Eggs were constantly disappearing from my refrigerator, always after my mother-in-law, Andrea, came to visit. I thought she might be in trouble and have taken some eggs for herself, but I had to be sure. I set up a hidden camera, but what I saw my mother-in-law do with the stolen eggs shocked me to the core.
I never thought I’d become an amateur sleuth over something as simple as eggs. But when you’re paying around $6 a dozen, you start to notice things.
Brown eggs in a carton | Source: Pexels
My husband, James, and I hardly ever touched them anymore. We only bought them for the kids’ breakfast, and even then, we treated them like they were gold.
Yet somehow they began to disappear at an incredible speed.
“James, I swear we ran out of eggs yesterday,” I said one morning, staring at the refrigerator.
The cardboard felt strange in my hands. Too light.
A woman frowns in her kitchen | Source: Midjourney
“Come on, Rebecca,” he replied, without looking up from his phone. “Maybe the kids made eggs on the way home from school.”
“No, they ate grilled cheese.” I took out the box and put it on the counter. “I counted them. We had eight yesterday, and now there are four.”
“Are you counting eggs now?” He looked up, frowning. “This is a new level of grocery anxiety for you.”
A man in a kitchen looking at someone | Source: Midjourney
“When they cost this much, I think I have to.” I closed the refrigerator with more force than necessary, making the condiments inside rattle. “And I’m telling you, something’s wrong. This isn’t the first time.”
James sighed and put his phone down. “Baby, it’s just eggs. Maybe we use more than we think.”
“No, you don’t understand. I’ve been keeping track for weeks now.” I started pacing the kitchen, my slippers scuffing the tiles. “I’m going to install a hidden camera to catch the thief.”
A determined woman in a kitchen | Source: Midjourney
James laughed. “Are you monitoring our fridge?”
“Exactly,” I replied.
You see, there was one crucial piece of information I didn’t want to share with James just yet. When I started counting our eggs, I quickly discovered a disturbing trend: every time my mother-in-law, Andrea, came to visit, our eggs would disappear.
A woman looking pensive in a kitchen | Source: Midjourney
At first, I thought she might be struggling financially. Times were tough for everyone, and eggs were practically a luxury item at the time, but something just didn’t sit right with me.
Although James and I had discussed his mother’s boundary issues several times, I didn’t want to accuse her of stealing without proof.
“Okay, Sherlock,” James said, getting up from his chair. “Do whatever it takes to uncover the mystery of the missing eggs.”
A man smiling in a kitchen | Source: Midjourney
I ordered the tiny camera the same day, choosing overnight delivery. I installed it on a kitchen shelf, facing the refrigerator.
The images revealed more than I had imagined. I sat at my kitchen table, jaw dropped, staring at Andrea on my phone screen.
There she was, boldly, carefully placing the eggs from my carton into her tote bag. She wrapped each one in a small cloth, storing them as if they were precious stones.
But it was what she did next that really shocked me.
A woman looking at her phone in shock | Source: Midjourney
Instead of going home with her stolen eggs, she went straight out the back door and across the yard to Mrs. Davis’s house, our neighbor.
“No way,” I mumbled, leaning closer to the screen.
It was pure luck that our refrigerator was near the back door. The small camera just happened to capture the exchange that took place next.
Close-up of a camera lens | Source: Pexels
I watched in disbelief as Andrea handed the eggs to Mrs. Davis, who gave her something in return. Money. My mother-in-law was running an egg racket out of my refrigerator.
“What nerve!” I whispered to myself. I looked at the footage three times, just to make sure I wasn’t seeing things. “She stole my eggs to sell to the neighbors!”
That evening, I decided to check things out. I caught Mrs. Davis watering her roses and walked over, trying to look casual.
A woman tends to her roses | Source: Midjourney
“Hey! Mrs. Davis,” I called, leaning on the fence. “I was wondering… where you’ve been buying your eggs these days?”
Mrs. Davis’s face lit up as if I’d just given her free tickets to the opera. “Oh! I buy eggs from your kind mother-in-law! She has chickens and sells them cheap—only $4 a dozen! But I bet you already knew that.”
I felt my smile freeze on my face.
A shocked woman near a fence | Source: Midjourney
Backyard chickens? Andrea lived in an apartment. On the third floor. The closest she could get to having backyard chickens was to install a chicken coop on her balcony.
“I guess you didn’t know I already shopped with her and wanted to give me some cheap eggs. That’s very kind of you!” Mrs. Davis winked at me. “Who would have thought we’d end up discussing cheap eggs as some shady business?”
She laughed, then apologized to continue watering while I stood there fuming.
