The Gumbo

Cletus won’t tell me what’s in his special gumbo.
He’s scared of people learning his recipe, so not only does he buy his own groceries from the market to make it, he buys extra ingredients to throw anyone off that’s looking through the trash.
He won’t let anyone in the kitchen while he makes it.
He cleans the dishes to keep anyone from using forensic science on them.
The more blue ribbons he earns, the crazier he gets.
“Where did you hide the cameras?” he shrieks, his tinfoil hat askew on his head.
“In the vent,” I think, and smile.