Someone was stealing the birdseed, and Ginger was certain of it. Every morning she filled the little feeder that hung from a low branch of a tree. By lunchtime, birds would be hopping all over the yard—sparrows, finches, sometimes a dove or two—pecking at the ground beneath it.

But lately, something strange had been happening. Ginger filled the feeder in the morning, and by afternoon it was empty. Completely empty. Not birds-have-been-eating-here empty. More like someone-turned-it-upside-down empty. Ginger narrowed her eyes. "We have a thief."

She began her investigation immediately. First, she examined the ground beneath the feeder. There were sunflower shells, little scratches in the dirt, several bird tracks, and one suspicious hole near the fence. Ginger crouched beside it. "Aha." She found a stick and poked carefully into the hole. Nothing happened. She poked again. Still nothing. "You're clever," Ginger whispered.

She spent most of the morning watching the hole. Nothing came out.

The next day, Ginger suspected the doves. They were much larger than the other birds, and they walked around beneath the feeder as though they owned the place. She watched one particularly plump dove peck at a seed, then another, before wandering away. "Too slow," Ginger decided. "You couldn't possibly be the thief." The dove didn't seem offended.

On the third day, Ginger prepared a trap. Not a real trap—Ginger didn't want to hurt anything. She tied a tiny bell to the feeder. "If anyone touches you," she told it, "I'll know." Then she dragged a chair behind the screen door, sat down with a peanut butter sandwich, and waited.

A sparrow arrived. Ding. Ginger jumped. Another sparrow landed. Ding-ding. Then three finches arrived at once. Ding-ding-ding-ding-ding! Ginger stared at the feeder. "This is not working." She removed the bell.

By now, the mystery had become serious. The next morning she filled the feeder only halfway and drew a line in the dirt beneath it. "No one crosses this line without leaving footprints." Then she hid behind the porch railing and waited.

Ten minutes passed. Then twenty. A fly landed on her knee. Ginger shooed it away. A lizard darted across the porch. "Not you." A sparrow landed on the feeder. "Definitely not you."

Then everything went quiet.

Suddenly, the feeder jerked.

Ginger sat up.

It jerked again, and then the whole thing began swinging wildly from side to side. Ginger's eyes widened. A squirrel was hanging upside down from the branch. Its back feet gripped the bark, its body stretched toward the feeder, and its front paws were wrapped around the edge. With one determined shove, it tipped the feeder sideways.

Birdseed poured onto the ground.

The squirrel dropped after it.

Ginger stood up. "AHA!"

The squirrel froze. Ginger froze. For several seconds they stared at each other. The squirrel's cheeks were already stuffed with sunflower seeds.

"I knew it," Ginger said. "You've been stealing the birdseed. That's for the birds."

The squirrel stared at her and grabbed another seed.

"You aren't even sorry."

It grabbed two more.

Ginger put her hands on her hips. "You are officially banned from the bird feeder!"

The squirrel ran up the cottonwood tree. Ginger chased it around the trunk as it leaped onto another branch and disappeared into the leaves. "Come back here!" she shouted after it.

The next morning, Ginger moved the feeder farther from the trunk and hung it from a longer wire. She filled it with fresh seed and stood back to admire her work. "There," she said. "Let's see you figure that out."

She went inside for breakfast.

When she came back twenty minutes later, the feeder was swinging.

Half the birdseed was gone.

High above her, sitting comfortably on a cottonwood branch, the squirrel held a sunflower seed between its paws.

Ginger looked at the squirrel.

The squirrel looked at Ginger.

Ginger sighed.

"This isn't over."