness and confusion that swallowed him up.

Jordan freed her arm and confronted him. " Sometimes love is not good enough… I can't trust you anymore, Woody. You should know by now why…" She was being firm, but her eyes betrayed her. Nonetheless she endured his stare, and continued "I love you. Oh God! You know I love you… but my past is catching up with me and I can't let you control it. I've already told you that I can make my own decisions and you can't keep hiding things that you think are gonna upset me or… I don't know, I can't be with you like that… Please go."

"I can't. James might show up… you can be in danger…"

"Not from James, Woody. If there is a risk you should search some other source, not James."

"How could you be so sure? He did confess murdering his father Jordan. It is not like I can trust him with your life."

"Woody, GO!" She almost yelled at him.

Woody's shoulders lowered in defeat. It was pretty clear that Jordan had made up her mind, that infamous line he had pronounced at some time in the past eating him inside and now bouncing around him, but this time with the knowledge that both of them loved each other, gave a rather final and dramatic tone to their forever almost-relationship. With nothing left to do, he left.

Mr. McDormand, her grandma's lawyer had left a moment ago, leaving Jordan in a state of uncertainty and frustration. Max and George were requested at the hearing of the will, as well as she. George had left with the lawyer to escort him to the door, but Max had remained with her.

Jordan hadn't been very open with him, and Max knew that when his daughter became short of words, it doomed trouble. "What is it, Jordan?"

"What?" As she wasn't following anything in the outside world, she found it really hard to understand what her father meant by his question.

"Is it the house? Is that what is bothering you?" Max asked.

"The house?" she looked at her surroundings with a questioning glance. "Maybe a little, but I think it won't be a problem since I already know that I'm gonna sell it. I don't need this house… I don't need any of this," and she bashed the silver tea service from the counter.

"Then is not the heritage…" Max didn't want to let it go and Jordan was struggling in her mind about how much she did want to tell him, and how much he did need to know.

It was out of question that she would disclose to her dad anything about James, and about Woody she didn't want to say a thing. So, what she had left was nothing. "Oh dad, it's the house, and it's the money, and it's what I don't want to become. I didn't ask for any of this and I don't want it. I don't want to be trapped in this life and I don't want to do any of what this people have to do for a living. My work is my life…"

"Yes, I know, believe me, but you can't deny that money helps. Money problems wouldn't be an issue in your life. So, it's not so bad after all. You didn't ask for it, but it was granted to you because your grandmother had loved you, all our problems aside, and you have to accept it, honey"

"I already did, but… money can't buy you love, you know?"

"You don't need to buy love, you have plenty of that"

"Yeah… I know…" What Jordan really was thinking was that love was in her life but very far away from her reach, behind a bullet-proof glass, shining and laughing at her…

George came back and said, matter-of-factly, but gazing knowingly at Jordan. "There's a police patrol outside, in front of the door. I requested the police officers to leave since this is not considered a crime scene anymore and the funeral service ended yesterday, but they told me that they were assigned to watch over a certain ME. Do you know anything about that, Jordan?"

"Woody," was her only reply.

"Tell me you've got something, Nigel. This case is burning my ass." Woody arrived to the morgue lab. What he was left with was work, and that he was going to do until his mind went frozen.

"Fancy you asking, Woodrow, because I have in fact a very good lead for you, my friend. I was about to call you," answered Nigel, oblivious of Woody's worried features, and as he always did, made a dramatic pause in his speech.

Woody was so not in the mood for that. "And?"

"That little note of yours was tormenting me and I ran some other tests on it. Since the search of the typewriter owner led us nowhere I thought of the type of the paper the note was written on. And… it turned out that this kind of paper was a home-made one, sold only in one store, at the Mass-av, and as very unique stuff. I already asked the store owner about it and she gave me a name. Only one person has bought this type of paper in over twenty years, a Mrs. Lynch. And here is her address." As Nigel finished, he handed Woody a business card.

"Antiques? As in an old typewriter?"

"Exactly!" Nigel beamed.