The Missing Gnome

For thirty-one years, Nora Bell delivered the mail on Maple Street. She knew every house, every mailbox and every dog. She knew which houses had a broken step and which houses gave her cookies at Christmas.

Now she was retired. But she still walked down Maple Street every morning at eight o'clock, with a cup of coffee in one hand. Old habits.

On a Monday in May, she stopped in front of number 12.

Number 12 was the Olsens' house. It had a small, perfect garden with red tulips, a bird bath and a garden gnome. The gnome was about forty centimetres tall. He had a red hat, a white beard and a fishing rod. He sat next to the bird bath. He sat there every day for fifteen years.

Today, the gnome was not there.

Nora looked at the empty place. There was a round mark in the soil where the gnome usually sat.

Mrs. Olsen came out of the house in her dressing gown. She looked upset.

"Nora! Someone stole Gerald!"

"Gerald?"

"The gnome. His name is Gerald. My husband gave him to me for our twenty-fifth anniversary." She wiped her eyes. "I called the police. They laughed. They said they have more important things to do than look for a gnome."

"The police don't know Maple Street," said Nora. "I do."