by Jake Devlin

Enjoy this never before published fun short story with a bit of a mystery twist.

“Who stole my cupcakes?” I yelled from the kitchen.

“Not me,” called my daughter, tapping her phone.

“Nor me,” from my son, his eyes on his screen.

But someone had taken them. I’d put them on the island to cool, a dozen of the best I’d ever baked, and then I’d hopped in the pool for a relaxing swim and float; couldn’t have been gone more than ten or fifteen minutes. But the empty rack was clear evidence of the theft. Who was the culprit?

Couldn’t have been my husband; he’s up in Fresno, closing a deal, and he’s just not capable of stealing.

Maybe Buster, our annoying new Labrador puppy? Nah, he’s still too small to jump that high, and there’d be a mess of crumbs and liners.

Or maybe the cats? They’re sneaky, clever devils, and any of them could have jumped that high – or could they? I’ve never seen any of them on the island. But–wait–they have been on the counter and could have jumped across, easy.

But again, where’s the mess? Or maybe they were careful. Maybe Joy jumped across, nudged them one at a time to the edge, and dropped them to Barbara, Whoopi, and Behar down below, and they then pushed them away to a good hiding place. Lord knows, this old house has enough nooks and crannies.

But I don’t see a trail, no crumbs or liners, nothing at all. So time to investigate. Put on your Sherlock hat, girl, and let’s go!

Okay; there’s the kitties all snug on our bed, sound asleep and purring. Looks like they’re innocent. So off to find Buster.

Where is he hiding, the nasty little scamp? Living room? Nope. Guest bedroom, dining room, library, den? No, no, no, and nope. Ah, maybe the laundry room?

Yup, there he is, a half-chewed liner and crumbs on his nose. And look at those eyes! He knows he’s guilty. No, no, no! Don’t you dare growl at–but–wait. He ate the whole dozen, liners and all?

“Kids, grab Buster’s leash and get out here quick! We’ve got to get him to the vet. Now!”

Crap! There’s another four hundred bucks down the drain. Maybe that’ll convince Steve to let me get rid of him. Or maybe I’ll just leave him at the vet – or drop him off at the pound.

Once the door closed and the car drove away, Joy smirked at the others and purred, “See, I told you it’d work. One to frame Buster, eleven for us. Now let’s have our feast.”

And the four of them scampered happily under the bed.

You can find more mystery reviews, articles & short stories (including more Smart Guys stories) in our mystery section.

Jake Devlin is the pen name of a 70-year-old novelist living in Bonita Springs, Florida. His usual genre is anti-political absurdist thrillers, two of which (The Devlin Deception and 257 Ways to Fix the USA, have been Amazon #1 bestsellers in their categories. Occasionally he has an out-of-genre idea and follows it through, as in this short story and in The Dracula Deception, a stage comedy he wrote and produced in 1974 and finally converted to book form forty years later. His author website is JakeDevlin.com and his email address is jake.devlin@jakedevlin[dot]com. (He loves engaging with readers.)