Later that afternoon, one of Helen’s garbage bags tore open.
A nearly new blanket was sticking through the plastic.
Curious, I put on gardening gloves and opened the bag.
Inside were books, a lamp, a vase, and a wooden box.
None of it looked like trash.
Then I pulled out a pair of pruning shears.
My stomach dropped.
There was faded yellow tape wrapped around one handle.
MY yellow tape.
Years earlier, I had placed it there because the rubber grip became slippery when wet.
I immediately checked my garage.
My shears were missing.
Helen had taken them.
Again.
While I was standing there trying to understand what I was seeing, Helen’s two sons came walking past.
The younger boy looked at the pile.
“Hey, that’s our garage stuff.”
His brother immediately elbowed him.
“Shut up.”
I turned toward them.
“What garage stuff?”
The younger boy explained that their mother kept boxes filled with things inside their garage.
“Where does she get them?” I asked.
“Different places.”
“What places?”
He shrugged.
“People’s houses.”
His brother’s face went pale.
“You’re not supposed to tell!”
The younger boy kept talking.
Apparently, Helen regularly brought objects home.
She didn’t buy them.
She simply took them.
Then, after getting bored with them, she threw them away.
The child said something that made my blood run cold.
“Mom says people don’t even notice their stuff until it’s gone.”
Suddenly, every item inside those garbage bags looked different.
There was a silver cake server.
A child’s book with a name written inside.
A wooden jewelry box with initials carved underneath.
A blue ceramic bowl.
These weren’t discarded possessions.
They belonged to my neighbors.
And Helen had likely stolen every one of them.
I considered knocking on doors and asking whether anyone recognized the objects.
But Helen would deny everything.
Instead, I remembered what she had said.
“Keep whatever treasures you find.”
So I decided to do exactly that.
The following Saturday morning, I arranged everything from Helen’s garbage across three folding tables on my lawn.
Then I hung a large sign:
**NEIGHBORHOOD CHARITY GIVEAWAY — EVERYTHING FREE.**
George stopped when he saw it.
“What are you doing?”
“Giving everything a new home.”
“And Helen?”
“She told me to keep her treasures.”
Then I quietly invited every neighbor on the street.
By ten o’clock, my front yard was crowded.
That was when Helen appeared.
“What are you doing with MY things?” she demanded.
I looked at her calmly.
“Giving them away.”
“You have no right!”
“You left them on my property. Remember our agreement?”
Helen suddenly realized strangers were standing nearby.
Her entire personality changed.
She lifted her chin and announced loudly:
“Actually, all of these things are mine. I was going to donate them anyway.”
Of course.
Now she wanted credit for being generous.
A woman complimented her.
Helen smiled proudly.
“I’d rather help people than throw perfectly good things away. Please, take whatever you want.”
I almost laughed.
Then Carol picked up the silver cake server.
Her face changed.
“Helen?”
Helen turned.
Carol flipped the server over.
“Why is MY wedding date engraved underneath this?”
Helen’s smile vanished.
“I lent this to you last year,” Carol said. “You told me you returned it.”
Helen tried to claim she had forgotten.
Then George picked up a red toy truck.
He froze.
“This belonged to my son.”
Helen quickly said there were thousands like it.
George turned it over.
“Not with this brass screw. My son and I repaired this together when he was eight.”
Suddenly, everyone stopped browsing.
Now they were searching.
PART 3
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