Donald had gone out to the garage, eager to get started on some odd jobs around our house. He returned heartbroken. “Someone jimmied the lock,” he said. “My tools, the rented saw—gone.”
“The rented saw?” I asked.
“The one in the red case,” he said.
I groaned. Did the thief have to choose this weekend to pounce? I thought. We had no choice but to replace the rented saw right away. That alone would eat up our home-improvement budget.
Donald and I moped around the rest of the weekend. By Tuesday, I’d resigned myself to the fact that the tools were gone for good. I drove down to the shopping center. As I pulled into the turn lane I braked to let a young man with an infant carrier cross the street. A puff of wind blew the yellow blanket so it fluttered like angel wings.
There was no baby under there! The man was hiding something red.
Red metal! Could it be? I turned slowly and watched the man in my rearview mirror. He walked into the pawn shop across the street! I called Donald. “Hon, get to the pawn shop!”
Later that day my husband’s tools were back in the garage where they belonged, along with the rented saw in the red case.
The police couldn’t solve our crime, that was a job for angels.
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