There are certain things a person comes to expect after living with the same roommate for a long time. John Mercer always rinsed his coffee mug before putting it in the sink, never remembered where he left the television remote, and treated his backpack with the kind of respect most people reserve for expensive musical instruments. It was always zipped, always leaning neatly against the same chair by the front door, and never left lying around the apartment. That’s why, when I wandered into the living room that Thursday morning carrying my second cup of coffee, I stopped so suddenly that I nearly spilled it. John’s backpack was sitting squarely in the middle of the coffee table, completely unzipped, as though someone wanted me to notice it.
Ordinarily I would have ignored it. Well… perhaps “ordinarily” isn’t quite the right word. I would have tried to ignore it. Pandora often reminds me that not every unusual sight deserves an investigation, advice I sincerely appreciate but rarely manage to follow. As if on cue, she emerged from the bathroom fastening an earring and smoothing the sleeve of her jacket. “Morning,” she said with a smile. “Morning,” I replied, still staring at the backpack. She followed my gaze, immediately recognized the expression on my face, and sighed in the affectionate way she does whenever she suspects I’ve discovered another mystery. “Whatever you’re thinking,” she said, “the answer is probably no.” I looked back at her. “You don’t even know what I’m thinking.” “I don’t have to. You’ve got your detective face on.”
I pointed toward the coffee table. “John left his backpack open.” Pandora glanced at it for all of two seconds before shrugging. “Maybe he forgot to zip it.” I shook my head. “John doesn’t forget things like that.” She raised an eyebrow. “Hal, last month he spent half an hour looking for his glasses before discovering they were on top of his head.” “That was different.” “How?” I hesitated. “The backpack feels… deliberate.” Pandora smiled patiently. “Deliberately unzipped?” “Exactly.” She laughed softly. “You’re impossible.”
Unfortunately, once the idea entered my head, it refused to leave. The backpack wasn’t just open. The zipper had been pulled exactly halfway around, exposing just enough of the inside to reveal the corner of a notebook, a folded sheet of paper, and what appeared to be the handle of a flashlight. It was almost as though someone had arranged everything carefully enough to be noticed without revealing too much. I walked slowly around the coffee table, studying it from different angles like a museum curator examining a newly discovered artifact. There had to be a reason. John was practical to a fault. He didn’t accidentally create mysteries. If the backpack looked unusual, then perhaps it was because it was supposed to.
Mr. Whiskers wandered into the room, stretched leisurely, and hopped onto the couch beside me. He stared at the backpack for several seconds before flicking his tail and looking toward the hallway. I narrowed my eyes. “You see it too, don’t you?” The cat blinked once before beginning an enthusiastic washing of his front paw. Pandora, who had been searching for her car keys, glanced over and smiled. “He’s cleaning himself, Hal.” “Or pretending to clean himself.” “Why would he pretend?” “To avoid drawing attention.” She shook her head. “You’re discussing espionage with a cat before breakfast.” “I’m discussing possibilities.”
Just then there was a cheerful knock at the door. Mrs. Jenkins stood outside carrying a small plate covered with a tea towel. “Blueberry muffins,” she announced proudly. “I baked too many again.” She stepped inside, noticed the backpack immediately, and smiled. “John forgot that?” she asked. My ears practically perked up. “Forgot?” I repeated. “Oh yes,” she said. “He was in quite a hurry this morning. Nearly walked out without it altogether. I had to call after him from the garden.” Pandora looked at me with the unmistakable expression of someone trying very hard not to say, I told you so. I wasn’t ready to surrender quite yet.
“So…” I said cautiously, “he wasn’t trying to leave it there?” Mrs. Jenkins looked puzzled. “Why would he?” Before I could answer, the front door opened and John stepped back inside looking slightly embarrassed. “Has anyone seen my…” His eyes landed on the coffee table. “…backpack.” He walked over, zipped it shut without a second thought, and slung it over one shoulder. “I was halfway to the bus stop before I realized I’d grabbed my lunch but forgotten this. Good thing Mrs. Jenkins shouted after me.” Then he frowned at me. “Why are you looking at my backpack like it insulted you?”
Pandora finally laughed out loud. Mrs. Jenkins joined her a moment later, and even John couldn’t suppress a grin once I explained—very carefully—that I had briefly considered the possibility that the backpack contained a hidden message. “It does,” John said, reaching inside and pulling out the folded piece of paper I’d noticed earlier. He unfolded it dramatically while I leaned forward in anticipation. After all, perhaps I hadn’t been entirely wrong. Perhaps there really was a message waiting inside.
John held the paper up for everyone to see.
Milk. Bread. Coffee. Cat food.
“My shopping list,” he said.
The room erupted in laughter.
Even Mr. Whiskers chose that exact moment to leap gracefully into the now-empty backpack, curl himself into a tidy orange ball, and immediately fall asleep as though he’d been waiting for the mystery to conclude before claiming his new favorite bed.
I sipped my coffee thoughtfully while everyone else continued laughing. “Well,” I said at last, “shopping lists are messages.”
John nodded.
“I’ll give you that one.”
Pandora slipped her hand into mine as we walked toward the door together. “Feeling better, Detective?” she asked.
“I was never wrong,” I replied with complete confidence. “I merely overestimated the complexity of the code.”
She smiled, kissed my cheek, and shook her head.
Some mysteries, it turns out, really are just groceries.