Steam curled from the vents in a lazy, white ribbon, mixing with the scent of stale coffee and fresh cinnamon. I wiped the counter with a rag, the feel of the rough cloth scratching against my palms, and sighed. "I can't locate the vanilla beans anywhere." "Check the freezer. The last batch froze open." "I sifted through the snow already. The jar is empty, not just the beans. Someone brewed a fresh cup right here on the counter." "You’re jumping to conclusions. Someone might have swiped a teaspoon, or a cookie thief has struck again. That happens every Wednesday." "Wednesday? That was two days ago. Besides, why is the register stuck on the exact same amount as yesterday? Someone definitely pocketed something, and it isn't the sugar." "Well, maybe that’s why the pies aren't selling. People are getting spooked in this town." "Or watching. The bakery hasn't been this quiet since Mr. Henderson retired." "It’s just the weather turning cold. Now let's focus on getting these caramel rolls out before the oven cools." "Fine. But if that list of suspects you made for the sheriff gets out, I’m personally dipping the icing bag in black ink."