“Have you ever noticed the flour sack near the back door always seems to move overnight?” “Well, I always figured it was the delivery boy, you know, rearranging things. Why?” “This morning it was un-tied. There was a trail of flour leading to the stockroom.” “That’s peculiar. Maybe a mouse again?” “Mice don’t untie knots, Audrey.” “Suppose you’re right. Did you see anyone hanging around yesterday?” “No one odd. Just Mrs. Barnaby with her rhubarb tart order, and Pastor Dale, who wanted two lemon buns.” “Pastor Dale, really? He hates lemon.” “Exactly. And he paid with a $50 bill.” “Huh. That is strange. Did you check the stockroom?” “Of course. The box of napkins was missing.” “Who in their right mind steals napkins?” “It’s not the napkins I’m worried about—it’s the fact someone knew they were there.” “You think someone’s after something in the bakery?” “I think someone is using the bakery for something else. And I intend to find out what, before tomorrow’s morning rush.” “I’ll help. But only if you make sure I don’t get flour all over my apron this time.” “No promises. This is a mystery, after all.”