# The Case of the Missing Croissants The bell above the door chimed as Margaret pushed inside, her nose immediately drawn to the scent of butter and vanilla. "Morning, dear. The usual?" "Actually, I need to ask you something. Did you bake extra croissants yesterday?" "Three dozen, same as always. Why?" "Because I counted the display case this morning. Seventeen were gone." "That's impossible. I locked up at six, and nobody has a key but me." "Are you certain? Think carefully." A pause. The owner's face paled. "Well... my nephew was helping me close. He asked to borrow the key to run next door to the post office." "And?" "He was gone for twenty minutes. It seemed longer than necessary." Margaret's eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "Has he been in any financial trouble lately?" "Now that you mention it, yes. Heavy gambling debts, I'm afraid. But surely he wouldn't—" "Steal your croissants? Not for himself, I suspect. I'd wager he sold them to the café down the street. They've been unusually busy lately." The owner's shoulders sagged. "What do I do?" "Have a conversation. A family one. Then perhaps consider changing your locks."