Pandora has been acting strange all morning, although I should clarify that by “strange” I mean she has done approximately four things differently than she normally does, none of which would qualify as strange if observed independently. The problem is that I noticed all four of them. It started when she hummed while making breakfast. Pandora usually listens to music or a podcast in the kitchen, so hearing her provide her own entertainment immediately caught my attention. Then she carefully measured the coffee grounds instead of pouring them into the filter according to whatever instinctive system she normally uses. After that, she stood at the counter waiting for the coffee to finish brewing instead of wandering away and forgetting about it until ten minutes later. Finally, when I asked what she was doing, she said, “Making coffee.” Technically, that was true. It was also exactly the kind of answer someone would give if they didn’t want to explain why they were suddenly measuring coffee.
I was still considering this when John Mercer walked into the kitchen, opened the refrigerator, stared into it for several seconds, and removed a container of leftover pasta. Normally I wouldn’t have attached any significance to this, except that I had seen John in the kitchen the previous night while Pandora was working at the table. At the time, he appeared to be looking for something to eat, which now seemed almost too convenient. I watched him put the container on the counter. “Were you in here last night?” I asked. John stopped. “I live here, Hal.” I told him I knew that. I wasn’t questioning his right to use the kitchen; I was establishing a timeline. He looked at Pandora. Pandora looked at him. Then they both looked at me, which was interesting because I had only asked John the question. “Yes,” he said. “I was hungry.” I asked whether he and Pandora had talked. “Probably.” About what? John thought about it. “I think she asked me to move because I was standing in front of the refrigerator.” Pandora nodded. “That sounds right.” Their stories matched remarkably well.
There was another detail. The previous morning I had seen Pandora talking quietly with Mrs. Jenkins in the hallway. Normally that wouldn’t have concerned me because Mrs. Jenkins talks to everybody, and volume is not always an indication of secrecy. Sometimes people simply stand close enough together that yelling would be unnecessary. Still, I remembered Pandora smiling when the conversation ended, and Mrs. Jenkins had patted her on the arm before returning to her apartment. I hadn’t thought much of it at the time. Now Pandora was humming, measuring coffee, and apparently having private conversations with both Mrs. Jenkins and John within a twenty-four-hour period. Individually, these were meaningless events. Collectively, they were at least three events, which is where patterns traditionally begin.
I decided the responsible thing to do was ask Pandora directly. “Is something going on?” She took a sip of coffee. “What do you mean?” I explained that she had been behaving differently since yesterday. She asked for an example, so I mentioned the humming. Then the coffee measurement. Then her conversation with Mrs. Jenkins. I considered mentioning John but decided to preserve that observation until I understood the larger context. Pandora listened without interrupting, which I initially interpreted as encouraging. When I finished, she said, “So I hummed, made coffee correctly, and talked to our neighbor.” Hearing the evidence summarized that way made it sound weaker than it had when arranged chronologically in my head. “You’re leaving out the change in routine,” I said. Pandora nodded slowly. “Of course I am.”
Mr. Whiskers entered the kitchen at that moment and immediately rubbed against Pandora’s leg. She reached down and scratched behind his ears without even looking. He purred. I watched carefully because Mr. Whiskers has recently demonstrated an uncomfortable ability to insert himself into situations shortly before useful information becomes available. “What?” Pandora asked. “Nothing.” She followed my eyes to the cat. “Don’t involve him.” I explained that I wasn’t involving Mr. Whiskers in anything. He had independently entered the area under observation. John, who had begun eating cold pasta directly from the container, pointed his fork at me. “You know that sentence is exactly why nobody tells you anything, right?” I asked what nobody was telling me. John froze with the fork halfway to his mouth. Pandora closed her eyes. I immediately recognized that something important had just happened.
“What aren’t you telling me?” I asked. John looked at Pandora. Pandora looked at John. Mr. Whiskers looked at the pasta. Once again, everyone in the kitchen appeared to be communicating except me. Pandora finally put down her coffee. “Fine. Mrs. Jenkins gave me something yesterday.” There it was. I knew the hallway conversation had mattered. I asked what she had given her. Pandora said she couldn’t tell me yet. I asked why. “Because I’m not ready.” Ready for what? “Hal.” I pointed out that refusing to explain something after admitting there was something to explain created an entirely new evidentiary problem. John quietly picked up his pasta and started backing toward the hallway. “Where are you going?” I asked. “Anywhere else.” That was not suspicious by itself, but the timing was noteworthy.
For the next hour I made a deliberate effort not to investigate. This mostly consisted of sitting in the living room thinking about the investigation I was deliberately not conducting. Pandora worked on her laptop. John disappeared into his room. Mr. Whiskers slept beside me with one paw covering his nose, apparently unconcerned by the informational imbalance within the household. I considered several possibilities. Mrs. Jenkins could have given Pandora a recipe, although that wouldn’t explain the secrecy. She could have given her something she had borrowed, but again, secrecy seemed unnecessary. It might involve the cookies from earlier in the month, although I couldn’t establish a connection beyond Mrs. Jenkins being involved in both events. I briefly considered asking Mrs. Jenkins myself, but that would constitute independent witness contact, which Pandora has previously described as “dragging the neighbors into this again.” I therefore exercised restraint.
Eventually Pandora closed her laptop and stood up. “Okay,” she said. I immediately sat straighter. She went into the kitchen and returned carrying a small paper bag I hadn’t noticed before. John emerged from his room almost simultaneously, which confirmed that he knew something, although apparently everyone had already accepted that except me. Pandora handed me the bag. Inside was a small bag of coffee beans from a local roaster I had mentioned wanting to try several weeks earlier. Mrs. Jenkins had gone downtown the previous day, happened to pass the shop, and picked them up after Pandora mentioned them. Pandora had planned to make the coffee that morning and surprise me, which explained why she had measured the grounds carefully instead of using her usual method. The humming was because she was in a good mood. Her conversation with John the previous night had consisted of asking whether he thought I would notice the different coffee before she told me.
I looked at John. “And what did you say?” He smiled. “I said you’d notice something before the coffee even finished brewing.” Pandora laughed. I didn’t appreciate that answer because it suggested I had behaved predictably, although I couldn’t dispute the underlying evidence. I took another sip of the coffee and had to admit it was excellent. Pandora asked whether the mystery was officially solved. I told her there had never technically been a mystery, only an unexplained deviation from established household behavior that had now been satisfactorily resolved. She said that sounded suspiciously like a mystery. I explained that terminology matters. John went back to his room before I could elaborate.
A few minutes later Mrs. Jenkins knocked on the door to ask whether I liked the coffee. I told her I did and thanked her for picking it up. She smiled and said, “Good. Pandora was worried you’d figure it out before she could surprise you.” I assured her that I had not figured it out. I had merely identified several anomalies indicating that undisclosed activity was occurring. Mrs. Jenkins looked past me toward Pandora. “You owe me five dollars,” she said. Pandora immediately reached for her purse.
I turned around.
“You bet on this?”
Pandora handed Mrs. Jenkins a five-dollar bill. “I said you’d ask me directly before noon.”
Mrs. Jenkins folded the bill and put it in her pocket. “I said before ten.”
I looked at the clock.
It was 9:42.
Mr. Whiskers was sitting beside them, purring.
I’m not saying the coffee was part of an experiment to measure how quickly I notice changes in household behavior.
I’m just saying Mrs. Jenkins now has five dollars that she didn’t have yesterday.
And apparently there was a control group.
