# The Missing Sourdough Starter The morning light filtered through the gingham curtains of Sweet Crumb Bakery, casting checkered shadows across the flour-dusted counter. The display case stood half-empty, a sorry sight for a Tuesday morning. "It's been missing since Saturday. Four days, and nobody's seen it." "We're talking about a sourdough starter, not a missing person." "That starter was twenty-three years old. My grandmother kept it alive through two hurricanes and a divorce. It *is* a person, practically." A heavy sigh drifted over the counter, mingling with the warm scent of cinnamon rolls. A coffee mug clinked against the tile. "Fine. So who had access to the kitchen over the weekend?" "Just me, Donna from the morning shift, and Harold. He came by to fix the oven door." "Harold Pemberton? The man who's been trying to buy this building for six months?" A long pause settled between them, thick as buttercream. "You don't think—" "I think it's awfully convenient that your prized starter disappears right before the Fall Festival baking competition. Especially when his wife entered for the first time this year." The cinnamon rolls suddenly smelled a little less sweet.