Eggs started disappearing from my fridge, always after visits from my mother-in-law, Andrea. I thought she might be struggling financially and had taken some eggs for herself, but I needed to be sure. I set up a hidden camera, and seeing my mother-in-law dispose of the stolen eggs shook me to the core.
I never thought I’d become an amateur detective over something as simple as eggs. But when they ask about $6 for a dozen, you start to notice things like this.
My husband James and I hardly ever touched them. We only bought eggs for the kids’ breakfasts, and even then we treated them like gems.
But somehow the eggs started disappearing at an alarming rate.
‘James, I swear we had more eggs yesterday,’ I said one morning, looking in the fridge.
The carton felt strange in my hands. Too light.
‘Well, Rebecca,’ he replied, not taking his eyes off the phone. – ‘Maybe the kids fried the eggs themselves when they got home from school.’
‘No, they had grilled cheese.’ I pulled out a box and set it on the table. ‘I’ve been counting them. Yesterday there were eight and now there are four.’
‘You’re counting eggs now?’ He looked up, raising his eyebrows. ‘That’s a new level of grocery anxiety, even for you.’
‘When they cost that much? Of course I’m counting!’ I slammed the fridge shut with such force that the condiments inside shook. ‘And I’m telling you, something’s wrong. It wouldn’t be the first time.’
James sighed and put the phone down. ‘Honey, they’re just balls. Maybe we’re using them more than we realise.’
‘No, you don’t understand. I’ve been tracking this for weeks now.’ I started pacing around the kitchen, squeaking my slippers on the tiles. ‘I’ll set up a hidden camera to catch the thief.’
James laughed. ‘You’re going to put surveillance on our fridge?’
‘Exactly,’ I replied.
Here was where there was one important thing I didn’t want to tell James. When I started counting eggs, I soon noticed a disturbing pattern: every time my mother-in-law, Andrea, came to visit, our eggs would disappear.
At first I thought perhaps she was having financial difficulties. Times were tough for everyone, and eggs were almost a luxury at that point, but something about it alarmed me.
Although James and I had discussed his mum’s problems with boundaries many times, I didn’t want to accuse her of stealing without proof.
‘Okay, Sherlock,’ James said, getting up from his chair. ‘Do what you need to do to solve the mystery of the missing eggs.’
I ordered the mini-camera the same day, opting for express delivery. Mounted it on the kitchen shelf, pointing it at the fridge.
The recording showed more than I expected. I sat at the kitchen table, mouth open as I watched the video of Andrea on my phone screen.
There she was, cheeky as brass, carefully transferring the eggs from my carton into her bag. Each egg she wrapped in a small cloth, hiding them like gems.
But what she did next shocked me.
Instead of going home with the stolen eggs, she went straight out the back door and across the yard. Straight to the house of Mrs Davis, our neighbour.
‘No way,’ I muttered, leaning closer to the screen.
It was sheer luck that our fridge was right next to the back door. The camera captured what happened next.
I watched in horror as Andrea handed the eggs to Mrs Davies, who gave her something in return. Money. My mother-in-law had arranged to trade eggs straight from my fridge.
‘How cheeky,’ I whispered. Rewound the tape three times to make sure I wasn’t mistaken. ‘She was stealing my eggs to sell to the neighbours!’
That night I decided to reconnoitre. I saw Mrs Davies watering her roses and walked over, trying not to look noticed.
‘Hi. Mrs Davis,’ I called out, leaning on the fence. ‘I’m curious…where have you been getting your eggs from lately?’
Mrs Davis’ face lit up as if I had just offered her free tickets to the opera. ‘Oh! I’m buying eggs from your lovely mother-in-law! She has hens in her backyard and she sells them cheap – only $4 a dozen! You probably already knew that.’
I felt my smile freeze on my face.
Backyard chickens? Andrea lived in a flat. On the third floor. The only place she could have chickens was the balcony.
