The Curious Case of the Missing Leftovers: A Cold Case Reheating

 The stainless steel door swung open, the fluorescent light casting a sterile glow on the scene. Detective Miller, a seasoned veteran of the Fridge Force, surveyed the carnage. Empty shelves. A lonely carton of milk. And the most disturbing absence of all: the container of last night's glorious lasagna.

"This ain't just a missing persons case," Miller muttered, his voice a low rumble. "This is a full-blown disappearance."

His partner, the wide-eyed rookie, Officer Parsley, squeaked, "Do you think it was the roommate again, sir? He does have a suspicious fondness for midnight fridge raids."

Miller narrowed his eyes. "Parsley, everyone's a suspect in a case like this. We need to gather evidence."

First stop: the Condiment Corner. The ketchup bottle, a notorious gossip, claimed to have seen a suspicious shadowy figure lurking near the Tupperware container earlier that evening. The mustard, however, remained tight-lipped, muttering something about "condiment confidentiality."

Next, they interrogated the inhabitants of the crisper drawer. The carrots, a bunch of limp witnesses, offered no useful information. The broccoli florets, however, seemed suspiciously smug. "Let's just say some of us have a shorter shelf life than others," one floret snickered.

Undeterred, Miller moved on to the freezer compartment. The ice cube trays, known for their chilling demeanor, offered a solid alibi. They'd been frozen solid all night. The frozen peas, however, seemed nervous. "We… uh… may have overheard someone mentioning a late-night craving for Italian food," one pea mumbled.

Armed with this new lead, Miller and Parsley retraced their steps. A single crumb, clinging to the butter compartment, confirmed their suspicions. The culprit: a rogue slice of garlic bread, notorious for its ability to disappear faster than a magician's rabbit.

A quick search of the countertop revealed the culprit – half-eaten, lying beside a plate with a telltale smudge of tomato sauce. The roommate, sheepishly emerging from his room, confessed to his late-night snacking.

Justice, albeit slightly cheesy, was served. The lasagna container, miraculously unharmed, was returned to its rightful place.

As Miller closed the fridge door, he sighed. "Another case closed. Remember, Parsley, leftovers are sacred. Treat them with respect."

Parsley nodded solemnly, forever marked by the chilling truth: even in the fridge, no one is safe from a midnight munchie attack.