It was late Sunday afternoon when I realized my wallet was missing. I searched my apartment high and low for it, but came up short. It was gone.
“When did you last have it?” Asked my boyfriend.
I scanned my memory. I definitely had it when we were at Walmart the night before. I used it to pay for our purchase. I couldn’t remember if it made it to my parents’ house afterwards, where we went for dinner. I couldn’t picture it in the car on the ride home, either.
“So it must be at your parents’.” Ant reasoned.
I called my mom. She searched, but she couldn’t find it anywhere either. She suggested I may have lost it in the parking lot at Walmart, maybe loading the groceries from the cart into the car.
Suddenly it all made sense. I remembered that shortly after we had arrived at my parents’, I had missed a call from a number I didn’t recognize. The caller ID read, “FERRANTE.” They hadn’t left a voicemail, but I knew then what they had been calling about. They had found my wallet. Mystery solved.
I called the number back immediately, but there was no answer. Instead, I was transferred to a voicemail.
“Hi,” spoke a woman, who I imagined to have a short blond bob. She was probably an elementary school teacher. “Sorry we missed your call! If you leave your name and number, we’ll get back to you.”
I knew “we” meant her husband and her two teenage kids. It was probably her son who found my wallet in the parking lot initially, and he showed it to the daughter. I figured it was likely the daughter who had given it to her mom, and her mom had found my cellphone number. Somehow.
“Hi,” I spoke into the voicemail confidently. “My name is Alexis Ryder. I missed a call from you last night, and I’m hoping you’re calling to say you found my wallet!”
I left my phone number again, in case they’d lost it. I was certain I would hear from them soon. I would buy them a box of chocolates as a sign of my gratitude for safely returning my wallet.
Feeling satisfied with my detective work, I plopped down onto my couch to relax and wait for their call. The cushion of my couch was sticking out funny; I hadn’t put it back properly after my initial search. I pulled it out all the way to readjust it, when something flat and black, pushed all the way beneath the couch leg caught my eye. Oh no. It was my missing wallet.
But what about the Ferrantes?! What about my sleuth-hound detective skills?! I had none. All I have are overactive storytelling skills.
They never called me back.