Sweet Revenge

Two miles on foot, thirty miles on a train, and ten miles on a cab. It was a lengthy journey, but it was well worth the sacrifice to bring joy to the children. As she set foot out of the cab on the cold Friday morning Clara Mayer, the proud owner of Oven Sweets, was not greeted by the usual sight of children lined up outside the bakery. She was too busy fumbling through her purse, in search of the shop keys that had sunken to the very bottom, to notice the horrifying scene as she turned the street corner. Then she lifted her old and tired eyes as she headed towards the storefront but stopped dead in her tracks.

            Tiny pieces of glass were sprinkled across the concrete sidewalk that glistened against the reflection of the white snow. Yellow caution tape was draped across the entire storefront as a warning sign to all that dare set foot inside. Shadows of red and blue lights danced against the buildings and sidewalk as the sun was slowly rising for the day. She developed a sudden onset of chest pressure from the sole shock factor and nearly fainted when she processed everything. 

            Ms. Mayer took her glasses off and rubbed her eyes with her bony, wrinkly fingers. She thought her old eyes were playing tricks on her and that if she rubbed hard enough perhaps everything would go back to normal. The poor old woman realized that no matter how hard she rubbed it wouldn’t be fixed. So, instead, she crouched down on her frail, bony knees and in a desperate attempt picked up the glass from the sidewalk. She grabbed as many jagged shards that she could fit in her hands while a steady stream of tears rolled down her face.

“Ma’am! Please step away from the tape and put down the glass where you found it,” shouted a loud and assertive voice.

The old woman was so startled from hearing this voice that she jumped and as a result sustained a deep laceration on her paper-like skin. She felt herself freeze and her heart race. She was so preoccupied picking up the glass that she hadn’t heard anyone creep up behind her, yet her hearing was relatively good for her age.

“I’m sorry I didn’t mean to cause trouble. This is my shop and as you can imagine I feel very much lost right now,” she answered in a melancholic tone as she clutched her lacerated hand.

“I didn’t mean to startle you like that ma’am I just didn’t want anyone tampering with any evidence. I apologize for such a rude introduction. I’m Detective O’Brian. I was tasked to work on the investigation here. I’m so sorry, but I didn’t catch your name," he said.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you Detective although not in these circumstances. I’m Clara Mayer the owner of the bakery. Wha-…what happened to my little bakery Detective?” the old woman asked with tears welling up.

“That’s what we are trying to figure out here, but there is not much evidence. Fortunately, it seems that no money was taken from the cash register. I must warn you that the only thing that seems to be out of place is a small, antique box. It looks like someone used some force to pry it open and whatever contents were inside of the box are now missing,” confessed the Detective.

“But how could it be? I’m the only person that has a key and it’s in my possession,” she explained with a puzzled look. 

The old woman clutched her lacerated hand closer to her chest as if she was in some sort of agony simply from hearing this news. As if it wasn’t enough for her to find out that her bakery had been broken into, but to learn the news that the contents from her box were missing too just shattered her world. She was so fixated on her thoughts and trying to understand why anyone would take the belongings that she did not realize she was still bleeding. Her skin was as delicate as a butterfly’s wing, so it was no surprise that there was blood steadily trickling. 

            Detective O’Brian tried to calm her down and reassure her that they are doing their best to find the person who is responsible for the crime. He asked her if she wanted him to call an ambulance for her hand, but the woman insisted that she merely needed to apply pressure to the wound. 

“Mrs. Mayer, what was inside of the box? It would help us tremendously if you would give me some sort of description of the contents,” said the Detective.

“I would prefer that you address me as Ms. Mayer please Detective. And why yes, my secret ingredient was hidden inside the box. We must find it right this instant,” she said with a sense of urgency.

“Ah, I see. I’m so sorry Ms. Mayer. What is the ingredient?” he asked.

“Well, if I tell you, then it wouldn’t be so secret anymore,” she hissed.

The old woman doesn’t seem to be so cooperative with the investigation anymore thought the Detective to himself.  It became clear to him that it would be difficult to extract this crucial information from her with her reaction. Of all things to be stolen in a break-in at a bakery the last idea on anyone’s mind is the secret ingredient. The investigators paid particular attention to the cash register and meticulously searched for evidence to rule out any suspicions. However, it looked as if the register was untouched during the break-in.