‘I guess you didn’t know I was already buying eggs from her and decided to offer me cheap ones. How nice of you!’ Mrs Davis winked at me. ‘Who would have thought we’d be discussing cheap eggs as some sort of hidden deal?’
She laughed, then apologised and continued watering the flowers, while I stood there, seething with rage.
That night I devised a plan to teach Andrea a lesson.
It took me an hour to carefully peel each egg, but watching the golden yolk go was strangely satisfying.
Then I made a special mixture of mustard and hot sauce and carefully filled each shell before returning them to the carton.
‘What are you doing?’ – James asked, walking into the kitchen around midnight. ‘Is that… mustard?’
‘Fair,’ I replied, not looking up from my work. ‘Sweet, yellow justice.’
‘Should I not even ask?’
‘Probably not. But you’d better get some popcorn for that show that’s about to start.’
The trap was ready. That Saturday, Andrea came to visit, as usual, with the kids.
I watched her, pretending to be engrossed in her phone while she did her usual routine. She hugged the kids, commented on how grown up they were, and unobtrusively walked towards the kitchen.
‘Oh, I’ll get some water,’ she said casually, disappearing into the kitchen while I pretended to help Tomi with her homework.
I immediately pulled out my phone and watched on camera as she quickly stashed the eggs in her bag.
She hurried across the yard and handed the eggs to Mrs Davis. A few minutes later she was back inside, hugging the children as if nothing had happened.
That night I invited Andrea to have tea on the back veranda before she went home. From here there was a clear view of Mrs Davies’s kitchen.
She didn’t have curtains on her kitchen windows and I often sat here in the evenings watching her bake. Tonight, however, I expected to see a more exciting sight.
Mrs Davies walked around the kitchen several times with bowls, flour and other items. Then she picked up an egg. Cracked it, and mustard and hot sauce burst out of the egg, making her shriek.
‘What the…?’ – Andrea sat up straight, her cup of tea clinking against the saucer.
I shrugged and pretended to be concerned.
A few minutes later there was a knock on our door, causing Andrea to jump up.
I walked slowly to the door, trying to hide a smile. Mrs Davis stood on the doorstep, hands in mustard, face red with rage, as if she had just found out that her winning lottery ticket had been tampered with.
‘Those eggs!’ – she blurted out as I invited her in. ‘They were filled with…mustard and gravy!’
‘Eggs?’ – I asked innocently. ‘Oh, you mean the ones you bought at Andrea’s? Is there something wrong with them?’
Andrea walked into the living room. Mrs Davis immediately headed towards her.
‘Andrea? What’s going on? The eggs you sold me…they’re full of mustard and gravy!’
‘What, that’s impossible. Rebecca,’ Andrea hissed. ‘What did you do?’
I folded my arms. ‘What did I do? I think the right question is, what did you do stealing my groceries and selling them to my neighbour?’
Mrs Davis’s mouth dropped open. ‘Wait…you stole those eggs from Rebecca?’
The silence was deafening. Andrea’s face flushed obscenely, contrasting with her floral top. She opened and closed her mouth several times, but no words came out.
‘I can’t believe it,’ Mrs Davies muttered, poking her finger at Andrea, dripping mustard on my floor. ‘I trusted you! All this time telling everyone at my bridge club about your amazing balls!’
She turned and walked out, slamming the door hard so the panes shook. Andrea didn’t stay any longer. She grabbed her bag and almost ran out of the house, leaving her tea unfinished.
I waited until she was gone before I laughed. When James got home and I told him the whole story, he laughed even louder than I did.
‘That’s what you did with the mustard and gravy?’ – He chuckled, wiping tears from his eyes. ‘It’s genius! But a little creepy. Remind me never to steal your groceries.’
Since then, our eggs have stayed exactly where they belong – in the fridge.
Andrea never mentioned the incident again, and Mrs Davies found a new egg supplier. But sometimes, when I put the groceries away, I catch myself smiling. Because there’s nothing sweeter than the satisfaction of catching a thief in the act.
