*Check out part 1 here if you’ve missed it. *
The air was cool and crisp on my bare feet that early April morning. I waddled my way to the kitchen for some oatmeal. There was no milk in the fridge, but I was pretty sure there was some in the garage fridge. I dreaded going out to the garage. The lights were far too bright for this early in the morning and the cement floor was going to freeze my poor piggies. Luckily, I spotted my husband’s lawn mowing shoes sitting by the door. They’re about 10 sizes bigger than my own feet, but I decided to throw them on anyways just to get the milk. But as I approached, I realized there was no way my foot was getting in that shoe. Someone messed up. Someone…left a spoon in it.
I picked up the evidence and sped through the freezing garage for the milk. When I came back into the house both kids were awake. I layed the shoe on my desk and made breakfast for the kids. Business as usual. Then while they chomped away on Lucky Charms and Multi-Grain Cheerios, I snuck back over and snapped this picture.
I spent most my day confused, but that’s nothing new. What was new was the way I couldn’t look my husband in the eye. Could he be the Spoon Swindler? The evidence was right there in his shoe, but something didn’t smell right. I’ve known Steven for years and he’s never stolen anything. He’s also not the type to leave stuff lying around where it doesn’t belong. But the evidence…I couldn’t look past the evidence.
That night while we were doing our regular bed time ritual (me, reading my book. Him, watching crap t.v.) I decided I couldn’t go to bed without knowing the truth. There would be no way I could sleep knowing I was laying next to a thieving scalawag!
“Steven”, I pulled the spoon from behind my pillow, “we need to talk about this.”
He gulped. A guilty gulp.
“What’s that?” he asked, turning his attention back to the t.v.
“I think you know what it is. What I want to know is why did I find it in your shoe this morning?”
“What? In my shoe? What are you talking about? I haven’t seen my shoes in a week. That spoon has nothing to do with me.”
It made me sick to see my strong and rugged man weaseling about. I grabbed his shirt and pulled him in close. “C’mon Steve. Tell me what’s going on with the spoons. I know you know something! Spill it! Or things are going to get awfully chilly in this bedroom if you know what I mean!”
He raised his hands, “Okay, okay. Just don’t hurt me. Look, I’ve noticed the missing spoons, too. But it ain’t me, see. I’m being set up. I wanna catch this bastard just as bad as you do. I had to eat ice cream with a fork today. A fork!”
My grip tightened on his shirt, “So you’re the one who ate the last of my peanut butter fudge ice cream? You son of a…what else do you know? I know you know something! Tell me about the spoons, damn it!”
“All I know is right before I ate the last of your ice cream…and I’m sorry about that, by the way…I heard the silverware drawer open and feet scurrying. But when I looked around the corner, I didn’t see anything. No one was there. They just…vanished.”
I let go of his shirt and sat back on the bed. I believed him. I didn’t like what he had to say, but I believed every word of it.
“Alright. But if you see or hear anything you’ll let me know, right?”
“Of course, baby.” he touched his lips to my thigh and looked up like a puppy dog, “Now, how about a reward for your little spy.”
“Uck. I have heartburn.” I moaned, rolling over to turn off the light, “You just keep your mind on the spoons, mister. ”
Cause that’s where my mind was. Who was taking my spoons?
(Stay tuned for part 3 of Detective Mommy and the Mystery of the Missing Spoons)