Detective: “Mrs. Hassan, your husband says someone broke into your house.” Mrs. Hassan: “Someone did.” Detective: “What was stolen?” Mrs. Hassan: “Nothing.” Detective: “Nothing?” Mrs. Hassan: “Not a single thing.” The detective frowned. Detective: “Then why are we here?” Mrs. Hassan slid a photograph across the table. It showed her living room. Perfectly tidy. Too tidy. Mrs. Hassan: “Whoever broke in cleaned my house.” Silence. The detective picked up the photo. Detective: “Cleaned it?” Mrs. Hassan: “Every room.” Detective: “You’re sure it wasn’t already clean?” She gave him a look. Mrs. Hassan: “I have three teenagers.” The detective visited the house. Everything sparkled. The windows. The kitchen. The bookshelves. Even the ceiling fans. Someone had dusted them. The only thing missing… Was a single dirty coffee mug. Detective: “That’s… unusual.” There were no signs of forced entry. No broken locks. No damaged windows. Nothing. Until the detective reached the backyard. There, he found muddy footprints. One set going in. One set going out. Whoever entered had worn gloves. They had also left behind… A bottle of furniture polish. The detective sent it for fingerprints. Only one set was found. Mrs. Hassan’s husband. Mr. Hassan: “I’ve never seen that bottle before.” The detective believed him. Mostly because the bottle was a brand Mr. Hassan was allergic to. The mystery grew stranger. A neighbor came forward. Neighbor: “I saw someone carrying a vacuum cleaner into their house.” Detective: “Did you think that was suspicious?” Neighbor: “No.” Detective: “Why not?” Neighbor: “I assumed they had finally started spring cleaning.”