Who Stole the Cookie From the Cookie Jar?

In honor of Halloween I thought I'd write a short mystery about a missing treat. Enjoy!

“Who stole the last cookie from the cookie jar,” I yelled upon discovering the Oreo cookie I’d been dreaming about all day was gone.

My husband looked up from where he was reading the newspaper.

“Was it you.” I stood, hands on hips, nodding pointedly at the glass of milk in front of him.

“Wasn’t me. I’d never get between you and your Oreos.”

“Hmph,” I replied turning back to the scene of the theft. I spied a small crumb on the corner of the counter, and another one on the floor. Aha! The thief left a trail for me to follow. Down the hall, past the bathroom and into the guest bedroom, I followed the crumbs.

“Grandma! You stole the cookie from the cookie jar.”

“Who me?”

“Yes, you.”

“Couldn’t be,” she said, pointing to the half-eaten blueberry muffin on the desk. “You know I don’t like cookies. They’re too sweet.”

“Then who?” She shrugged her shoulders and took a bite of her muffin.

Back to square one, I returned to the kitchen. Who else could have stolen my cookie? I picked up the jar and turned it over. A smear of red caught my eye. Finger paint!

I tiptoed to the den. I could hear my kids, three year old Jenna and seven year old Max, laughing. I peeked around the corner. Max had clearly been teaching Jenna how to finger paint. Briefly I noted he had remembered to spread out newspaper, so that the mess was easily erased. Was that worth my last Oreo though? I think not.

“I’m ho-ome,” I sang ala Jack Nicholson in The Shining.

“Mommy,” Jenna jumped up and ran to hug me. I held her back for a moment. “Let mommy take a look at you. I missed your pretty face today,” I said searching the corners of her mouth for tell-tale signs of chocolate. Nothing.

“You didn't steal mommy's cookie from the cookie jar, did you sweetie?”

Jenna leaned toward me, pushed my hair out of the way, and whispered into my ear. "Max took your cookie, mommy."

"Max took my cookie from the cookie jar?"

Max wiped his sleeve across his face, leaving a touch of blue paint on his cheek. "Whoma," he gulped. "Who me?"

"Yes you!"

In reply, my son smiled at me, all that was left of my Oreo spread across his teeth.