The Case of the Missing Grape

Roisin stood on her tippy-toes and looked into the fruit bowl.

She counted the grapes. Eleven.

Yesterday there were twelve.

The day before that, thirteen.

"Someone," said Roisin, very seriously, "is taking my grapes."

She pulled a wooden spoon from the drawer and held it like a detective holds a magnifying glass. She squinted one eye shut.

"I will find the grape thief," she whispered.

First, she checked the sitting room. Her big brother Cillian was on the couch, watching telly.

"Cillian," said Roisin. "Did you take a grape?"

"Grapes are boring," said Cillian. He didn't even look up.

Roisin wrote this down on a sticky note. She couldn't write words yet, so she drew a picture of Cillian looking bored. She stuck it on the wall.

Not Cillian. Too bored.

Next, she checked the garden. Da was pulling weeds by the back wall.

"Da," said Roisin. "Did you take a grape from the fruit bowl?"

"Just one?" said Da. "If I took grapes, I'd take a big handful." He made a grabbing shape with his muddy hand.

Roisin shook her head. "The thief only takes one. Every single day. Exactly one."

She drew a picture of Da with big grabby hands. She stuck it on the wall next to Cillian.

Not Da. Too grabby.

Back in the kitchen, Roisin sat at the table and put her chin on her fists. The fruit bowl sat in front of her. Apples. Bananas. And eleven green grapes.

She would wait.

She waited one minute. Two minutes. She swung her legs. She hummed a little song. She stopped humming because detectives don't hum.

Three minutes.

Nothing happened.

Four minutes.

A fly landed on a banana. Roisin stared at it. "Was it you?" she whispered.

The fly flew away.

Then — the kitchen door pushed open.

Roisin held very still.

In walked Mammy. She had her phone in one hand. She was talking to Auntie Deirdre. She wasn't even looking at the fruit bowl.

But her other hand — her sneaky, quiet other hand — reached right into the bowl.

Her fingers found a grape.

Just one.

She popped it into her mouth. Still talking. Still not looking. She didn't even stop walking. She went straight through the kitchen and out the other door.

Roisin's mouth fell open.

She jumped off the chair so fast it wobbled.

"MAMMY!"

Roisin found her in the hall. Mammy looked down, surprised. "Hold on, Deirdre—"

"It was YOU!" said Roisin. She pointed the wooden spoon. "You're the grape thief!"

Mammy's face went pink.

"I only take one," Mammy said quietly.

"Every DAY!" said Roisin.

"They're very good grapes," said Mammy.

Roisin put her hands on her hips. She gave Mammy her most serious look. The one with both eyes squinty.

Then she took Mammy's hand and marched her back to the kitchen. She pointed at the fruit bowl.

"If you want a grape," said Roisin, "you have to ask."

Mammy bit her lip. She looked at the bowl. She looked at Roisin.

"Roisin," said Mammy, very politely, "may I please have a grape?"

Roisin nodded. She picked out the best one — the big round shiny one — and placed it in Mammy's hand.

Mammy ate it slowly this time. She closed her eyes.

"Thank you," she said. "That was the best grape I've ever had."

Roisin climbed back onto her chair. She picked a grape for herself. They sat together, eating one grape each, and the kitchen was quiet except for two small crunches.

Roisin stuck one last note on the wall.

A drawing of Mammy. With a grape. And a big happy face.

Case closed.