John Mercer looked exhausted this morning, and that was the first clue. He shuffled into the kitchen with the unmistakable expression of someone who had spent the night wrestling with either insomnia or an exceptionally difficult crossword puzzle. He opened the refrigerator, stared into it for several thoughtful seconds without taking anything, closed the door, stood there as though considering his life choices, and then opened it again. After pouring himself a cup of coffee, he mumbled something that sounded vaguely like “morning” before disappearing into the living room. It wasn’t like him. John was usually awake before I was, even before coffee. Today he looked like someone had borrowed six hours of his sleep and forgotten to return them. I was about to dismiss it as one of those mornings everyone has when I happened to glance at my phone.
Pandora had sent me a text the night before apologizing for missing movie night. She’d ended up staying out later than expected with coworkers after work and said she’d catch up with us another day. It was an ordinary message, almost painfully ordinary, yet something about it bothered me. Why had she specifically mentioned coworkers? Nobody had asked where she’d been. She could have simply said she couldn’t make it. Instead, she’d volunteered an explanation before anyone had questioned her. My brain immediately filed that away under “Interesting,” which, in hindsight, is probably where things began to unravel. If Pandora hadn’t been here, why did John look like he’d barely slept? The two facts had absolutely nothing connecting them, which unfortunately left plenty of room for my imagination to build a bridge anyway.
The theory developed far more quickly than I care to admit. Perhaps Pandora and John had talked on the phone after she’d left work. Maybe the conversation had started innocently enough before drifting into one of those awkward misunderstandings where neither person is technically angry, yet both hang up wondering whether they should have said something differently. John’s quiet mood this morning suddenly seemed less like exhaustion and more like emotional recovery. Pandora’s unusually detailed text began looking less like friendly communication and more like someone establishing an alibi before anyone even suspected a crime had occurred. I knew how ridiculous that sounded, but ridiculous ideas have a remarkable habit of becoming convincing when you spend enough time alone with them.
Mr. Whiskers jumped onto the couch beside me and stared directly into my face with the calm confidence that only an orange tabby can possess. He didn’t meow. He didn’t blink. He simply watched me as though patiently waiting to see how long it would take before I reached the wrong conclusion. Cats notice things people miss—or at least that’s what I told myself. Maybe he’d sensed tension the night before. Maybe he’d overheard something. Then again, maybe he simply wanted breakfast. Unfortunately, both explanations seemed equally plausible, so I made the mistake of giving them equal weight. When a cat refuses to provide context, it’s remarkably easy to project your own theories onto him.
As if the universe had decided to encourage my nonsense, I ran into Mrs. Jenkins while checking the mail. She smiled warmly and said, “Interesting evening yesterday,” before continuing on her walk without another word. Interesting. Not quiet. Not pleasant. Not busy. Just…interesting. She couldn’t have chosen a more dangerous adjective if she’d planned it. Mrs. Jenkins notices everything that happens around the neighborhood, often before the people involved notice it themselves. Had she seen Pandora stop by? Had she overheard a conversation? Had she witnessed the aftermath of an argument that John and Pandora were now pretending never happened? The more I considered the possibilities, the more convinced I became that Mrs. Jenkins knew something she wasn’t saying, which was impressive considering she’d only spoken two words on the subject.
By lunchtime, I’d assembled what I considered a surprisingly coherent explanation. Pandora had called John after meeting with her coworkers. The conversation had become awkward, leaving John awake half the night replaying it in his head. Pandora had anticipated that I’d eventually notice something was off, so she’d sent her carefully worded text to make everything appear perfectly normal. Mrs. Jenkins had unknowingly observed some small piece of the puzzle and hinted at it with her cryptic comment, while Mr. Whiskers, through prolonged and meaningful eye contact, was attempting to confirm my suspicions without violating whatever sacred code of feline secrecy cats apparently live by. Looking back, I probably should have questioned why my strongest witness was an animal who occasionally attacked his own reflection.
Just as I was wondering whether I should casually ask John if everything was alright between him and Pandora, my phone buzzed again. It was another message from Pandora.
“Hope movie night was fun. Sorry I missed it. We ended up celebrating a coworker’s promotion, and I completely lost track of time. Tell John good luck on his exam. Tell Mr. Whiskers I still owe him treats.”
I walked into the living room where John was reading through a stack of study notes and waited until he looked up. “Can I ask you something?” I said.
“Sure.”
“Did you and Pandora have some kind of argument last night?”
He stared at me for several silent seconds before answering. “…Hal, I haven’t talked to Pandora in almost a week.”
I blinked. “Really?”
“Really.”
“What kept you up all night then?”
He held up a thick textbook. “Constitutional law.”
“Oh.”
John returned to studying without another word. Mr. Whiskers hopped into his lap, accepted a scratch behind the ears, and looked over at me with what I could only interpret as quiet disappointment. In retrospect, I probably should have considered the possibility that one friend studying for an exam and another friend attending a work celebration could happen on the same day without secretly being connected. I’ll try to remember that the next time I accidentally solve a mystery that never existed.