# The Missing Sugar Bowl The morning light filtered through the checkered curtains of Sweet Crumb Bakery, casting warm squares across the flour-dusted counter. The smell of cinnamon rolls hung thick in the air as two women stood on opposite sides of the display case. "You heard about Margaret's silver sugar bowl, I assume." "Heard about it? I practically tripped over the detective she hired on my way in here. He was poking around the hedge between our properties like a lost terrier." "A detective? For a sugar bowl?" "It was her grandmother's. Georgian silver. Worth more than my car, apparently. She noticed it missing after the garden party on Saturday." "Well, that narrows it down to about forty suspects." "Thirty-seven. I counted the guest list myself when she tacked it to the community board at the library." "Of course you did." "Someone has to pay attention in this town. Now, are you going to slice me a piece of that lemon pound cake, or are we just going to stand here?" "I'm thinking. Harold Finch left that party early, didn't he? Carried out a suspiciously bulky coat for a warm evening." "Now who's paying attention?" "Just slice your own cake. I need to make a phone call."