The scent of cinnamon buns and sourdough starter hung thick in the air, a warm blanket against the rattling January wind outside. Flour dusted the mahogany counter like a light snowfall. "You’re sure about the flour? It looked like he was carrying a bag of King Arthur, but the weight was all wrong." "I saw what I saw. He wasn't heading for the pantry; he was heading for the basement stairs. And he wasn't wearing his apron." "The basement is just for the backup ovens and the dry storage. There’s no reason for the Mayor to be down there at four in the morning." "Unless he was looking for the ledger. Margot said she hidden it behind the industrial mixers before she… well, before the accident." "A heavy bag of flour is a perfect place to hide a stolen book. No one looks twice at a baker with a heavy load." "Except when the baker is wearing Italian leather loafers and a tailored suit." "He always was too vain for his own good. Did you check the back door?" "Bolted from the inside. He’s still down there, probably elbow-deep in rye." "Keep the oven timer going. We need a reason to stay until the police arrive."