A Letter to Felix About the Clock That Winds Itself

advancedmystery310 words

Ruth writes to her detective-mad old friend because someone has been letting themselves into her cottage while she is at work. Nothing is ever stolen. Things are only ever fixed.

Dear Felix,

You always said that one day I would need your detective instincts, and I'm sorry to report that the day has come and you are four hundred miles away. So you will have to solve this one by post.

Someone has been coming into the cottage while I'm at work. Nothing has been taken. That is the strange part. Last Tuesday the kitchen clock, which I have never once remembered to wind, was ticking when I got home. On Friday the kettle was still warm. And yesterday the roses by the back door had been cut back properly, the way the gardening books insist and I never manage.

Here is my reasoning, so you can mark it. Whoever it is can't have broken in; every window was latched and the locks are untouched. So they must have had a key. They can't have been a thief, or they would surely have taken the laptop sitting on the table. And they must have known the house well, because they found the clock key, which I only discovered last week in a tin behind the bread bin.

You might have guessed the rest already. You usually do. Mrs Abara next door finally confessed this morning, leaning over the fence with an apologetic smile. Mr Hale, who sold me the cottage in spring, lives with his son now, three streets away. He kept a spare key. He told his son he was going for walks. He must have been coming here every afternoon for months, winding his clock, pruning his roses and slipping out before I got back.

I should have been furious, I suppose. Instead I have left a second cup next to the kettle and a note that says 'Thursdays suit me best.'

Tell me honestly: have I gone soft, or is this the only sensible ending?

Love, Ruth