“I know.” I crossed my arms, leaning against the counter. “And unless we’ve got a very sophisticated mouse with expensive taste, someone’s been in our kitchen!”
I watched as the implications sank in.
“Maybe we should set up some cameras?” Samuel suggested, his voice uncertain now. “Just to be safe?”
I nodded slowly. “Yeah. Maybe we should.”
The camera was easy enough to hide: a small wireless one tucked behind some cookbooks on the kitchen shelf.
I positioned it carefully, making sure it had a clear view of both the pantry and the refrigerator. Then I waited, jumping every time my phone buzzed with a notification.
Two days later, I was at work when my phone buzzed with a motion alert.
I ducked into an empty conference room and pulled up the live feed.
I’m not sure what I was expecting; a maintenance worker, a hungry, homeless person with expensive tastes, or… I don’t know, a very ambitious raccoon?
Instead, I watched in growing disbelief as my mother-in-law, Pamela, waltzed into our kitchen like she owned the place.
She moved with the confidence of someone completely at home, pulling out a wine glass, and helping herself to the expensive Bordeaux we’d been saving. She even knew where we kept the good cheese.
