Flour dust motes danced in the shafts of afternoon sunlight streaming through the kitchen window, settling on the crumb of the brioche. Steam rose from the copper pot, carrying the scent of cardamom and suspicion. "Fresh out, Mrs. Higgins?" "Not for everyone. Just for the quiet ones." "I brought a container. Can I have two chocolate croissants and an ear?" "The police knocked an hour ago. Everyone's suspect until they clear the name. Especially the baker." "I didn't see a thing. Just that delivery van pulling away from the back." "And the missing ledger? You didn't see a brown package wrapped in newspaper stuffed behind the flour sacks?" "Don't be absurd. I burn things like that on purpose." "Too bad you have such steady hands." The oven timer dinged, slicing through the tension like a knife through warm butter.