The creamer caper
Hello, Suzi… Uncle Charley rley here. Are you ou free to come over for coffee offee around 9:30? I’d like ke your opinion on my lemonmoncranberry cheesecake,” ake,” said the booming voice on the other end of the e line.
That was an offer I couldn’t ld ’ refuse. The opportunity to sample one of my uncle’s culinary efforts was not to be missed. The successful owner of Charley’s Hardware, he considered himself a self-educated gourmet chef. His red velvet cake was mouthwatering, his chili a contest winner and his mac-and-cheese the star of every church potluck.
His pungent coffee, however, was another story.
It would put hair on an elephant. With no appetite to inf lict hurt feelings, refusal not an option, the guests’ only alternatives were to add tons of cream and heaping teaspoons of sugar. Accepting that none of them were coffee connoisseurs, a shrugging Uncle Charley tolerated the desecration.
At his kitchen table a short time later, I managed to sip black coffee without grimacing, my attention focused on the lemoncranberry concoction before me.
“So how’s the detective business? Catch any crooks lately?” he asked.
“The Wilsons reported Tommy’s bike was stolen from their yard, but it was found at the bus station. That’s about it.”
“I may have some business for you. There was a robbery here last night.”
“Did someone break in?” “No, while I was out, someone used the key under the mat, snuck in, and stole a creamer.”
“Do you mean a creamer… as in a sugar bowl and creamer?”
“This one’s special. There was an ad in the Daily Bugle inquiring if anyone owned a creamer matching the one in the picture. It’s the missing piece from a set handed down through the family. Valuable only to them, a $50 reward was offered.” Uncle Charley poured himself a second cup. “When I looked at the picture, the creamer looked kind of familiar. Sure enough, when I poked through some of the mismatched dishes in the cabinet, there it was. I intended to answer the ad today.”
My brain shifted into detective mode. “Who knew you had the match?”
“I talked about it with the three employees at the store. I’d hate to think any of them would w take it, but I suppose $50 $5 could be tempting.” “Who are they?” “Well, there’s Sam, a good worker and strong enough to carry out some of the heavier merchandise to the customers’ cars. Rachel just started last week. Customers like her because she’s especially helpful. Amanda’s very dependable, a never late, never takes extra e time off.” “Would any of them know about the key under the mat?”
“It’s a running joke about the key because I’ve been known to lock myself out,” he admitted. “They’ve never been here, but they know where I live.”
I racked my brain for a solution. Then a light bulb went off. “I know how we can f ind out who took the creamer.”
That was my conversation with Uncle Charley yesterday, which is why this morning the three employees are seated at his kitchen table. They’d been invited for breakfast on the only day the store is closed. The plan was to tell them about the theft and watch their reactions. I was certain body language would reveal the guilty person.
Amanda was brave enough to take the f irst sip of the black coffee. Her face crumbled like a baby about to wail. Helpful as always, Rachel, leaping up, retrieved a sugar bowl from the cabinet before scooping several teaspoons of sugar into her cup. It was obvious Sam felt uncomfortable sitting at his boss’ kitchen table. Shifting his weight, he scratched his nose.
Suddenly, we knew who was guilty.