I’ve been chief of police in this little town for ten years. We’ve had our share of crimes, mostly minor, but once in a while a big one will pop up. Fortunately, we’ve solved all the crimes—except one.
For the last few years, one shoe has been disappearing. The only shoe store in town reported they have been averaging one shoe a week vanishing off their shelves. Kids leaving their shoes lying around while playing came back to see one gone.
The question perplexing everyone is why one shoe?
I drive around looking at empty buildings and spots in the park where people usually hang out. I walk around in the wooded area hoping for some clue or maybe a dropped shoe. One monotonous hot day I stumbled on a path at the edge of the woods I don’t remember being there.
I followed it and came into a clearing and stopped in my tracks.
A little old man with gallons of glue and a pile of shoes was standing on a ladder building a house. I could see loafers, cowboy boots, work boots, galoshes, sneakers, dress shoes, slippers.
He turned to look at me. I walked up to him and presented my badge. He put his finger to his mouth for silence. Then he smiled and went back to his work.
I didn’t arrest the old man, but I guess I solved the crime because no one has reported shoes missing.
Copyright © December 12, 2010 by Lowell Bergeron