I was sitting in the living room one afternoon when I noticed Pandora’s purse beside the coffee table. That wasn’t unusual by itself. Pandora visited often enough that finding one of her belongings in the apartment wasn’t exactly rare. What caught my attention was the fact that she’d left the purse behind the night before and still hadn’t come back for it. Most people would probably see that as a simple oversight. Unfortunately, I am not most people.
I tried to ignore it for a while. I read half a chapter of a book, made a cup of coffee, and watched Mr. Whiskers spend nearly fifteen minutes attempting to fit inside a cardboard box that was obviously too small for him. Eventually, however, my attention drifted back to the purse. That was when I noticed a folded piece of paper sticking out of one of the side pockets. Now, I want to make it clear that I was not snooping. The paper was already sticking out. If anything, it was snooping on me. As I walked past the coffee table, I glanced down and immediately recognized the handwriting. At least I thought I did. The paper appeared to be a grocery list, and I was reasonably certain it belonged to Mrs. Jenkins.
The list itself seemed perfectly ordinary. Milk. Bread. Tomatoes. Coffee. Nothing that would attract the attention of a normal person. Yet the more I looked at it, the stranger it became. Why was Mrs. Jenkins’ grocery list in Pandora’s purse? I stood there staring at it for several minutes, hoping the answer would somehow become obvious. Instead, the questions multiplied. About that time, John Mercer walked through the living room. I asked him why Mrs. Jenkins’ grocery list might be in Pandora’s purse. He glanced at the paper, shrugged, and said he didn’t know. When I asked if that seemed strange, he simply said no and continued into the kitchen. That was not the response I had hoped for. The list clearly meant something. I just didn’t know what.
Maybe Mrs. Jenkins had accidentally dropped it and Pandora had picked it up. Maybe Pandora had offered to help her with some errands. Maybe there was an entirely reasonable explanation that any normal person would recognize immediately. The problem was that I was no longer thinking like a normal person. I was thinking like an investigator. Mr. Whiskers chose that exact moment to jump onto the couch and sit directly on top of the purse. Not beside it. Not near it. On it. I stared at him. He stared back. For a brief moment I became convinced he was protecting evidence. Then he yawned, turned around twice, and fell asleep. That weakened my theory somewhat, but not enough to eliminate it entirely.
A little later I happened to look out the window and saw Mrs. Jenkins watering her plants. She looked up, waved cheerfully, and went right back to her flowers. The fact that she appeared completely unconcerned somehow made me more suspicious. I couldn’t explain why. There was absolutely no logical connection between watering flowers and grocery lists. Still, after spending most of the afternoon thinking about the purse, I had reached the point where nearly everything seemed connected. By the time evening arrived, I had developed several possible explanations. Some were fairly reasonable. Others were considerably less reasonable. One involved a simple misunderstanding. Another involved a misplaced grocery list. The third was so complicated that even I had trouble remembering all the details, which should have been a warning sign.
When Pandora stopped by later that evening, I presented my findings. She listened patiently while I explained the significance of the purse, the grocery list, Mrs. Jenkins’ suspiciously normal behavior, and Mr. Whiskers’ apparent attempt to guard the evidence. When I finally finished, she reached into the purse, pulled out the list, and laughed. Mrs. Jenkins, she explained, had asked her to pick up a few groceries the previous day because she wasn’t feeling well. Pandora had completed the errand, forgotten to return the list, and then accidentally left her purse behind. That was it. No hidden messages. No secret agenda. No elaborate neighborhood conspiracy. Just a grocery list. Later that evening she handed it back to Mrs. Jenkins outside, and Mrs. Jenkins thanked her. The mystery was over almost before it had begun. Mr. Whiskers, however, climbed back onto the couch and sat on the purse again. Even now, I’m not entirely convinced he didn’t know something.