            Ms. Mayer insisted that the priority of the investigation should be to look for the secret ingredient. It was nearly impossible to know where to start looking if she did not want to reveal what was inside the box. She was adamant that she was not going to tell the Detective what it was but insisted that there was a small glass bottle.

            Detective O’Brian brought Ms. Mayer to the police station to provide further information for possible leads. He made her a warm cup of herbal tea in hopes of calming her nerves and brought her to his desk. Then he turned his computer on as he sat down with his cup of black coffee. He watched her as she tried to pick up the cup with some difficulty. Her bony hands were tremulous and wrapped around the warm cup as she brought it up to her mouth slowly. He had bandaged her laceration before leaving the scene and it seemed that the bleeding was controlled now. 

            He realized that he had been staring at her for longer than he intended, so he cleared his throat to break the tension. He began by asking common questions regarding the security of her bakery, the events of that night, and if anyone else had access to the bakery. He tried to pry her a bit for anything really, but the old woman just seemed mentally drained. Detective O’Brian felt frustrated and hopeless. On one hand, he was starting to get frustrated because he was still no closer to solving anything. Ms. Mayer knew as little detail as he did, and he was beginning to wonder if her memory was part of the issue. Perhaps, he thought that due to her age she does not recall details as clearly.  It would have been helpful if she had cameras installed for security purposes, but it did not surprise him when she said that she did not have any installed.

            Of course, on the other hand, he felt hopeless, but not for himself. He imagined what Ms. Mayer was going through right now and how she was feeling. Poor old Ms. Mayer on her way to work at her little bakery only to find out that it had been broken-in.  The only thing that he knew for certain was that Oven Sweets had only been in business for two weeks. This week was supposed to be the busiest for the business as it is the week before Christmas.

            All the children had been looking forward to pressing their noses on the glass display cases to pick out a delicious treat for the holiday.  The word on the street was that Ms. Mayer made the best chocolate chip cookies in town and that’s why the children kept coming back for more. It made Detective O’Brian question the significance of this ingredient as someone had deliberately chosen to steal it rather than the cash. He couldn’t help but pity the old woman as she wept in her chair across from him. He even thought of his grandmother baking in the kitchen and it made him upset to think that someone was capable of doing this to an old lady. He figured that the old woman had gone through enough for one day and let her go home. 

Later that same day he brought her three employees into the station because he thought he would have better luck with them instead. He had the employees come in one at a time for separate interviews. Strangely enough not one of them knew anything about a secret ingredient or what was kept inside of the antique box. They all reported that Ms. Mayer was very particular and rather strict when it came to her baking chocolate chip cookies. She specifically told them that she would make the batter herself from scratch and that no one should be present in the kitchen at the early hours of the morning when she was making it. She also explicitly told them to not taste her chocolate chip cookies because they were made special for the children. However, none of her employees questioned her rules because they just assumed that she’s very particular but otherwise a harmless old woman. 

But if there is something, they all agreed on and shared with Detective O’Brian is that Ms. Mayer seems to be a bit forgetful. Who’s to say if her age is to blame for her poor memory or if it’s some deeper-rooted issue. After spending hours trying to desperately search for any useful information from the employees Detective O’Brian decided it was time to call it quits for the day. He was grabbing his winter coat and bag to head out when the phone disrupted the silence of his thoughts. He felt sick to his stomach because all he could think of was Ms. Mayer on the other line anxious and still waiting for answers. He felt nervous just thinking about the possibility of it being her and the lack of updates that he could provide, but he couldn’t ignore it.

“Hello this is Detective O’Brian…how may I help you?” he asked in a quiet voice with his eyes squeezed shut as if that would help.

“Hi...I would like to um…report a tip for the bakery break-in…but anonymously please,” said a quiet and anxious female voice. 

“Oh, yes. Go ahead ma’am I’m listening,” he said with great relief.

“I know the old woman that owns the bakery shop. I was her home aide a few years back. Listen to me, Detective. She is not well. She may look like a sweet old lady, but she is capable of evil things. You can’t tell anyone about this call,” she nervously said with pressured speech.

“Evil? What do you mean by that?” he asked.

