It all started with a small mystery: eggs kept disappearing from our fridge.
We hardly ate them — they were mainly for my kids, since eggs have become practically a luxury item these days.
And every time my mother-in-law, Andrea, came over to visit? More eggs went missing.
So, I decided to install a hidden camera in the kitchen.
What I discovered chilled me.
Andrea was taking eggs from our fridge, stuffing them into her purse, walking across the yard, and selling them to our neighbor, Mrs. Davis — for cash.
Later, I casually asked Mrs. Davis where she was getting her eggs from.
“Oh, from your sweet mother-in-law!” she said cheerfully. “She has backyard chickens and sells them cheap — just $4 a dozen!”
FOUR. DOLLARS.
Andrea was stealing from us and running an undercover egg business.
I wanted to explode — but instead, I stayed calm and planned the perfect payback.
I spent over an hour carefully emptying an entire dozen eggs. Watching the golden yolks slip away was strangely satisfying.
Then, I mixed up a special blend of mustard and hot sauce and refilled each eggshell with the spicy mixture. Once done, I placed the eggs neatly back in the carton.
“What are you doing?” my husband James asked as he wandered into the kitchen around midnight. “Is that… mustard?”
“Justice,” I replied without looking up. “Sweet, yellow justice.”
The trap was set.
That weekend, Andrea came over for her usual visit with the grandkids. I pretended to be focused on my phone while she followed her normal routine — hugs, compliments, and drifting toward the kitchen.
“I’ll just grab some water,” she said casually, slipping into the kitchen.
I quietly pulled out my phone and watched the camera feed as she tucked the eggs into her purse and slipped out the back door.
Minutes later, she was back inside, laughing and doting on the kids like nothing had happened.
That evening, I invited Andrea to have tea with me on the back porch — which had a perfect view into Mrs. Davis’s kitchen.
She didn’t have curtains, and I often watched her baking in the evenings.
Sure enough, we soon saw her walking back and forth, prepping ingredients, grabbing bowls and flour… and then, she cracked one of the eggs.
A burst of mustard and hot sauce shot out. She screamed.
“What the heck?!” Andrea gasped, sitting up.
I played dumb and looked around.
A few moments later, we heard angry pounding on the front door.
I had to bite my lip to keep from smiling.
Mrs. Davis stood there, hands covered in mustard, face flushed with rage, looking like someone who just realized their winning lottery ticket was a fake.
“Those eggs!” she yelled as I opened the door. “They were filled with… with…”
“Eggs?” I asked sweetly. “Oh, you mean the ones you bought from Andrea? Was something wrong with them?”
Andrea stepped into the living room, and Mrs. Davis turned on her instantly.
“Andrea? What’s going on? The eggs you sold me — they were full of mustard and hot sauce!”
“What? That’s not possible!” Andrea hissed. “Rebecca, what did you do?!”
I crossed my arms. “What did I do? I think the real question is: what were you doing stealing food from my fridge and selling it to our neighbor?”
Mrs. Davis’s jaw dropped.
“Wait… you stole these from Rebecca?!”
Andrea’s face turned bright red — her floral blouse made it even worse.
“I can’t believe this,” Mrs. Davis muttered, pointing a mustard-covered finger at her. “I trusted you! I’ve been telling everyone at my bridge club about your amazing ‘backyard eggs’!”
She stormed out, slamming the door behind her.
Andrea didn’t stay much longer either. She grabbed her purse and bolted, leaving her tea half-finished on the table.
As soon as she was gone, I burst out laughing. When James came home and I told him the whole story, he laughed even harder.
“That’s what the mustard was for?” he gasped, wiping tears from his eyes. “Genius. But also, slightly terrifying. Remind me never to mess with your groceries.”
Since then, the eggs have stayed exactly where they belong — in our fridge.
Andrea never brought it up again, and Mrs. Davis found a new egg supplier.
But every now and then, as I’m putting away groceries, I catch myself smiling.
Because nothing is more satisfying than catching an egg thief red-handed.