Dear Diary,
There’s something strange going on with the gloves in Huckleberry Hollow—and I’m not talking about Missy Simpson’s new line of rhinestone-studded gardening mittens (which are technically glamour hazards, not mysteries). No, this is more sinister. More specific.
We have a glove thief.
But not just any glove thief—oh no.
A right-hand-only glove thief.
It started last Tuesday when Marge at the post office found her favorite woolen glove missing from the breakroom chair. Only the right one. “Probably lost in the laundry,” she said cheerfully. Until Clara Benson reported her missing right glove the very next day—from inside her coat pocket. Then today, Ruth Dawson walked into the library, lost and bewildered, waving a single left-hand mitten in the air like a Victorian ghost trying to make a point.
Something is afoot. Or… a-hand.
I’ve begun compiling a list. So far, we have five missing right gloves, all different styles, all belonging to respectable townsfolk with very warm left hands and very chilly right ones. Is this a prank? A fashion statement? The work of a one-handed glove enthusiast?
Tiger, as always, is contributing in his own special way. He spent a full twenty minutes rooting under my coat rack this morning before dragging out a dusty glove and presenting it to me like he’d uncovered the crown jewels. Unfortunately, it was my own, lost sometime in February, possibly during a mid-blizzard donut run. Still, I rewarded him with a single anchovy and a dramatic reenactment of a detective thanking their plucky assistant.
Current theories:
- A misguided magician collecting props
- Someone with an intense dislike of symmetry
- Gerald the duck
- A squirrel with a flair for fashion
Tomorrow I’ll be making a round of quiet inquiries at the diner and peeking behind the church coat rack. Tiger, meanwhile, has claimed my left mitten as his official sleuthing hat and is currently wearing it like a crown.
He’s taken on the case with great seriousness. Or he’s napping. It’s sometimes hard to tell.
—Lydia
