I was sitting on the couch watching Mr Whiskers groom one of his paws when I noticed Mrs Jenkins’ trash cans were still sitting at the curb. Pandora was in the kitchen making lunch, and somewhere down the hall I could hear John Mercer talking to his video game as though the people inside it might eventually listen to reason. It was a perfectly ordinary Monday afternoon except for those trash cans. Collection had already happened. Everyone else’s cans had disappeared back toward their houses, but Mrs Jenkins’ two bins remained standing beside the road like they’d been abandoned.
I tried to ignore them. There were plenty of reasonable explanations. Maybe Mrs Jenkins hadn’t noticed the truck had come. Maybe she’d gone somewhere. Maybe she simply hadn’t gotten around to bringing them in yet. All perfectly sensible possibilities, which meant my brain rejected them almost immediately. I glanced at Mr Whiskers. He had stopped grooming himself and was looking at me. “You see them too, don’t you?” I asked. Mr Whiskers blinked. That wasn’t confirmation exactly, but it wasn’t a denial either.
“Pandora,” I called toward the kitchen. “Mrs Jenkins’ trash cans are still outside.”
There was a brief silence before my wife answered. “Okay.”
That was it. Okay. Not that’s strange or I wonder why. Just okay. I looked toward the kitchen suspiciously. “Trash collection was this morning.” Pandora appeared in the doorway holding a wooden spoon. “Hal, it’s lunchtime.” “Exactly.” She stared at me for a moment. “I’m going back to the kitchen now.” She disappeared before I could ask what lunchtime had to do with anything, which I found interesting.
John emerged from the hallway a few minutes later and headed toward the kitchen. I intercepted him. “Have you noticed anything unusual today?” He stopped and considered the question. “You mean besides you standing in the middle of the living room interrogating me?” “Outside.” John looked toward the window. “It’s sunny.” “Mrs Jenkins’ trash cans.” He glanced outside. “What about them?” “They’re still there.” John looked at me, then at the trash cans, then back at me. “You should probably alert the authorities.” The sarcasm was unnecessary, but I made a mental note of it anyway.
I returned to the window. Mrs Jenkins’ trash cans hadn’t moved. Obviously. Trash cans rarely relocate themselves, but somehow their continued presence felt increasingly deliberate. Maybe Mrs Jenkins had forgotten them. But Mrs Jenkins didn’t strike me as someone who forgot trash cans. This was a woman who once reminded me that our recycling bin was three inches too close to the driveway before I’d even noticed she was outside. If anybody understood curbside waste management, it was Mrs Jenkins.
That’s when I noticed something else. Her curtains were open, but I couldn’t see her moving around inside. I started wondering whether I should go check on her. That was the first genuinely reasonable thought I’d had, and for several seconds I was proud of myself. Then I noticed one of the trash-can lids wasn’t completely closed, and the reasonable thought was immediately replaced by several much worse ones. Why wasn’t it closed? Had somebody put something in there after collection? Had Mrs Jenkins deliberately left the cans outside because she was expecting something? Was the trash can itself some kind of signal?
Mr Whiskers jumped onto the windowsill beside me and looked outside. I followed his gaze directly to Mrs Jenkins’ house. “Interesting,” I whispered. Mr Whiskers began licking his shoulder. “Pretend you don’t care. Good thinking.”
Pandora came into the living room carrying two plates. She stopped when she saw us at the window. “What are you two doing?” she asked. “Observing.” “The trash cans?” “Among other things.” Pandora put the plates on the table and walked over. For one wonderful moment, I thought she was finally going to acknowledge the mystery. Instead, she reached past me and closed the blinds. “Lunch.” I stared at her. “Why did you do that?” “Because you’ve been spying on Mrs Jenkins’ garbage for twenty minutes.” “Observing isn’t spying.” “Eat your sandwich, Hal.”
I sat down, but the investigation continued internally. Mrs Jenkins’ trash cans were still outside. Pandora didn’t want me looking at them. John had dismissed the whole thing suspiciously quickly. Mr Whiskers had positioned himself at the window at exactly the right moment. There were now four separate pieces of evidence, provided you were willing to define evidence extremely generously.
Then the doorbell rang.
Everyone looked toward the door.
I stood slowly.
John sighed. “Please don’t do whatever you’re about to do.”
I opened the door.
Mrs Jenkins was standing there.
“Hal,” she said pleasantly. “Could I ask you a favor?”
I glanced past her toward the curb. The trash cans were still there.
“Of course.”
“I’m heading out for the afternoon, and I completely forgot about my bins. Would you mind bringing them up for me?”
There was a long silence.
Behind me, I heard John laugh.
I ignored him. “You forgot them?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“Both of them?”
Mrs Jenkins looked confused. “Yes.”
“And there’s no other reason they’re still outside?”
She stared at me for a moment. “They’re trash cans, Hal.”
That was difficult to argue with.
“Absolutely,” I said. “I’ll bring them up.”
“Thank you, dear.”
Mrs Jenkins walked away, and I slowly closed the door. When I turned around, Pandora was leaning against the kitchen doorway with her arms folded. John was openly grinning now. Mr Whiskers had abandoned the investigation entirely and was attempting to steal turkey from my sandwich.
“Not one word,” I said.
“I didn’t say anything,” Pandora replied.
“Your face did.”
John started laughing harder.
I went outside and retrieved Mrs Jenkins’ trash cans. There was no secret message, no suspicious package, no clandestine neighborhood signal and, disappointingly, no evidence of a conspiracy. Mrs Jenkins had simply forgotten to bring in her bins.
On the way back inside, though, I noticed Mr Whiskers watching me through the window.
I’m not saying that means anything.
But he did look away awfully fast.