“The Mystery of the Puddle”

I stare at the puddle.

I swear it wasn’t there an hour ago. And, as far as I know, I’m the only one who’s passed through the mudroom today.

My phone rings. I tear my eyes from the puddle to check the screen. It’s Penny.

“Have you passed through the mudroom today?” I ask.

A pause. Then, “Hello, dear sister. Yes, I’m doing well, thank you so very much for asking. How are you doing on this fine afternoon?”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

Another pause, then a sigh. “No, I haven’t been through the mudroom today. Why?”

“There’s a puddle here.”

“A… puddle?”

“Yes.”

“Of what?”

I blink. “Of water. What else?”