Case of the Missing Sansabelts

One of my elderly neighbors regularly falls asleep behind the wheel of his Cadillac. Fortunately he's parked in our parking lot. When I wake him up to see if he's okay he says, "I'm just resting his ticker for the hike." His apartment is on the fourth floor. Our building has no elevator. Yesterday he seemed particularly embarrassed to be woken up again. I quickly thought of some neighborly conversation to ease the tension. I asked if his tap water was as brown as mine last week. It was. He in turn asked if I'd caught wind of his stolen pants. Say what?

He explained that the missing slacks were last seen in a Klinke Cleaner's bag hanging on the doorknob inside his locked apartment. Having just finished a winter power walk, sweat was beginning to bead up under my earmuffs. Did I look guilty? Turns out his lead suspect is our landlady, Betty. He says she gained entry with her master key and made off with the goods. I was trying my best to be sympathetic to my neighbor's plight but doubted a small woman had a motive for stealing an overweight senior's Sansabelts, even if they were Klinke clean.

He sweetened the deal. In addition to the pants, he was missing some Equal packets. I tried to piece the evidence together in my mind -- overweight man, missing pants, artificial sweetener, it all seemed connected somehow but still didn't explain why I was standing there in the cold parking lot sweating over this. He continued to make his case. Seems he had taken two packets of sweetener out of the box in the cupboard and placed them on the counter for his cup of coffee. He then left the kitchen to go to the bathroom. When he returned the Equal packets were gone. Which is where I wanted to be at this point as the sweat was now running down my forehead into my eyes.

Sensing my uneasiness, he suggested we lean up against his Caddy. I said I wished I could but had to get back to work. So he shifted his weight and continued. He is so sure that Betty is regularly breaking into his apartment, stealing and/or moving things around that he called the building owner to complain. My neighbor believes the only reason the owner didn't take action is because, "He's always pickled by 3:00 in the afternoon." I assumed this was the end of the story, case closed. "That's when I called the police," he said. Okay, now we're getting somewhere! But to his surprise, even the police couldn't help. I suggested that maybe with budget cuts they aren't giving priority to cases involving missing slacks, even if they are the more expensive Sansabelts with the patented expandable waistband. He reminded me they weren't missing, "They were stolen!" Poor guy. I knew that even Crimestoppers wouldn't take his case without a police report. He just stood there looking hopeless.

So as I turned to leave, I mentioned that I had alot of change that I kept in a milk jug in my apartment... did he think this would be an easy target for Betty? "Join the club!" he said and reached out happily to shake my hand. Apparently, having any degree of suspicion about Betty makes me a believer. And we'd now be working as an undercover team to take a bite out of crime. But I don't think this is a case that can be solved overnight. My neighbor may have to closely guard the Equal packets, and keep his pants on.

- Submitted by a concerned neighbor and undercover brother