That night, I baked a fresh batch of cupcakes, placed them in a bright pink pastry box, and labeled it “Special Treats Just For You.” I left it out on the porch, curious to see if she’d fall for it again after the barking scare.
The next afternoon, I returned from the grocery store and noticed the pink box was gone. My heart raced a little, though part of me started to wonder: what if I was taking this too far?
I tried to forget about it—until the following evening, when I heard a knock at my door.
There stood Darlene, clutching the empty pink box, her face flushed with anger.
“Are you trying to poison me?” she snapped. “I’ve been throwing up all day!”
I blinked. “What? The cupcakes were completely fine. Maybe you shouldn’t be eating food you stole.”
Her eyes darted away. Just for a second, I saw something behind the fury—fear. She shoved the box into my hands and stormed off.
For the first time, I felt a twinge of guilt. Had I gone too far?
The next day, I went to the community garden where both of us volunteered. I tried to focus on planting marigolds, but Darlene was there too, avoiding eye contact like I was contagious.
I overheard her whispering on the phone: “No, I don’t know if she suspects… but if she finds out about the returns, I’m screwed.”
Returns? That word echoed in my head. Suddenly it all made sense—she wasn’t just stealing my deliveries to keep them. She was returning them for money or store credit.
My hands trembled as I dug my trowel into the soil.
I needed proof.