A woman looking furious | Source: Midjourney
That evening, I devised a plan to teach Andrea a lesson.
It took me over an hour to carefully hollow out an entire carton of eggs, but watching the golden yolk flow out was oddly satisfying.
I then mixed a special concoction of mustard and hot sauce, and carefully filled each shell before placing them back in the carton.
“What are you doing?” James asked, venturing into the kitchen around midnight. “Is that… mustard?”
A man points in a kitchen | Source: Midjourney
“Justice,” I replied, without looking up from my work. “Sweet yellow justice.”
“Should I even ask?”
“Probably not. But you should buy some popcorn for the show that’s coming up.”
The trap was set. That weekend, Andrea came for her usual visit to see her grandchildren.
A woman standing in a house | Source: Midjourney
I watched her like a hawk, pretending to be engrossed in my phone while she went about her usual routine. She hugged the kids, commented on how much they’d grown, and subtly positioned herself near the kitchen.
“Oh, let me get some water,” she said nonchalantly, disappearing into the kitchen while I pretended to help Tommy with his homework.
I immediately took out my phone and watched on the camera as she slipped the eggs into her bag.
A woman in a hallway looking at her phone | Source: Midjourney
She hurried across the yard and handed the eggs to Mrs. Davis. A few minutes later, she was back inside, gushing over the children as if nothing had happened.
That evening, I invited Andrea to have a cup of tea with me on the back porch before she went home. From there, we had a clear view of Mrs. Davis’s kitchen.
She didn’t have curtains on her kitchen windows, and I often sat here in the evenings to watch her cook. Tonight, however, I was expecting a more exciting spectacle.
Windows without curtains | Source: Midjourney
Mrs. Davis walked back and forth a few times, carrying bowls, flour, and other items. Then she lifted an egg. She opened it and screamed as the yellow mustard and hot sauce mixture squirted out.
“What’s this?” Andrea sat up, her teacup clinking against the saucer.
I shrugged and pretended to look around worriedly.
Moments later, the pounding of our front door startled him again.
A front door | Source: Pexels
I took my time approaching, struggling not to smile. Mrs. Davis stood there, her hands covered in mustard, her face red with fury, as if she had just discovered her winning lottery ticket was fake.
“Those eggs!” she stammered as I invited her in. “They were filled with… with…”
“Eggs?” I asked innocently. “Oh, you mean the ones you bought from Andrea? Is there something wrong with them?”
A woman smiling politely at someone in her house | Source: Midjourney
Andrea entered the living room at that moment. Mrs. Davis immediately went over to her.
“Andrea? What’s going on? The eggs you sold me… they’re full of mustard and hot sauce!”
“What? This can’t be happening, Rebecca,” Andrea hissed. “What did you do?”
I crossed my arms. “What did I do? I think the better question is what were you doing stealing my groceries and selling them to my neighbor?”
A woman standing with her arms crossed | Source: Midjourney
Mrs. Davis’s mouth fell open. “Wait… you stole those eggs from Rebecca?”
The silence was deafening. Andrea’s face turned a shade of red I’d never seen before, contrasting dramatically with her floral blouse. She opened and closed her mouth several times, but no words came out.
“I can’t believe this,” muttered Mrs. Davis. She pointed at Andrea, dripping mustard onto my floor. “I trusted you! Everything you said about your backyard chickens… I’ve told everyone at my bridge club about your amazing eggs!”
A woman with mustard on her hand points her finger | Source: Midjourney
She left, slamming the door hard enough to rattle the windows. Andrea didn’t stay any longer. She grabbed her handbag and ran out, leaving her half-finished tea on the table.
I waited until she left to start laughing. When James came home and I told him the whole story, he laughed even harder than I did.
“Is that what you did with the mustard and hot sauce?” he breathed, wiping the tears from his eyes. “It’s awesome! But also a little terrifying. Remind me to never steal your groceries.”
A man laughing in a kitchen | Source: Midjourney
These days, our eggs stay exactly where they belong – in our refrigerator.
Andrea never mentioned the incident again, and Mrs. Davis found a new egg supplier. But sometimes when I’m putting away the groceries, I find myself smiling. Because nothing tastes better than the satisfaction of catching an egg thief in the act.
Read also: My husband didn’t save me any food for dinner while I was feeding our newborn son
This work is inspired by real events and people, but has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the story. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, or to actual events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
The author and publisher make no claims regarding the accuracy of events or character portrayals and are not responsible for any misinterpretations. This story is provided “as is,” and all opinions expressed are those of the characters and do not reflect the opinions of the author or publisher.
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