The Polite Thief

Rosa Marino had run the little bakery on Maple Street in Burlington, Vermont, for twenty years, and she always knew exactly what was on her shelves. So when she came downstairs one Monday morning, she noticed right away that six cinnamon rolls were missing.

At first she thought she had simply counted wrong. However, on Tuesday four chocolate croissants were gone, and on Wednesday half an apple pie. The strangest part was that whoever took them always paid. Every time, next to the register, there was exactly the right amount of money, together with a small note that said, "Thank you. Delicious."

"A polite thief," said her husband, Frank, when she showed him the notes. "Well, that's something." He was eating a bowl of plain oatmeal without sugar, because his doctor wanted him to lose twenty pounds. He looked sadly at his spoon. "Honestly, I don't understand why anyone would steal from you. You'd give them the rolls for free."

Rosa didn't laugh. The doors had strong locks, and only she and Frank had keys. Nobody had broken a window. So how was the thief getting in?

On Thursday night, she decided to find out. After Frank went to bed in their apartment above the bakery, she took a blanket and a flashlight and sat in the dark behind the counter. For a long time, nothing happened. The fridge hummed, a car passed outside, and Rosa started to feel a little silly.

Then, a little after two o'clock, she heard footsteps on the stairs — the stairs that came down from their own apartment. The back door opened slowly, and a tall man in a striped robe walked into the bakery. In the light from the street, she could see his face.

It was Frank. His eyes were open, but he didn't look at her. He walked straight to the shelf, took two cinnamon rolls and ate them standing up. Then he carefully counted some money out of his robe pocket, wrote a note and went back upstairs, all without a word.

Rosa sat there with her mouth open. Then she remembered that Frank used to walk in his sleep when he was a teenager. The diet had clearly brought back the old habit, and even asleep, he was too honest to take anything without paying.

The next morning, Frank stepped off the bathroom scale with a frown. "This diet isn't working," he said. "I haven't lost a single pound. I don't get it."

Rosa smiled and poured him some coffee. "I think I know why," she said. "Sit down. I have something to tell you, and you're not going to believe it."

That week, they made a new plan together. Frank started taking long walks after dinner, and Rosa began baking a special roll for him, with less sugar and more cinnamon. Every night, she left it on the shelf with a note of her own: "This one's free."