“She has a bit of history. When she was young, she had multiple miscarriages. She really wanted to have children, but no matter how many times she tried it just wasn’t meant to be. Her husband started to verbally abuse her because he wanted a son more than anything. This quickly escalated to emotional and physical abuse. She eventually snapped and left him. As a result, she suffered psychological trauma and has amnesia. She has multiple personalities as a way of coping with the trauma of losing her children and the abuse,” she said.

“Oh my god that’s awful,” he said.

“She’s dangerous. Over the short period of time, I was working for her I slowly started to feel sick. I felt nauseous and I was vomiting with severe abdominal cramps. It seemed an odd coincidence that she would make me chocolate chip cookies often and soon after eating them I would feel awful. But then I made the mistake of leaving my bag with my phone in it while I went to use her bathroom because I felt sick. When I came back, I found her going through my phone and she found a picture of my son. I asked her what she was doing in my bag and for a second it looked as if she didn’t even see me at all. Then she snapped. She told me people like myself don’t deserve children and that one day she would find a way to take them like her children were taken away from her,” she nervously said.

“Oh god. Do you know for certain if the cookies were making you sick?” he asked.

“Promise you’ll keep my call anonymous. I can’t say anymore. I’ve said too much already,” then the line clicked and went silent.

            The bizarre anonymous tipper’s call connected the missing dots for Detective O’Brian, but it also made his head spin. Could it all be true what the mysterious woman on the phone told him about Ms. Mayer? It seemed difficult to believe that a frail, sweet, old woman like her could be considered even remotely dangerous. Regardless, he paid her a visit at her tiny cottage. It was surprising yet concerning when he found out that the old woman lived alone with her three cats. He rang the doorbell and after waiting for several minutes the old woman came to the door accompanied by the three felines at her side. She apologized for the long wait but explained to him that her ancient limbs don’t work as fast as they used to, and she moves around with great difficulty. She motioned him to come inside and then put the tea kettle on.

“Good morning Detective. Did you come to bring me any news?” she smiled.

“No, not yet. Actually Ms. Mayer I’m here just to ask a few questions,” he said.

“More questions?” she asked in a grouchy voice.

“Yes, I know it’s painful and I apologize Ms. Mayer. I’m only here to help close the investigation faster,” he smiled.

“Oh alright. Go ahead,” she said.

Ms. Mayer had brought out two delicate teacups. The Detective felt horrible sitting down and watching her struggle to walk over to the table and bring everything. He offered to help her several times, but she was a rather stubborn old lady. 

“Now, this glass bottle that you mentioned was in the box yesterday. What color is it?” he asked.

“Bottle? I never mentioned a bottle. I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she lashed out and smashed the cup with hot tea on the floor.

“You mentioned a bottle yesterday. I’m just trying to find it because it was stolen in the break-in. I didn’t mean to upset you, Ms. Mayer, I’m sorry,” he said.

“That’s…that’s alright Detective. You have to understand that I’m just feeling frustrated because of this situation. I didn’t mean to react that way. I just don’t understand why someone would do this to a little old lady like me,” she cried out. 

“It’s okay Ms. Mayer. That’s why I came here today to make this process quicker. I can’t imagine how terrible and stressful this must be for you,” he said.

As he said that, the old woman plopped a heaping teaspoon of what seemed to be sugar. He smiled politely as to not upset her more and just drank the tea.

“You know I bought this little bakery so that I could make children happy. I love children. If I don’t get my secret ingredient back, then my cookies won’t be the same and they bring joy to the children,” she said.

“That’s very sweet of you Ms. Mayer,” he said.

“Thank you, Detective, for your kind words,” she smiled and sipped her tea.

“You’re welcome, Ms. Mayer. May I use your bathroom?” he asked.

“Of course, if you go straight ahead it’ll be on your left,” she said.

He calmly got up from the table and headed towards the bathroom. He suddenly felt sick to his stomach and had the urge to throw up. He felt strange as he kneeled by the toilet in the old woman’s home. He vomited a little bit and felt excruciating pain in his gut. Somehow, he managed to get up and wash his hands. He thought that he could check the bathroom’s medicine cabinet for Pepto-Bismol or Tums just to get some sort of relief. There in the middle of her medicine cabinet and hidden in plain sight was a small, glass bottle with the word Arsenic written in large, black letters.